We wander hand in hand along the marina. It is such a pleasant afternoon. People are out enjoying their Sunday - walking dogs, admiring the boats, watching their kids run along the promenade.
As we head down the marina, the boats are getting progressively larger. Christian leads me on to the dock and stops in front of a huge catamaran.
"I thought we'd go sailing this afternoon. This is my boat."
Holy cow. It must be at least forty, maybe fifty feet. Two sleek white hulls, a deck, a roomy cabin, and towering over them a very tall mast. I know nothing about boats, but I can tell this one is special.
"Wow... ," I murmur in wonder.
"Built by my company," he says proudly and my heart swells. "She's been designed from the ground up by the very best naval architects in the world and constructed here in Seattle at my yard. She has hybrid electric drives, asymmetric dagger boards, a square-topped mainsail - "
"Okay... you've lost me, Christian."
He grins. "She's a great boat."
"She looks mighty fine, Mr. Grey."
"That she does, Miss Steele."
"What's her name?"
He pulls me to the side so I can see her name: The Grace. I'm surprised. "You named her after your mom?"
"Yes." He cocks his head to one side, quizzical. "Why do you find that strange?"
I shrug. I am surprised - he always seems ambivalent in her presence.
"I adore my mom, Anastasia. Why wouldn't I name a boat after her?"
I flush. "No, it's not that... it's just..." Shit, how can I put this into words?
"Anastasia, Grace Trevelyan saved my life. I owe her everything."
I gaze at him, and let the reverence in his softly spoken admission wash over me. It's obvious to me, for the first time, that he loves his mom. Why then his strange strained ambivalence toward her?
"Do you want to come aboard?" he asks, his eyes bright, excited.
"Yes, please." I smile.
He looks delighted and delightful in one yummy scrumptious package. Grasping my hand, he strides up the small gangplank and leads me aboard so that we are standing on deck beneath a rigid canopy.
To one side there's a table and a U-shaped banquette covered in pale blue leather, which must seat at least eight people. I glance through the sliding doors to the interior of the cabin and jump, startled when I spy someone there. The tall blond man opens the sliding doors and emerges - all tanned, curly-haired and brown-eyed - wearing a faded pink short-sleeved polo shirt, shorts, and deck shoes. He must be in his early thirties.
"Mac." Christian beams.
"Mr. Grey! Welcome back." They shake hands.
"Anastasia, this is Liam McConnell. Liam, my girlfriend, Anastasia Steele."
Girlfriend! My inner goddess performs a quick arabesque. She's still grinning over the convertible. I have to get used to this - it's not the first time he's said it, but hearing him say it is still a thrill.
"How do you do?" Liam and I shake hands.
"Call me Mac," he says warmly, and I can't place his accent. "Welcome aboard, Miss Steele."
"Ana, please," I mutter, flushing. He has deep brown eyes.
"How's she shaping up, Mac?" Christian interjects quickly, and for a moment, I think he's talking about me.
"She's ready to rock and roll, sir," Mac beams. Oh, the boat, The Grace . Silly me.
"Let's get underway, then."
"You going to take her out?"
"Yep." Christian flashes Mac a quick wicked grin. "Quick tour, Anastasia?"
"Yes, please."
I follow him inside the cabin. An L-shaped cream leather sofa is directly in front of us, and above it, a massive curved window offers a panoramic view of the marina. To the left is the kitchen area - very well appointed, all pale wood.
"This is the main saloon. Galley beside," Christian says, waving his hand in the direction of the kitchen.
He takes my hand and leads me through the main cabin. It's surprisingly spacious. The floor is the same pale wood. It looks modern and sleek and has a light, airy feel, but it's all very functional, as if he doesn't spend much time here.
"Bathrooms on either side." Christian points to two doors, then opens the small, oddly shaped door directly in front of us and steps in. We're in a plush bedroom. Oh...
It has a king-size cabin bed and is all pale blue linen and pale wood like his bedroom at Escala. Christian obviously chooses a theme and sticks to it.
"This is the master cabin." He gazes down at me, gray eyes glowing. "You're the first girl in here, apart from family," he smirks. "They don't count."
I flush under his heated stare, and my pulse quickens. Really? Another first. He pulls me into his arms, his fingers tangling in my hair, and kisses me, long and hard. We're both breathless when he pulls away.
"Might have to christen this bed," he whispers against my mouth.
Oh, at sea!
"But not right now. Come, Mac will be casting off." I ignore the stab of disappointment as he takes my hand and leads me back through the saloon. He indicates another door.
"Office in there, and at the front here, two more cabins."
"So how many can sleep on board?"
"It's a six-berth cat. I've only ever had the family on board, though. I like to sail alone.
But not when you're here. I need to keep an eye on you."
He delves into a chest and pulls out a bright red lifejacket.
"Here." Putting it over my head, he tightens all the straps, a faint smile playing on his lips."You love strapping me in, don't you?"
"In any form," he says, a wicked grin playing on his lips.