"Only for you." I give him my sweetest smile. The late afternoon sun has shifted, and I am under its full glare. He smirks and in one swift move pulls my sun lounger into the shade of the parasol.
"Out of the Mediterranean sun, Mrs. Grey."
"Thank you for your altruism, Mr. Grey."
"My pleasure, Mrs. Grey, and I'm not being altruistic at all. If you burn, I won't be able to touch you." He raises an eyebrow, his eyes shining with mirth, and my heart expands. "But I suspect you know that and you're laughing at me."
"Would I?" I gasp, feigning innocence.
"Yes you would and you do. Often. It's one of the many things I love about you." He leans down and kisses me, playfully biting my lower lip.
"I was hoping you'd rub me down with more suntan lotion." I pout against his lips.
"Mrs. Grey, it's a dirty job . . . but that's an offer I can't refuse. Sit up," he orders, his voice husky. I do as I'm told, and with slow meticulous strokes from strong and supple fingers, he coats me in sun lotion.
"You really are very lovely. I'm a lucky man," he murmurs as his fingers skim over my br**sts, spreading the lotion.
"Yes you are, Mr. Grey." I gaze coyly up at him through my lashes.
"Modesty becomes you, Mrs. Grey. Turn over. I want to do your back."
Smiling, I roll over, and he undoes the back strap of my hideously expensive bikini.
"How would you feel if I went topless, like the other women on the beach?" I ask.
"Displeased," he says without hesitation. "I'm not very happy about you wearing so little right now." He leans down and whispers in my ear. "Don't push your luck."
"Is that a challenge, Mr. Grey?"
"No. It's a statement of fact, Mrs. Grey."
I sigh and shake my head. Oh Christian . . . my possessive, jealous, control freak Christian.
When he's finished, he slaps my behind.
"You'll do, wench."
His ever-present, ever-active BlackBerry buzzes. I frown and he smirks.
"My eyes only, Mrs. Grey." He raises his eyebrow in playful warning, slaps my backside once more, and sits back down on his lounger to take the call.
My inner goddess purrs. Maybe tonight we could do some kind of floor show for his eyes only. She smirks knowingly, arching a brow. I grin at the thought and drift back into my afternoon siesta.
"Mam'selle? Un Perrier pour moi, un Coca-Cola light p our ma femme, s'il vous plait. Et quelque chose a manger. . . laissez-moi voir la carte."
Hmm . . . Christian speaking fluent French wakes me. My eyelashes flutter in the glare of the sun, and I find Christian watching me while a liveried young woman walks away, her tray held aloft, her high blond ponytail swinging provocatively.
"Thirsty?" he asks.
"Yes," I mutter sleepily.
"I could watch you all day. Tired?"
I flush. "I didn't get much sleep last night."
"Me neither." He grins, puts down his BlackBerry and stands. His shorts fall a little and hang . . . in that way so his swim trunks are visible beneath. Christian takes his shorts off, stepping out of his flipflops. I lose my train of thought.
"Come for a swim with me." He holds out his hand while I look up at him, dazed. "Swim?" he says again, cocking his head to one side, an amused expression on his face. When I don't respond, he shakes his head slowly.
"I think you need a wake-up call." Suddenly he pounces, reaching down and lifting me into his arms while I shriek, more from surprise than alarm.
"Christian! Put me down!" I squeal.
He chuckles. "Only in the sea, baby."
Several sunbathers on the beach watch with that bemused disinterest so typical, I now realize, of the French as Christian carries me to the sea, laughing, and wades in.
I clasp my arms around his neck. "You wouldn't." I say breathlessly, trying to stifle my giggling.
He grins down at me. "Oh Ana, baby, have you learned nothing in the short time we've known each other?" He leans down and kisses me, and I seize my opportunity, running my fingers through his hair, grasping two handfuls and kissing him back, invading his mouth with my tongue. He inhales sharply and leans back, eyes smoky but wary.
"I know your game," he whispers and he slowly sinks into the cool, clear water, taking me with him as his lips find mine once more. The chill of the Mediterranean is soon forgotten as I wrap myself around my husband.
"I thought you wanted to swim," I murmur against his mouth.
"You're very distracting." Christian grazes his teeth along my lower lip. "But I'm not sure I want the good people of Monte Carlo to see my wife in the throes of passion."
I run my teeth along his jaw, his stubble tickly against my tongue, not caring a dime for the good people of Monte Carlo.
"Ana," he groans. He wraps his wrist around my ponytail and tugs gently, tilting my head back, exposing my throat. He trails kisses from my ear down my neck.
"Shall I take you in the sea?" he breathes.
"Yes," I whisper.
Christian pulls away and gazes down at me, his eyes warm, wanting and amused. "Mrs. Grey, you're insatiable, and so brazen. What sort of monster have I created?"
"A monster fit for you. Would you have me any other way?"
"I'll take you any way I can get you, you know that. But not right now. Not with an audience." He jerks his head toward the shore. What?
Sure enough, several sunbathers on the beach have abandoned their indifference and now regard us with interest. Suddenly, Christian grabs me around my waist and launches me into the air, letting me fall into the water and sink beneath the waves to the soft sand below. I surface, coughing, spluttering and giggling.