"You don't seem to have many friends. Why is that?"

He shrugs and frowns. "I told you, I don't really have time. I have business a.s.soci- ates-though that's very different from friendships, I suppose. I have my family and that's it. Apart from Elena."

I ignore the mention of the b.i.t.c.h-troll. "No male friends your own age that you can go out with and let off steam?"

"You know how I like to let off steam, Anastasia." Christian's mouth twists. "And I've been working, building up the business." He looks puzzled. "That's all I do-except sail and fy occasionally."

"Not even in college?"

"Not really."

"Just Elena, then?"

He nods, his expression wary.

"Must be lonely."

His lips curl in a small wistful smile. "What would you like to eat?" he asks, changing the subject again.

"I'm going for the risotto."

"Good choice." Christian summons the waiter, putting an end to that conversation.

After we've placed our order, I shift uncomfortably in my seat, staring at my knotted fngers. If he's in a talking mood, I need to take advantage.

I have to talk to him about his expectations, about his, um ... needs."Anastasia, what's wrong? Tell me."

I glance up into his concerned face.

"Tell me," he says more forcefully, and his concern evolves into what? Fear? Anger?

I take a deep breath. "I'm just worried that this isn't enough for you. You know, to let off steam."

His jaw tenses and his eyes harden. "Have I given you any indication that this isn't enough?"

"No."

"Then why do you think that?"

"I know what you're like. What you ... um ... need," I stutter.

He closes his eyes and rubs his forehead with long fngers.

"What do I have to do?" His voice is ominously soft as if he's angry, and my heart sinks.

"No, you misunderstand-you have been amazing, and I know it's just been a few days, but I hope I'm not forcing you to be someone you're not."

"I'm still me, Anastasia-in all my ffty shades of f.u.c.kedupness. Yes, I have to fght the urge to be controlling ... but that's my nature, how I've dealt with my life. Yes, I expect you to behave a certain way, and when you don't it's both challenging and refreshing. We still do what I like to do. You let me spank you after your outrageous bid yesterday." He smiles fondly at the memory. "I enjoy punishing you. I don't think the urge will ever go ...

but I'm trying, and it's not as hard as I thought it would be."

I squirm and fush, remembering our illicit tryst in his childhood bedroom. "I didn't mind that," I whisper, smiling shyly.

"I know." His lips curl in a reluctant smile. "Neither did I. But let me tell you, Anasta- sia, this is all new to me and these last few days have been the best in my life. I don't want to change anything."

Oh!

"They've been the best in my life, too, without exception," I murmur and his smile broadens. My inner G.o.ddess nods frantically in agreement-and nudges me hard. Okay, okay.

"So you don't want to take me into your playroom?"

He swallows and pales, all trace of humor gone. "No, I don't."

"Why not?" I whisper. This is not the answer I expected.

And yes, there it is, that little pinch of disappointment. My inner G.o.ddess stomps off pouting, her arms crossed like an angry toddler.

"The last time we were in there you left me," he says quietly. "I will shy away from anything that could make you leave me again. I was devastated when you left. I explained that. I never want to feel like that again. I've told you how I feel about you." His gray eyes are wide and intense with his sincerity.

"But it hardly seems fair. It can't be very relaxing for you-to be constantly concerned about how I feel. You've made all these changes for me, and I ... I think I should recipro- cate in some way. I don't know-maybe ... try ... some role-playing games," I stutter, my face as crimson as the walls of the playroom. Why is this so hard to talk about? I have done all manner of kinky f.u.c.kery with this man, things I hadn't even heard of a few weeks ago, things that I would never have thought possible, yet the hardest of all is talking to him.

"Ana, you do reciprocate, more than you know. Please, please don't feel like this."

Gone is carefree Christian. His eyes are wider now with alarm, and it's gut-wrenching.

"Baby, it's only been one weekend," he continues. "Give us some time. I thought a great deal about us last week when you left. We need time. You need to trust me, and I you.

Maybe in time we can indulge, but I like how you are now. I like seeing you this happy, this relaxed and carefree, knowing that I had something to do with it. I have never-" He stops and runs his hand through his hair. "We have to walk before we can run." Suddenly he smirks.

"What's so funny?"

"Flynn. He says that all the time. I never thought I'd be quoting him."

"A Flynnism."

Christian laughs. "Exactly."

The waiter arrives with our starters and bruschetta, and our conversation changes tack as Christian relaxes.

But when the unfeasibly large plates are placed before us, I can't help think how I have thought of Christian today-relaxed, happy and carefree. At least he's laughing now, at ease again.

I breathe an inward sigh of relief as he starts quizzing me about places I've been. This is a short discussion, since I have never been anywhere except the continental US. Chris- tian, on the other hand, has traveled the world. We slip into an easier, happier conversation, talking about all the places he's visited.

After our tasty and flling meal, Christian drives back to Escala, Eva Ca.s.sidy's gentle sweet voice singing over the speakers. It allows me a peaceful interlude in which to think. I have had a mind-blowing day. Dr. Greene, our shower, Christian's admission, making love at the hotel and on the boat, buying the car. Even Christian himself has been so different. It's as if he's letting go of something or rediscovering something-I don't know.

Who knew he could be so sweet? Did he?

When I glance at him, he, too, looks lost in thought. It strikes me then that he never really had an adolescence-a normal one anyway. I shake my head.

My mind drifts back to the ball and dancing with Dr. Flynn and Christian's fear that Flynn had told me all about him. Christian is still hiding something from me. How can we move on if he feels that way?

He thinks I might leave if I know him. He thinks that I might leave if he's himself. Oh, this man is so complicated.

As we get closer to his home, he starts radiating tension until it becomes palpable. As we drive, he scans the sidewalks and side alleys, his eyes darting everywhere, and I know he's looking for Leila. I start looking, too. Every young brunette is a suspect, but we don't see her. When he pulls into the garage, his mouth is set in a tense, grim line. I wonder why we've come back here if he's going to be so wary and uptight. Sawyer is in the garage, patrolling. The defled Audi is gone. He comes to open my door as Christian pulls in beside the SUV.

"h.e.l.lo, Sawyer," I murmur my greeting.

"Miss Steele." He nods. "Mr. Grey."

"No sign?" Christian asks.

"No, sir."

Christian nods, grasps my hand, and heads for the elevator. I know his brain is working overtime-he's distracted. Once we're inside he turns to me.

"You are not allowed out of here alone. You understand?" he snaps.

"Okay." Jeez-keep your hair on. But his att.i.tude makes me smile. I want to hug my- self-now this man, all domineering and short with me I know. I marvel that I would have found it so threatening only a week or so ago when he spoke to me this way. But now, I understand him so much better. This is his coping mechanism. He's stressed about Leila, he loves me, and he wants to protect me.

"What's so funny?" he murmurs, a hint of amus.e.m.e.nt in his expression.

"You are."

"Me? Miss Steele? Why am I funny?" he pouts.

Christian pouting is ... hot.

"Don't pout."

"Why?" He's even more amused.

"Because it has the same effect on me as I have on you when I do this." I bite my lip deliberately.

He raises his eyebrows, surprised and pleased at the same time. "Really?" He pouts again and leans down to give me a swift chaste kiss.

I raise my lips to meet his, and in the nanosecond when our lips touch, the nature of the kiss changes-wildfre spreading through my veins from this intimate point of contact, driving me to him.

Suddenly, my fngers are curling in his hair as he grabs me and pushes me against the elevator wall, his hands framing my face, holding me to his lips as our tongues thrash against each other. And I don't know if it's the confnes of the elevator making everything much more real, but I feel his need, his anxiety, his pa.s.sion.

Holy s.h.i.t. I want him, here, now.

The elevator pings to a halt, the doors slide open, and Christian drags his face from mine, his hips still pinning me to the wall, his erection digging into me.

"Whoa," he murmurs panting.

"Whoa," I mirror him, dragging a welcome breath into my lungs.

He gazes at me, eyes blazing. "What you do to me, Ana." He traces my lower lip with his thumb.

Out of the corner of my eye, Taylor steps backward so he's no longer in my line of sight. I reach up and kiss Christian at the corner of his beautifully sculptured mouth.

"What you do to me, Christian."

He steps back and takes my hand, his eyes darker now, hooded. "Come," he orders.Taylor is still in the foyer, waiting discreetly for us.

"Good evening, Taylor," Christian says cordially.

"Mr. Grey, Miss Steele."

"I was Mrs. Taylor yesterday." I grin at Taylor, who fushes.

"That has a nice ring to it, Miss Steele," Taylor says matter-of-factly.

"I thought so, too."

Christian tightens his hold on my hand, scowling. "If you two have quite fnished, I'd like a debrief." He glares at Taylor, who now looks uncomfortable, and I cringe inwardly.

I have overstepped the mark.

"Sorry," I mouth at Taylor, who shrugs and smiles kindly before I turn to follow Chris- tian.

"I'll be with you shortly. I just want a word with Miss Steele," Christian says to Taylor, and I know I'm in trouble.

Christian leads me into his bedroom and closes the door.

"Don't firt with the staff, Anastasia," he scolds.

I open my mouth to defend myself-then close it again, then open it. "I wasn't firting.

I was being friendly-there is a difference."

"Don't be friendly with the staff or firt with them. I don't like it."

Oh. Good-bye, carefree Christian. "I'm sorry," I mutter and stare down at my fngers.

He hasn't made me feel like a child all day. Reaching down he cups my chin, pulling my head up to meet his eyes.

"You know how jealous I am," he whispers.

"You have no reason to be jealous, Christian. You own me body and soul."

He blinks as if he's fnding this fact hard to process. He leans down and kisses me quickly, but with none of the pa.s.sion we experienced a moment ago in the elevator.

"I won't be long. Make yourself at home," he says sulkily and turns, leaving me stand- ing in his bedroom, dazed and confused.

Why on earth would he be jealous of Taylor? I shake my head in disbelief.

Glancing at the alarm clock, I notice it's just after eight. I decide to get my clothes ready for work tomorrow. I head upstairs to my room and open the walk-in closet. It's empty. All the clothes have gone. Oh no! Christian has taken me at my word and disposed of the clothes. s.h.i.t.