I have a tiger by the tail. He’s going to be mad when I get back. My subconscious is glaring at me over her half–moon glasses, a willow switch in her hand. Shit. I think about what little experience I have with men. I’ve never lived with a man before—well, except Ray—and for some reason he doesn’t count. He’s my dad… well, the man I consider my dad.
And now I have Christian. He’s never really lived with anyone, I think. I’ll have to ask him—if he’s still talking to me.
But I feel strongly that I should wear what I like. I remember his rules. Yes, this must be hard for him, but he sure as hell paid for this dress. He should have given Neimans a better brief. Nothing too short!
This skirt isn’t that short, is it? I check in the large mirror in the lobby. Damn. Yes, it is quite short, but I’ve made a stand now. And no doubt I’ll have to face the consequences. I wonder idly what he’ll do, but first I need cash.
I stare at my receipt from the ATM: $51,689.16. That’s fifty thousand dollars too much!
I head straight to the kitchen when I arrive back, and I can’t help feeling a frisson of alarm. Christian is still in his study. Jeez, that’s most of the afternoon. I decide my best option is to face him and see how much damage I’ve done. I peek cautiously around his study door. He’s on the phone, staring out the window.
«And the Eurocopter specialist is due Monday afternoon?… Good. Just keep me informed. Tell them that I’ll need their initial findings either Monday evening or Tuesday morning.» He hangs up and swivels his chair round, but stills when he sees me, his expression impassive.
«Hi,” I whisper. He says nothing, and my heart free–falls into my stomach. Gingerly I walk into his study and around his desk to where he’s sitting. He still says nothing, his eyes never leaving mine. I stand in front of him, feeling fifty shades of foolish.
«I’m back. Are you mad at me?»
He sighs, reaches out for my hand, and pulls me into his lap, folding his arms around me. He buries his nose in my hair.
«Yes,” he says.
«I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.» I curl up in his lap inhaling his heavenly Christian smell, feeling safe regardless of the fact that he’s mad.
«Me neither. Wear what you like,” he murmurs. He runs his hand up my bare leg to my thigh. «Besides, this dress has its advantages.» He bends to kiss me, and as our lips touch, passion or lust or a deep–seated need to make amends lances through me and desire flares in my blood. I seize his head in my hands, fisting my fingers in his hair. He groans as his body responds, and he hungrily nips at my lower lip—my throat, my ear, his tongue invading my mouth, and before I’m even aware of it he’s unzipping his pants, pulling me astride his lap, and sinking into me. I grasp the back of the chair, my feet just touching the ground… and we start to move.
«I like your version of sorry,” he breathes into my hair.
«And I like yours,” I giggle, snuggling against his chest. «Have you finished?»
«Christ, Ana, you want more?»
«No! Your work.»
«I’ll be done in about half an hour. I heard your message on my voicemail.»
«From yesterday.»
«You sounded worried.»
I hug him tightly.
«I was. It’s not like you not to respond.»
He kisses my hair.
«Your cake should be ready in half an hour.» I smile at him and climb off his lap.
«Looking forward to it. It smelled delicious, evocative even, while it was baking.»
I smile shyly down at him, feeling a little self–conscious, and he mirrors my expression. Jeez, are we really so different? Perhaps it’s his early memories of baking. Leaning down, I plant a swift kiss on the corner of his mouth and make my way back to the kitchen.
I am all prepared when I hear him come out of his study, and I light the solitary gold candle on his cake. He gives me an ear–splitting grin as he saunters toward me, and I softly sing Happy Birthday to him. Then he leans over and blows it out, closing his eyes.
«I’ve made my wish,” he says as he opens them again, and for some reason his look makes me flush.
«The frosting is still soft. I hope you like it.»
«I can’t wait to taste it, Anastasia,” he murmurs, and he makes that sound so rude. I cut us each a slice, and we dig in with small pastry forks.
«Mmm,” he groans in appreciation. «This is why I want to marry you.»
And I laugh with relief… he likes it.
«Ready to face my family?» Christian switches the R8 ignition off. We’re parked in his parents’ driveway.
«Yes. Are you going to tell them?»
«Of course. I’m looking forward to seeing their reactions.» He smiles wickedly at me and climbs out of the car.
