“You are. Eat your granola, all of it, if that’s all you’re having.” Bossy as ever. I purse my lips at him, but dig in.
“So, the key goes here.” Christian points out the ignition beneath the gearshift.
“Strange place,” I mutter. But I’m delighted with every little detail, practically bouncing like a small child in the comfortable leather seat. Christian has finally let me drive my car. He regards me coolly, though his eyes are alight with humor. “You’re quite excited about this, aren’t you?” he murmurs, amused.
I nod, grinning like a fool. “Just smell that new car smell. This is even better than the Submissive Special . . . um, the A3,” I add quickly, blushing.
Christian’s mouth twists. “Submissive Special, eh? You have such a way with words, Miss Steele.” He leans back with a faux look of disapproval, but he can’t fool me. I know he’s enjoying himself.
“Well, let’s go.” He waves his long-fingered hand toward the entrance of the garage.
I clap my hands, start the car, and the engine purrs to life. Putting the gearshift into drive, I ease my foot off the brake and the Saab moves smoothly forward. Taylor starts up the Audi behind us and once the garage barrier lifts, follows us out of Escala onto the street.
“Can we have the radio on?” I ask as we wait at the first stop sign.
“I want you to concentrate,” he says sharply.
“Christian, please, I can drive with music on.” I roll my eyes. He scowls for a moment and then reaches for the radio.
“You can play your iPod and mp3 discs as well as CDs on this,” he murmurs.
The too-loud dulcet tones of The Police suddenly fill the car. Christian turns the music down.
“Your anthem,” I tease him, then instantly regret it when his mouth tightens in a thin line.
somewhere in the apartment I have spent very little time in.
I wonder how Ethan is. I should try to call him today. I won’t have much to do at work.
Anxiety blooms in my stomach. What will happen when I get to the office? Will everyone know about Jack? Will everyone know of Christian’s involvement? Will I still have a job? Sheesh, if I have no job, what will I do?
rapacious bitch.
“Hey, Miss Smart Mouth. Come back.” Christian drags me into the here and now as I pull up at the next stoplight.
“You’re very distracted. Concentrate, Ana,” he scolds. “Accidents happen when you don’t concentrate.”
“I’m just thinking about work.”
“Baby, you’ll be fine. Trust me.” Christian smiles.
“Please don’t interfere—I want to do this on my own. Christian, please. It’s important to me,” I say as gently as I can. I don’t want to argue. His mouth sets once more into a hard stubborn line, and I think he’s going to berate me again.
“Let’s not argue, Christian. We’ve had such a wonderful morning. And last night was—” Words fail me, last night was—“Heaven.”
He says nothing. I glance over at him and his eyes are closed.
“Yes. Heaven,” he says softly. “I meant what I said.”
“What?”
“I don’t want to let you go.”
“I don’t want to go.”
He smiles and it’s this new, shy smile that dissolves everything in its path. Boy, it’s powerful.
“Good,” he says simply, and he visibly relaxes.
I drive into the parking lot half a block from SIP.
“I’ll walk you to work. Taylor will take me from there,” Christian offers. I clamber out of the car, restricted by my pencil skirt while Christian climbs out gracefully, at ease with his body or giving the impression of someone at ease with his body. Hmm . . . someone who can’t bear to be touched can’t be that at ease. I frown at my errant thought.
“Don’t forget we’re seeing Flynn at seven this evening,” he says as he holds his hand out to me. I press the remote door lock and take his hand.
“I won’t forget. I’ll compile a list of questions for him.”
“Questions? About me?”
I nod.
“I can answer any questions you have about me.” Christian looks affronted.
I smile at him. “Yes, but I want the unbiased, expensive charlatan’s opinion.” He frowns and suddenly pulls me into his embrace, holding both my hands tightly behind my back.
“Is this a good idea?” he says, his voice low and husky. I lean back to see the anxiety looming large and wide in his eyes. It tears at my soul.
“If you don’t want me to, I won’t.” I stare at him, blinking, wanting to caress the concern out of his face. I tug on one of my hands and he frees it. I touch his cheek tenderly—
it’s smooth from shaving this morning.
“What are you worried about?” I ask, my voice soft and soothing.
“That you’ll go.”
“Christian, how many times do I have to tell you—I’m not going anywhere. You’ve already told me the worst. I’m not leaving you.”
“Then why haven’t you answered me?”
