"He wants to deliver your photos on Friday."

"A personal delivery. How accommodating of him," Christian mutters.

"He wants to go out. For a drink. With me."

"I see."

"And Kate and Elliot should be back," I add quickly.

Christian puts his fork down, frowning at me.

"What exactly are you asking?"

I bristle. "I'm not asking anything. I'm informing you of my plans for Friday. Look, I want to see Jose, and he wants to stay over. Either he stays here or he can stay at my place, but if he does I should be there, too."

Christian's eyes widen. He looks dumbfounded.

"He made a pa.s.s at you."

"Christian, that was weeks ago. He was drunk, I was drunk, you saved the day-it won't happen again. He's no Jack, for heaven's sake."

"Ethan's there. He can keep him company."

"He wants to see me, not Ethan."

Christian scowls at me."He's just a friend." My voice is emphatic.

"I don't like it."

So what? Jeez, he's irritating sometimes. I take a deep breath. "He's my friend, Chris- tian. I haven't seen him since his show. And that was too brief. I know you don't have any friends, apart from that G.o.d-awful woman, but I don't moan about you seeing her," I snap.

Christian blinks, shocked. "I want to see him. I've been a poor friend to him." My subcon- scious is alarmed. Are you stamping your little foot? Steady now!

Gray eyes blaze at me. "Is that what you think?" he breathes.

"Think about what?"

"Elena. You'd rather I didn't see her?"

Holy cow. "Exactly. I'd rather you didn't see her."

"Why didn't you say?"

"Because it's not my place to say. You think she's your only friend." I shrug in exas- peration. He really doesn't get it. How did this turn into a conversation about her? I don't even want to think about her. I try to steer us back to Jose. "Just as it's not your place to say if I can or can't see Jose. Don't you see that?"

Christian gazes at me, perplexed, I think. Oh, what is he thinking?

"He can stay here, I suppose," he mutters. "I can keep an eye on him." He sounds petulant.

Hallelujah!

"Thank you! You know, if I am going to live here, too ..." I trail off. Christian nods.

He knows what I'm trying to say. "It's not like you haven't got the s.p.a.ce." I smirk.

His lips quirk up slowly. "Are you smirking at me, Miss Steele?"

"Most defnitely, Mr. Grey." I get up just in case his palms start twitching, clear our plates, and then load them into the dishwasher.

"Gail will do that."

"I've done it now." I stand up and gaze at him. He's watching me intently.

"I have to work for a while," he says apologetically.

"Cool. I'll fnd something to do."

"Come here," he orders, but his voice is soft and seductive, his eyes heated. I don't hesitate to walk into his arms, clasping him around his neck as he perches on his bar stool.

He wraps his arms around me, crushes me to him, and just holds me.

"Are you okay?" he whispers into my hair.

"Okay?"

"After what happened with that f.u.c.ker? After what happened yesterday?" he adds, his voice quiet and earnest.

I gaze into dark, serious, gray eyes. Am I okay? "Yes," I whisper.

His arms tighten around me, and I feel safe, cherished, and loved all at once. It's bliss- ful. Closing my eyes, I enjoy the feel of being in his arms. I love this man. I love his intoxi- cating scent, his strength, his mercurial ways-my Fifty.

"Let's not fght," he murmurs. He kisses my hair and inhales deeply. "You smell heav- enly as usual, Ana."

"So do you," I whisper and kiss his neck.

All too soon he releases me. "I should only be a couple of hours."I wander listlessly through the apartment. Christian is still working. I have showered and dressed in some sweats and a T-shirt of my own, and I'm bored. I don't want to read. If I sit still, I'll recall Jack and his fngers on me.

I check out my old bedroom, the subs' room. Jose can sleep here-he'll like the view.

It's about eight ffteen, and the sun is beginning to sink into the west. The lights of the city twinkle below me. It's glorious. Yes, Jose will like it here. I wonder idly where Christian will hang Jose's pictures of me. I'd rather he didn't. I am not keen on looking at myself.

Back down the hallway I fnd myself outside the playroom, and without thinking, I try the door handle. Christian normally keeps it locked, but to my surprise, the door opens.

How strange. Feeling like a child playing hooky and straying into the forbidden forest, I walk in. It's dark. I fick the switch and the lights under the cornice light up with a soft glow. It's as I remember it. A womb-like room.

Memories of the last time I was in here fash through my mind. The belt ... I wince at the recollection. Now it hangs innocently, lined up with others, on the rack beside the door. Tentatively I run my fngers over the belts, the foggers, the paddles, and the whips.

Sheesh. This is what I need to square with Dr. Flynn. Can someone in this lifestyle just stop? It seems so improbable. Wandering over to the bed, I sit on soft red satin sheets, gaz- ing around at all the apparatus.

Beside me is the bench, above that the a.s.sortment of canes. So many! Surely one is enough? Well, the less said about that the better. And the large table. We never tried that, whatever he does on it. My eyes fall on the chesterfeld, and I move over to sit on it. It's just a couch, nothing extraordinary about it-nothing to fasten anything to, not that I can see. Glancing behind me, I spy the museum chest. My curiosity is piqued. What does he keep in there?

As I pull open the top drawer I realize my blood is pounding through my veins. Why am I so nervous? This feels so illicit, as if I'm trespa.s.sing, which of course I am. But if he wants to marry me, well ...

Holy f.u.c.k, what's all this? An array of instruments and bizarre implements-I don't have a clue what they are, or what they're for-are carefully laid out in the display drawer.

I pick one up. It's bullet-shaped with a sort of handle. Hmm ... what the h.e.l.l do you do with that? My mind boggles, though I think I have an idea. Jeez, there are four different sizes!

My scalp p.r.i.c.kles and I glance up.

Christian is standing in the doorway, staring at me, his face unreadable. How long has he been there? I feel like I've been caught with my hand in the cookie jar.

"Hi." I smile nervously at him, and I know my eyes are wide and that I'm deathly pale.

"What are you doing?" he says softly, but there's an undercurrent in his tone.

Oh s.h.i.t. Is he mad? I fush. "Er ... I was bored and curious," I mutter, embarra.s.sed to be found out. He said he'd be two hours.

"That's a very dangerous combination." He runs his long index fnger across his lower lip in quiet contemplation, not taking his eyes off me. I swallow and my mouth is dry.

Slowly, he enters the room and closes the door quietly behind him, his eyes liquid gray fre. Oh my. He leans casually over the chest of drawers, but I think his stance is deceptive.

My inner G.o.ddess doesn't know whether it's fght or fight time.

"So, what exactly are you curious about, Miss Steele? Perhaps I could enlighten you.""The door was open ... I-" I gaze at Christian as I hold my breath and blink, uncer- tain as ever of his reaction or what I should say. His eyes are dark. I think he's amused, but it's diffcult to tell. He places his elbows on the museum chest and rests his chin on his clasped hands.

"I was in here earlier today wondering what to do with it all. I must have forgotten to lock it." He scowls momentarily as if leaving the door unlocked is a terrible lapse in judg- ment. I frown-it's not like him to be forgetful.

"Oh?"

"But now here you are, curious as ever." His voice is soft, puzzled.

"You're not mad?" I whisper, using my remaining breath.

He c.o.c.ks his head to one side, and his lips twitch in amus.e.m.e.nt.

"Why would I be mad?"

"I feel like I'm trespa.s.sing . . . and you're always mad at me." My voice is quiet, though I'm relieved. Christian's brow creases once more.

"Yes, you're trespa.s.sing, but I'm not mad. I hope that one day you'll live with me here, and all this"-he gestures vaguely round the room with one hand-"will be yours, too."

My playroom ... eh? I gape at him-that's a lot to take in.

"That's why I was in here today. Trying to decide what to do." He taps his lips with his index fnger. "Am I angry with you all the time? I wasn't this morning."

Oh, that's true. I smile at the memory of Christian when we woke, and it distracts me from the thought of what will become of the playroom. He was such fun Fifty this morning.

"You were playful. I like playful Christian."

"Do you now?" He arches an eyebrow, and his beautiful mouth curves up in a smile, a shy smile. Wow!

"What's this?" I hold up the silver bullet thing.

"Always hungry for information, Miss Steele. That's a b.u.t.t plug," he says gently.

"Oh ..."

"Bought for you."

What? "For me?"

He nods slowly, his face now serious and wary.

I frown. "You buy new, er ... toys ... for each submissive?"

"Some things. Yes."

"b.u.t.t plugs?"

"Yes."

Okay ... I swallow. b.u.t.t plug. It's solid metal-surely that's uncomfortable? I remem- ber our discussion about s.e.x toys and hard limits after I graduated. I think at the time I said I would try. Now, actually seeing one, I don't know if it's something I want to do. I examine it once more and place it back in the drawer.

"And this?" I take out a long, black rubbery object, made of gradually diminishing spherical bubbles joined together, the frst one large and the last much smaller. Eight bub- bles in total.

"a.n.a.l beads," says Christian, watching me carefully.

Oh! I examine them with fascinated horror. All of these, inside me ... there! I had no idea."They have quite an effect if you pull them out mid-o.r.g.a.s.m," he adds matter-of-factly.

"This is for me?" I whisper.

"For you." He nods slowly.

"This is the b.u.t.t drawer?"

He smirks. "If you like."

I close it quickly, fushing like a stoplight.

"Don't you like the b.u.t.t drawer?" he asks innocently, amused. I gaze at him and shrug, trying to brazen out my shock.

"It's not top of my Christmas card list," I mutter nonchalantly. Tentatively, I open the second drawer. He grins.

"Next drawer down holds a selection of vibrators."

I shut the drawer quickly.

"And the next?" I whisper, ashen once more, but this time with embarra.s.sment.