"Anytime," Christian smiles.

Jose hugs me quickly. "Stay safe, Ana."

"Sure. Great to see you. Next time we'll have a proper evening out."

"I'll hold you to that." He waves at us from inside the elevator, and then he's gone.

"See, he's not so bad."

"He still wants into your panties, Ana. But can't say I blame him."

"Christian, that's not true!"

"You have no idea, do you?" He smirks down at me. "He wants you. Big time. "

I frown. "Christian, he's just a friend, a good friend." And I'm suddenly aware that I sound like Christian when he's talking about Mrs. Robinson. The thought is unsettling.

Christian holds up his hands in a placating gesture.

"I don't want to fght," he says softly.

Oh! We're not fghting ... are we? "Me neither.""You didn't tell him we were getting married."

"No. I fgured I ought to tell Mom and Ray frst." s.h.i.t. It's the frst time I've thought about this since I said yes. Jeez-what are my parents going to say?

Christian nods. "Yes, you're right. And I ... um, I should ask your father."

I laugh. "Oh, Christian-this isn't the eighteenth century."

Holy s.h.i.t. What will Ray say? The thought of that conversation flls me with horror.

"It's traditional." Christian shrugs.

"Let's talk about that later. I want to give you your other present." My aim is to distract him. The thought of my present is burning a hole in my consciousness. I need to give it to him and see how he reacts.

He gives me his shy smile, and my heart skips a beat. For as long as I live, I'll never tire of looking at that smile.

"You're biting your lip," he says and pulls on my chin.

A thrill runs through my body as his fngers touch me. Without a word, and while I still have a modic.u.m of courage, I take his hand and lead him back to the bedroom. I drop his hand, leaving him standing by the bed, and from under my side of the bed, I take out the two remaining gift boxes.

"Two?" he says, surprised.

I take a deep breath. "I bought this before the, um ... incident yesterday. I'm not sure about it now." I quickly hand him one of the parcels before I can change my mind. He gazes at me, puzzled, sensing my uncertainty.

"Sure you want me to open it?"

I nod, anxious.

Christian tears off the packaging and gazes in surprise at the box.

"Charlie Tango," I whisper.

He grins. The box contains a small wooden helicopter with a large, solar-powered rotor blade. He opens it up.

"Solar powered," he murmurs. "Wow." And before I know it he's sitting on the bed a.s.sembling it. It snaps together quickly, and Christian holds it up in the palm of his hand.

A blue wooden helicopter. He looks up at me and gives me his glorious, all-American-boy smile, then heads to the window so that the little helicopter is bathed in sunlight and the rotor starts to spin.

"Look at that," he breathes, examining it closely. "What we can already do with this technology." He holds it at eye level, watching the blades spin. He's fascinated and fasci- nating to watch as he loses himself in thought, staring at the little helicopter. What is he thinking?

"You like it?"

"Ana, I love it. Thank you." He grabs me and kisses me swiftly, then turns back to watch the rotor spin. "I'll add it to the glider in my offce," he says distractedly, watching the blade spin. He moves his hand out of the sunlight, and the blade slows down and comes to a stop.

I can't help my face-splitting grin, and I want to hug myself. He loves it. Of course, he's all about alternative technologies. I'd forgotten that in my haste to buy it. Placing it on the chest of drawers, he turns to face me."It'll keep me company while we salvage Charlie Tango."

"Is it salvageable?"

"I don't know. I hope so. I'll miss her, otherwise."

Her? I am shocked at myself for the small pang of jealousy I feel for an inanimate object. My subconscious snorts with derisory laughter. I ignore her.

"What's in the other box?" he asks, his eyes wide with almost childish excitement.

Holy f.u.c.k. "I'm not sure if this present is for you or me."

"Really?" he asks, and I know I have piqued his interest. Nervously I hand him the second box. He shakes it gently and we both hear a heavy rattle. He glances up at me.

"Why are you so nervous?" he asks, bemused. I shrug, embarra.s.sed and excited as I fush. He raises an eyebrow at me.

"You have me intrigued, Miss Steele," he whispers, and his voice runs right through me, desire and antic.i.p.ation sp.a.w.ning in my belly. "I have to say I'm enjoying your reac- tion. What have you been up to?" He narrows his eyes speculatively.

I remain tight-lipped as I hold my breath.

He removes the lid of the box and takes out a small card. The rest of the contents are wrapped in tissue. He opens the card, and his eyes dart quickly to mine-widening with shock or surprise. I just don't know.

"Do rude things to you?" he murmurs. I nod and swallow. He c.o.c.ks his head to one side warily, a.s.sessing my reaction, and frowns. Then turns his attention back to the box. He tears through the pale-blue tissue paper and fshes out an eye mask, some nipple clamps, a b.u.t.t plug, his iPod, his silver-gray tie-and last but by no means least-the key to his playroom.

He gazes at me, his expression dark, unreadable. Oh s.h.i.t. Is this a bad move?

"You want to play?" he asks softly.

"Yes," I breathe.

"For my birthday?"

"Yes." Could my voice sound any smaller?

A myriad of emotions cross his face, none of which I can place, but he settles for anx- ious. Hmm ... Not quite the reaction I was expecting.

"You're sure?" he asks.

"Not the whips and stuff."

"I understand that."

"Yes, then. I'm sure."

He shakes his head and gazes down at the contents of the box. "s.e.x mad and insatiable.

Well, I think we can do something with this lot," he murmurs almost to himself, then puts the contents back in the box. When he glances at me again, his expression has completely changed. Holy cow, his gray eyes burn, and his mouth lifts in a slow erotic smile. He holds out his hand.

"Now," he says, and it's not a request. My belly clenches, tight and hard, deep, deep down.

I put my hand in his."Come," he orders, and I follow him out of the bedroom, my heart in my mouth. Desire races slick and hot through my blood as my insides tighten with hungry antic.i.p.ation. My inner G.o.ddess somersaults round her chaise longue. Finally!

CHAPTER 21.

Christian pauses outside the playroom.

"You're sure about this?" he asks, his gaze heated yet anxious.

"Yes," I murmur, smiling shyly at him.

His eyes soften. "Anything you don't want to do?"

I'm derailed by his unexpected question, and my mind goes into overdrive. One thought occurs. "I don't want you to take photos of me."

He stills, and his expression hardens as he c.o.c.ks his head to one side and eyes me speculatively.

Oh s.h.i.t. I think he's going to ask me why, but fortunately he doesn't.

"Okay," he murmurs. His brow furrows as he unlocks the door, then stands aside to usher me into the room. I feel his eyes on me as he follows me inside and closes the door.

Placing the gift box on the chest of drawers, he takes out the iPod, switches it on, then waves at the music center on the wall so that the smoked gla.s.s doors glide silently open.

He presses some b.u.t.tons, and after a moment, the sound of a subway train echoes round the room. He turns it down so that the slow, hypnotic electronic beat that follows becomes ambient. A woman starts to sing, I don't know who she is but her voice is soft yet rasping and the beat is measured, deliberate ... erotic. Oh my. It's music to make love to.Christian turns to face me as I stand in the middle of the room, my heart pounding, my blood singing in my veins, pulsing-or so it feels-in time to the music's seductive beat.

He saunters casually over to me and tugs on my chin so I'm no longer biting my lip.

"What do you want to do, Anastasia?" he murmurs, planting a soft chaste kiss at the corner of my mouth, his fngers still grasping my chin.

"It's your birthday. Whatever you want," I whisper. He traces his thumb along my lower lip, his brow creased once more.

"Are we in here because you think I want to be in here?" His words are softly spoken, but he regards me intently.

"No," I whisper. "I want to be in here, too."

His gaze darkens, growing bolder as he a.s.sesses my response. After what seems an eternity, he speaks.

"Oh, there are so many possibilities, Miss Steele." His voice is low, excited. "But let's start with getting you naked." He pulls the sash of my robe so that it falls open, revealing my silk nightdress, then steps back and sits nonchalantly down on the arm of the chester- feld couch.

"Take your clothes off. Slowly." He gives me a sensual, challenging look.

I swallow compulsively, pressing my thighs together. I'm already damp between my legs. My inner G.o.ddess is stripped naked and standing in line, ready and waiting and beg- ging me to play catch-up. I pull the robe away from my shoulders, my eyes never leaving his, and shrug, letting it fall billowing to the foor. His mesmerizing gray eyes heat, and he runs his index fnger over his lips as he gazes at me.

Slipping the spaghetti straps of my gown off my shoulders, I gaze at him for a beat, then release them. My nightdress skims and ripples softly down my body, pooling at my feet. I am naked and practically panting and oh-so-ready.

Christian pauses for a moment, and I marvel at the frankly carnal appreciation in his expression. Standing up, he makes his way over to the chest and picks up his silver-gray tie-my favorite tie. He pulls it through his fngers as he turns and strolls casually toward me, a smile playing on his lips. When he stands in front of me, I expect him to ask for my hands, but he doesn't.

"I think you're underdressed, Miss Steele," he murmurs. He places the tie around my neck, and slowly but dexterously ties it in what I a.s.sume is a fne Windsor knot. As he tightens the knot, his fngers brush the base of my throat and electricity shoots through me, making me gasp. He leaves the wide end of the tie long, long enough so the tip skims my pubic hair.

"You look mighty fne now, Miss Steele," he says and bends to kiss me gently on my lips. It's a swift kiss, and I want more, desire spiraling wantonly through my body.

"What shall we do with you now?" he says, and then picking up the tie, he yanks sharply so that I'm forced forward into his arms. His hands dive into my hair and pull my head back, and he really kisses me, hard, his tongue unforgiving and merciless. One of his hands roams freely down my back to cup my behind. When he pulls away, he's panting too and gazing down at me, his eyes molten gray; and I'm left wanting, gasping for breath, my wits thoroughly scattered. I'm sure my lips will be swollen after his sensual a.s.sault."Turn around," he orders gently and I obey. Pulling my hair free of the tie, he quickly braids and secures it. He tugs the braid so my head tilts up.

"You have beautiful hair, Anastasia," he murmurs and kisses my throat, sending shiv- ers running up and down my spine. "You just have to say stop. You know that, don't you?"

he whispers against my throat.

I nod, my eyes closed, and relish his lips on me. He turns me round once more and picks up the end of the tie.

"Come," he says, tugging gently, leading me over to the chest where the rest of the box's contents are on display.

"Anastasia, these objects." He holds up the b.u.t.t plug. "This is a size too big. As an a.n.a.l virgin, you don't want to start with this. We want to start with this." He holds up his pinky fnger, and I gasp, shocked. Fingers ... there? He smirks at me, and the unpleasant thought of the a.n.a.l fsting mentioned in the contract comes to mind.

"Just fnger-singular," he says softly with that uncanny ability he has to read my mind. My eyes dart to his. How does he do that?

"These clamps are vicious." He prods the nipple clamps. "We'll use these." He places a different pair of clamps on the chest. They look like giant black hairpins, but with little jet jewels hanging down. "They're adjustable," Christian murmurs, his voice laced with gentle concern.

I blink up at him, wide-eyed. Christian, my s.e.xual mentor. He knows so much more about all this than I do. I'll never catch up. I frown. He knows more than me about most things ... except cooking.

"Clear?" he asks.

"Yes," I whisper, my mouth dry. "Are you going to tell me what you intend to do?"

"No. I'm making this up as I go along. This isn't a scene, Ana."