“Unwrapping the paper carefully so it doesn’t tear, I find a beautiful red leatherbox. Cartier. It’s familiar, thanks to my second-chance earrings and my watch.Cautiously, I open the box to discover a delicate charm bracelet of silver, or platinumor white gold—I don’t know, but it’s absolutely enchanting. Attached to itare several charms: the Eiffel Tower, a London black cab, a helicopter—CharlieTango, a glider—the soaring, a catamaran—The Grace, a bed, and an ice creamcone? I look up at him, bemused.“Vanilla?” He shrugs apologetically, and I can’t help but laugh. Of course.“Christian, this is beautiful. Thank you. It’s yar.” He grins.My favorite is the heart. It’s a locket.“You can put a picture or whatever in that.”“A picture of you.” I glance at him through my lashes. “Always in my heart.”He smiles his lovely, heartbreakingly shy smile.I fondle the last two charms: a letter C—oh yes, I was his first girlfriend touse his first name. I smile at the thought. And finally, there’s a key.“To my heart and soul,” he whispers.”

“I fondle the last two charms: a letter C- oh yes, I was his first girlfriend to use his first name. I smile at the thought. And finally, there's a key."To my heart and soul," he whispers.”

“I love you,” I murmur, and he smiles his heart-achingly shy smile, and I melt. “I will always love you, Christian.”“And I you,” he says softly.“In spite of my disobedience?” I raise my eyebrow.“Because of your disobedience, Anastasia.” He grins.”

“You wanted hearts and flowers,” he murmurs.I blink at him, not quite believing what I’m seeing.“You have my heart.” And he waves toward the room.“And here are the flowers,” I whisper, completing his sentence. “Christian, it’s lovely.”

“I want you, Anastasia,” he murmurs. “I love and I hate, and I love arguing with you. It’s very new. I need to know that we’re okay. It’s the only way I know how.” “My feelings for you haven’t changed,” I whisper. His proximity is overwhelming, exhilarating. The familiar pull is there, all my synapses goading me toward him, my inner goddess at her most libidinous. Staring at the patch of hair in the V of his shirt, I bite my lip, helpless, driven by desire—I want to taste him there. He’s so close, but he doesn’t touch me. His heat is warming my skin. “I’m not going to touch you until you say yes,” he says softly. “But right now, after a really shitty morning, I want to bury myself in you and just forget everything but us.”

“Does this mean you’re going to make love to me tonight, Christian?” Holy shit. Did I just say that? His mouth drops open slightly, but he recovers quickly.“No, Anastasia it doesn’t. Firstly, I don’t make love. I fuck… hard. Secondly, there’s a lot more paperwork to do, and thirdly, you don’t yet know what you’re in for. You could still run for the hills. Come, I want to show you my playroom.”My mouth drops open. Fuck hard! Holy shit, that sounds so… hot. But why are we looking at a playroom? I am mystified.“You want to play on your Xbox?” I ask. He laughs, loudly. “No, Anastasia, no Xbox, no Playstation. Come.”… Producing a key from his pocket, he unlocks yet another door and takes a deep breath.“You can leave anytime. The helicopter is on stand-by to take you whenever you want to go, you can stay the night and go home in the morning. It’s fine whatever you decide.”“Just open the damn door, Christian.”He opens the door and stands back to let me in. I gaze at him once more. I so want to know what’s in here. Taking a deep breath I walk in.And it feels like I’ve time-traveled back to the sixteenth century and the Spanish Inquisition.Holy fuck.”

“No. No!” he says.“I . . .” He looks wildly around the room. For inspiration? For divine intervention? I don’t know.“You can’t go. Ana, I love you!”“I love you, too, Christian, it’s just—”“No . . . no!” he says in desperation and puts both hands on his head. “Christian . . .”“No,” he breathes, his eyes wide with panic, and suddenly he drops to his knees in front of me, head bowed, long-fingered hands spread out on his thighs. He takes a deep breath and doesn’t move. What? “Christian, what are you doing?”He continues to stare down, not looking at me. “Christian! What are you doing?”My voice is high-pitched. He doesn’t move. “Christian, look at me!” I command in panic. His head sweeps up without hesitation, and he regards me passively with his cool gray gaze—he’s almost serene . . . expectant.Holy Fuck . . . Christian. The submissive.”