Taylor holds the door open for us and ushers us through. Christian summons the elevator. "What is it, Anastasia?" he asks. How does he know I'm chewing something over in my mindHe reaches up and pulls my chin.
"Stop biting your lip, or I will f**k you in the elevator, and I don't care who gets in with us."
I blush, but there's a hint of a smile around his lips, finally his mood seems to be shifting."Christian, I have a problem."
"Oh?" I have his full attention.
The elevator arrives. We walk in, and Christian presses the button marked G.
"Well," I flush. How to say this"I need to talk to Kate. I've so many questions about sex, and you're too involved. If you want me to do all these things, how do I know - ?" I pause, struggling to find the right words. "I just don't have any terms of reference."
He rolls his eyes at me.
"Talk to her if you must." He sounds exasperated. "Make sure she doesn't mention anything to Elliot."
I bristle at his insinuation. Kate isn't like that.
"She wouldn't do that, and I wouldn't tell you anything she tells me about Elliot - if she were to tell me anything," I add quickly.
"Well, the difference is that I don't want to know about his sex life," Christian murmurs dryly. "Elliot's a nosy bastard. But only about what we've done so far," he warns.
"She'd probably have my balls if she knew what I wanted to do to you," he adds so softly I'm not sure I'm supposed to hear it.
"Okay," I agree readily, smiling up at him, relieved. The thought of Kate with Christian's balls is not something I want to dwell on.
His lip quirks up at me, and he shakes his head.
"The sooner I have your submission the better, and we can stop all this," he murmurs.
"Stop all what?"
"You, defying me." He reaches down and cups my chin and plants a swift, sweet kiss on my lips as the doors to the elevator open. He grabs my hand and leads me into the underground garage.
Me, defying him... how?
Beside the elevator, I can see the black 4x4 Audi, but it's the sleek, black sporty number that blips open and lights up when he points the key fob at it. It's one of those cars that should have a very leggy blonde, wearing nothing but a sash, sprawled across the hood.
"Nice car," I murmur dryly.
He glances up and grins.
"I know," he says, and for a split second, sweet, young, carefree Christian is back. It warms my heart. He's so excited. Boys and their toys. I roll my eyes at him but can't stifle my smile. He opens the door for me and I climb in. Whoa... it's low. He moves round the car with easy grace and folds his long frame elegantly in beside me . How does he do that?
"So what sort of car is this?"
"It's an Audi R8 Spyder. It's a lovely day, we can take the top down. There's a baseball cap in there. In fact there should be two." He points to the glove box. "And sunglasses if you want them."
He starts the ignition, and the engine roars behind us. He places his bag in the space behind our seats, presses a button, and the roof slowly reclines. With the flick of a switch, Bruce Springsteen surrounds us.
"Gotta love Bruce," he grins at me and eases the car out of the parking space, and up the steep ramp where we pause for the barrier.
Then we're out into the bright Seattle May morning. I reach into the glove box and retrieve the baseball caps. The Mariners. He likes baseballI pass him a cap, and he puts it on. I pass my ponytail through the back of mine and pull the peak down low.
People stare at us as we drive through the streets. For a moment, I think it's at him...
and then a very paranoid part thinks everyone is looking at me because they know what I've been doing during the last twelve hours, but finally, I realize it's the car. Christian seems oblivious, lost in thought.
The traffic is light and we're soon on the I-5 heading south, the wind sweeping over our heads. Bruce is singing about being on fire and his desire. How apt. I flush as I listen to the words. Christian glances at me. He's got his Ray-Bans on so I can't see what he's thinking. His mouth twitches slightly, and he reaches across and places his hand on my knee, squeezing gently. My breath hitches.
"Hungry?" he asks.
Not for food.
"Not particularly."
His mouth tightens into that hard line.
"You must eat, Anastasia," he chides. "I know a great place near Olympia. We'll stop there." He squeezes my knee again, and then returns his hand to the steering wheel as he puts his foot down on the gas. I'm pressed into the back of my seat. Boy this car can move.
The restaurant is small and intimate, a wooden chalet in the middle of a forest. The decor is rustic: random chairs and tables with gingham tablecloths, wild flowers in little vases. Cuisine Sauvage, it boasts above the door.
"I've not been here for a while. We don't get a choice - they cook whatever they've caught or gathered." He raises his eyebrows in mock horror, and I have to laugh. The waitress takes our drinks order. She flushes when she sees Christian, avoiding eye contact with him, hiding under her long blonde bangs. She likes him! It's not just me!
"Two glasses of the Pinot Grigio," Christian says with a voice of authority. I purse my lips, exasperated.
"What?" he snaps.
"I wanted a Diet Coke," I whisper.
His gray eyes narrow, and he shakes his head.
"The Pinot Grigio here's a decent wine, it will go well with the meal, whatever we get."
He says patiently.
"Whatever we get?"
"Yes." He smiles, his dazzling, head cocked to one side smile, and my stomach pole vaults over my spleen. I can't help but reflect his glorious smile back at him.