"That's right, baby," he murmurs appreciatively. He unties my wrists, keeping his fn- gers inside me as I lie panting and spent over him.

"I've not fnished with you yet, Anastasia," he says and shifts without removing his fngers. He eases my knees on to the foor so that now I'm leaning over the bed. He kneels on the foor behind me and undoes his zipper. He slides his fngers out of me, and I hear the familiar tear of a foil packet. "Open your legs," he growls and I comply. He strokes my behind and eases into me.

"This is going to be quick, baby," he murmurs and grabbing my hips, he eases out then slams into me.

"Ah!" I cry out but the fullness is heavenly. He's. .h.i.tting the bellyache square on, again and again, eradicating it with each sharp, sweet thrust. The feeling is mind-blowing, just what I need. I push back to meet him, thrust for thrust.

"Ana, no," he grunts, trying to still me. But I want him too much, and I grind against him, matching him thrust for thrust.

"Ana, s.h.i.t," he hisses as he comes, and the tortured sound sets me off again, spiral- ing into a healing o.r.g.a.s.m that goes on and on and wrings me out and leaves me spent and breathless.

Christian bends and kisses my shoulder then pulls out of me. Placing his arms around me, he rests his head in the middle of my back, and we lie like this, both kneeling at the bedside, for what? Seconds? Minutes even as our breathing calms. My bellyache has disap- peared, and all I feel is a soothing, satisfying serenity.

Christian stirs and kisses my back. "I believe you owe me a dance, Miss Steele," he murmurs.

"Hmm," I respond, savoring the absence of achiness and basking in the afterglow.

He sits back on his heels and pulls me off the bed onto his lap. "We don't have long.

Come on." He kisses my hair and forces me to stand.

I grumble but sit back down on the bed and collect my panties from the foor and scoop them on. Lazily I walk to the chair to retrieve my dress. I note with dispa.s.sionate interest that I did not remove my shoes during our illicit tryst. Christian is tying his bow tie, having fnished straightening himself and the bed.As I slip my dress back on, I check out the photographs on the pin board. Christian as a sullen teen was gorgeous even then: with Elliot and Mia on the ski slopes; on his own in Paris, the Arc de Triomphe serving as a giveaway background; in London; New York; the Grand Canyon; Sydney Opera House; even the Great Wall of China. Master Grey was well traveled at a young age.

There are ticket stubs to various concerts: U2, Metallica, The Verve, Sheryl Crow, the New York Philharmonic performing Prokofev's Romeo and Juliet-what an eclectic mix!

And in the corner, there's a pa.s.sport-size photograph of a young woman. It's in black and white. She looks familiar, but for the life of me, I can't place her. Not Mrs. Robinson, thank heavens.

"Who's this?" I ask.

"No one of consequence," he mutters as he slips on his jacket and straightens his bow tie. "Shall I zip you up?"

"Please. Then why is she on your pin board?"

"An oversight on my part. How's my tie?" He raises his chin like a small boy, and I grin and straighten it for him.

"Now it's perfect."

"Like you," he murmurs and grabs me, kissing me pa.s.sionately. "Feeling better?"

"Much, thank you, Mr. Grey."

"The pleasure was all mine, Miss Steele."

The guests are a.s.sembling on the dance foor. Christian grins at me-we've made it just in time-and he leads me onto the checkered foor.

"And now, ladies and gentlemen, it's time for the frst dance. Mr. and Dr. Grey, are you ready?" Carrick nods in agreement, his arms around Grace.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the First Dance Auction, are you ready?" We all nod in agreement. Mia is with someone I don't recognize. I wonder what happened to Sean?

"Then we shall begin. Take it away, Sam!"

A young man strolls onto the stage amid warm applause, turns to the band behind him and snaps his fngers. The familiar strains of "I've Got You Under My Skin" fll the air.

Christian smiles down at me, takes me in his arms, and starts to move. Oh, he dances so well, making it easy to follow. We grin at each other like idiots as he whirls me around the dance foor.

"I love this song," Christian murmurs, gazing down at me. "Seems very ftting." He's no longer grinning, but serious.

"You're under my skin, too," I respond. "Or you were in your bedroom."

He purses his lips but he's unable to hide his amus.e.m.e.nt.

"Miss Steele," he admonishes me teasingly, "I had no idea you could be so crude."

"Mr. Grey, neither did I. I think it's all my recent experiences. They've been an educa- tion.""For both of us." Christian is serious again, and it could just be the two of us and the band. We are in our own private bubble.

As the song fnishes we both applaud. Sam the singer bows graciously and introduces his band.

"May I cut in?"

I recognize the man who bid on me at the auction. Christian grudgingly lets me go, but he's amused, too.

"Be my guest. Anastasia, this is John Flynn. John, Anastasia."

s.h.i.t!

Christian smirks at me and wanders off to one side of the dance foor.

"How do you do, Anastasia?" Dr. Flynn says smoothly, and I realize he's British.

"h.e.l.lo," I stutter.

The band strikes up another song, and Dr. Flynn pulls me into his arms. He's much younger than I imagined, though I can't see his face. He's wearing a mask similar to Chris- tian's. He's tall, but not as tall as Christian, and he doesn't move with Christian's easy grace.

What do I say to him? Why is Christian so f.u.c.ked-up? Why did he bid on me? It's the only thing I want to ask him, but somehow that seems rude.

"I'm glad to fnally meet you, Anastasia. Are you enjoying yourself?" he asks.

"I was," I whisper.

"Oh. I hope I'm not responsible for your change of heart." He gives me a brief, warm smile that puts me a little more at ease.

"Doctor Flynn, you're the shrink. You tell me."

He grins. "That's the problem, isn't it? The shrink bit?"

I giggle. "I'm worried what I might reveal, so I'm a little self-conscious and intimi- dated. And really I only want to ask you about Christian."

He smiles. "First, this is a party so I'm not on duty," he whispers conspiratorially. "And second, I really can't talk to you about Christian. Besides," he teases, "we'd need until Christmas."

I gasp in shock.

"That's a doctor's joke, Anastasia."

I fush, embarra.s.sed, and then feel slightly resentful. He's making a joke at Christian's expense. "You've just confrmed what I've been saying to Christian ... that you're an ex- pensive charlatan," I admonish him.

Dr. Flynn snorts with laughter. "You could be onto something there."

"You're British?"

"Yes. Originally from London."

"How did you fnd yourself here?"

"Happy circ.u.mstance."

"You don't give much away, do you?"

"There's not much to give away. I'm really a very dull person."

"That's very self-deprecating."

"It's a British trait. Part of our national character."

"Oh.""And I could accuse you of the same, Anastasia."

"That I'm a dull person, too, Dr. Flynn?"

He snorts. "No, Anastasia, that you don't give much away."

"There's not much to give away." I smile.

"I sincerely doubt that." He unexpectedly frowns.

I fush, but the music fnishes and Christian is once more by my side. Dr. Flynn releases me.

"It's been a pleasure to meet you, Anastasia." He gives me his warm smile again, and I feel that I've pa.s.sed some kind of hidden test.

"John." Christian nods at him.

"Christian." Dr. Flynn returns his nod, turns on his heel, and disappears through the crowd.

Christian pulls me into his arms for the next dance.

"He's much younger than I expected," I murmur to him. "And terribly indiscreet."

Christian c.o.c.ks his head to one side. "Indiscreet?"

"Oh yes, he told me everything," I tease.

Christian tenses. "Well, in that case, I'll get your bag. I'm sure you want nothing more to do with me," he says softly.

I stop. "He didn't tell me anything!" My voice flls with panic.

Christian blinks before relief foods his face. He pulls me into his arms again. "Then let's enjoy this dance." He beams down, rea.s.suring me, then spins me round.

Why would he think that I'd want to leave? It makes no sense.

We dance for two more numbers, and I realize I need the restroom.

"I won't be long."

As I make my way to the powder room, I remember I have left my purse on the dinner table, so I head down to the marquee. When I enter, it's still lit but quite deserted, except for a couple at the other end, who really ought to get a room! I reach for my bag.

"Anastasia?"

A soft voice startles me, and I turn to see a woman dressed in a long, tight, black velvet gown. Her mask is unique. It covers her face to her nose but also covers her hair. It's stun- ning with elaborate gold fligree.

"I'm so glad you're on your own," she says softly. "I've been wanting to talk to you all evening."

"I'm sorry, I don't know who you are."

She pulls the mask from her face and releases her hair.

s.h.i.t! It's Mrs. Robinson.

"I'm sorry, I startled you."

I gape at her. Holy cow-what the f.u.c.k does this woman want?

I don't know what the social conventions are for meeting known molesters of children.

She's smiling sweetly and gesturing for me to sit at the table. And because I am lacking any sphere of reference, I do as she asks out of stunned politeness, grateful that I am still wearing my mask.

"I'll be brief, Anastasia. I know what you think of me ... Christian's told me."I gaze at her impa.s.sively, giving nothing away, but I'm pleased that she knows. It saves me telling her, and she's cutting to the chase. Part of me is beyond intrigued as to what she could have to say.

She pauses, glancing over my shoulder. "Taylor's watching us."

I peek around to see him scanning the tent by the doorway. Sawyer is with him. They are looking anywhere but at us.

"Look, we don't have long," she says hurriedly. "It must be obvious to you that Chris- tian is in love with you. I have never seen him like this, ever." She emphasizes the last word.

What? Loves me? No. Why is she telling me? To rea.s.sure me? I don't understand.

"He won't tell you because he probably doesn't realize it himself, notwithstanding what I've said to him, but that's Christian. He's not very attuned to any positive feelings and emotions he may have. He dwells far too much on the negative. But then you've prob- ably worked that out for yourself. He doesn't think he's worthy."

I am reeling. Christian loves me? He hasn't said it, and this woman has told him that's how he feels? How bizarre.

A hundred images dance through my head: the iPad, the gliding, fying to see me, all his actions, his possessiveness, one hundred thousand dollars for a dance. Is this love?