"No, Christian, I'm not."

"You're upset because of what happened last time. I behaved stupidly, and you ... So did you. Why didn't you safe word, Anastasia?" His tone changes, becoming accusatory.What? Whoa-change of direction. I fush, blinking at him.

"Answer me."

"I don't know. I was overwhelmed. I was trying to be what you wanted me to be, try- ing to deal with the pain, and it went out of my mind. You know ... I forgot," I whisper ashamed, and I shrug apologetically.

Jeez, perhaps we could have avoided all this heartache.

"You forgot!" he gasps with horror, grabbing the sides of the table and glaring at me.

I wither under his stare.

s.h.i.t! He's furious again. My inner G.o.ddess glares at me, too. See, you brought all this on yourself!

"How can I trust you?" he says, his voice low. "Ever?"

The waiter arrives with our wine as we sit staring at each other, blue eyes to gray. Both of us flled with unspoken recriminations, while the waiter removes the cork with an un- necessary fourish and pours a little wine into Christian's gla.s.s. Automatically Christian reaches out and takes a sip.

"That's fne." His voice is curt.

Gingerly the waiter flls our gla.s.ses, placing the bottle on the table before beating a hasty retreat. Christian has not taken his eyes off me the whole time. I am the frst to crack, breaking eye contact, picking up my gla.s.s and taking a large gulp. I barely taste it.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, suddenly feeling stupid. I left because I thought we were incom- patible, but he's saying I could have stopped him?

"Sorry for what?" he says alarmed.

"Not using the safe word."

He closes his eyes, as if in relief.

"We might have avoided all this suffering," he mutters.

"You look fne." More than fne. You look like you.

"Appearances can be deceptive," he says quietly. "I'm anything but fne. I feel like the sun has set and not risen for fve days, Ana. I'm in perpetual night here."

I'm winded by his admission. Oh my, like me.

"You said you'd never leave, yet the going gets tough and you're out the door."

"When did I say I'd never leave?"

"In your sleep. It was the most comforting thing I'd heard in so long, Anastasia. It made me relax."

My heart constricts and I reach for my wine.

"You said you loved me," he whispers. "Is that now in the past tense?" His voice is low, laced with anxiety.

"No, Christian, it's not."

He gazes at me, and he looks so vulnerable as he exhales. "Good," he murmurs.

I'm shocked by his admission. He's had a change of heart. When I told him I loved him before, he was horrifed. The waiter is back. Briskly he places our plates in front of us and scuttles away.

Holy h.e.l.l. Food.

"Eat," Christian commands.Deep down I know I'm hungry, but right now, my stomach is in knots. Sitting across from the only man I have ever loved and debating our uncertain future does not promote a healthy appet.i.te. I look dubiously at my food.

"So help me G.o.d, Anastasia, if you don't eat, I will take you across my knee here in this restaurant, and it will have nothing to do with my s.e.xual gratifcation. Eat!"

Jeez, keep your hair on, Grey. My subconscious stares at me over her half-moon specs.

She is wholeheartedly in agreement with Fifty Shades.

"Okay, I'll eat. Stow your twitching palm, please."

He doesn't smile but continues to glare at me. Reluctantly I lift my knife and fork and slice into my steak. Oh, it's mouthwateringly good. I am hungry, really hungry. I chew and he visibly relaxes.

We eat our supper in silence. The music's changed. A soft-voiced woman sings in the background, her words echoing my thoughts.

I glance at Fifty. He's eating and watching me. Hunger, longing, anxiety combined in one hot look.

"Do you know who's singing?" I try for some normal conversation.

Christian pauses and listens. "No ... but she's good, whoever she is."

"I like her, too."

Finally he smiles his private enigmatic smile. What's he planning?

"What?" I ask.

He shakes his head. "Eat up," he says mildly.

I have eaten half the food on my plate. I cannot eat any more. How can I negotiate this?

"I can't manage any more. Have I eaten enough for Sir?"

He stares at me impa.s.sively, not answering, then glances at his watch.

"I am really full," I add, taking a sip of the delicious wine.

"We have to go shortly. Taylor's here, and you have to be up for work in the morning."

"So do you."

"I function on a lot less sleep than you do, Anastasia. At least you've eaten something."

"Aren't we going back via Charlie Tango?"

"No, I thought I might have a drink. Taylor will collect us. Besides, this way I have you in the car all to myself for a few hours, at least. What can we do but talk?"

Oh, that's his plan.

Christian summons the waiter to ask for the check, then picks up his Blackberry and makes a call.

"We're at Le Picotin, South West Third Avenue." He hangs up.

Jeez, he's curt over the phone.

"You're very brusque with Taylor, in fact, with most people."

"I just get to the point quickly, Anastasia."

"You haven't gotten to the point this evening. Nothing's changed, Christian."

"I have a proposition for you."

"This started with a proposition."

"A different proposition."The waiter returns, and Christian hands over his credit card without checking the bill.

He gazes at me speculatively while the waiter swipes his card. Christian's phone buzzes once, and he peers at it.

He has a proposition? What now? A couple of scenarios run through my mind: kidnap, working for him. No, nothing makes sense. Christian fnishes paying.

"Come. Taylor's outside."

We stand and he takes my hand.

"I don't want to lose you, Anastasia." He kisses my knuckles tenderly, and the touch of his lips on my skin resonates throughout my body.

Outside the Audi is waiting. Christian opens my door. Climbing in, I sink into the plush leather. He heads to the driver's side, Taylor steps out of the car and they talk briefy.

This isn't their usual protocol. I'm curious. What are they talking about? Moments later, they both climb in, and I glance at Christian who's wearing his impa.s.sive face as he stares ahead.

I allow myself a brief moment to examine his G.o.dlike profle: straight nose, sculptured full lips, hair falling deliciously over his forehead. This divine man is surely not meant for me.

Soft music suddenly flls the rear of the car, an orchestral piece that I don't know, and Taylor pulls into the light traffc, heading for the I-5 and Seattle.

Christian shifts to face me. "As I was saying, Anastasia, I have a proposition for you."

I glance nervously at Taylor.

"Taylor can't hear you," Christian rea.s.sures me.

"How?"

"Taylor," Christian calls. Taylor doesn't respond. He calls again, still no response.

Christian leans over and taps his shoulder. Taylor removes an ear bud I hadn't noticed.

"Yes, sir?"

"Thank you, Taylor. It's okay; resume your listening."

"Sir."

"Happy now? He's listening to his iPod. Puccini. Forget he's here. I do."

"Did you deliberately ask him to do that?"

"Yes."

Oh. "Okay, your proposition?"

Christian looks suddenly determined and businesslike. Holy s.h.i.t. We're negotiating a deal. I listen attentively.

"Let me ask you something frst. Do you want a regular vanilla relationship with no kinky f.u.c.kery at all?"

My mouth drops open. "Kinky f.u.c.kery?" I squeak.

"Kinky f.u.c.kery."

"I can't believe you said that." I glance nervously at Taylor.

"Well, I did. Answer me," he says calmly.

I fush. My inner G.o.ddess is down on bended knee with her hands clasped in supplica- tion begging me.

"I like your kinky f.u.c.kery," I whisper.

"That's what I thought. So what don't you like?"Not being able to touch you. You enjoying my pain, the bite of the belt ...

"The threat of cruel and unusual punishment."

"What does that mean?"

"Well, you have all those canes and whips and stuff in your playroom, and they fright- en the living daylights out of me. I don't want you to use them on me."

"Okay, so no whips or canes-or belts, for that matter," he says sardonically.

I gaze at him puzzled. "Are you attempting to redefne the hard limits?"

"Not as such, I'm just trying to understand you, get a clearer picture of what you do and don't like."

"Fundamentally, Christian, it's your joy in inficting pain on me that's diffcult for me to handle. And the idea that you'll do it because I have crossed some arbitrary line."