“Look, he isn’t even concerned.”I poured the tea. “He’s concerned, Mother. He just doesn’t panic, because he’s in charge and if he panics, everybody else will panic.”“I can jog around the room pretending to scream if you would like,” Jim offered.”

“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.”

“Because if he looked like he was unaffected by her smile, then she would not realize that, in actuality, he was in an utter panic because somewhere deep down inside he’d realized that his life had just changed forever.”

“The only situation which might justify panic is one in which panic is likely to help. Such a situation never arises. Though pretended panic may sometimes cause a useful diversion, real panic can never be anything other than a waste of energy.”

“He took the bait like a male and he pulls like a male and his fight has no panic in it. I wonder if he has any plans or if he is just as desperate as I sin?”

“Oh, yeah. He's dead, a voice inside her head confirmed. "No way!" Brianna backed away from him, looking around the room in panic. Yeah, you're right. That lack of pulse probably means something else.”