The man is a marvel.
Her purse is on the sofa where I dropped it last night, and the door to the bedroom is closed, so I assume she’s not left and that she’s still asleep.
It’s a relief. Poring over the room-service menu, I decide to order some food. She’ll be hungry when she wakes, but I have no idea what she’ll eat, so in a rare moment of indulgence I order a selection from the breakfast menu. I’m informed it will take half an hour.
Time to wake the delectable Miss Steele; she’s slept enough.
Grabbing my workout towel and the shopping bag, I knock on the door and enter. To my delight, she’s sitting up in bed. The tablets are gone and so is the juice.
Good girl.
She pales as I saunter into the room.
Keep it casual, Grey. You don’t want to be charged with kidnapping.
She closes her eyes, and I assume it’s because she’s embarrassed.
“Good morning, Anastasia. How are you feeling?”
“Better than I deserve,” she mutters, as I place the bag on the chair. When she turns her gaze to me her eyes are impossibly big and blue, and though her hair is a tangled mess…she looks stunning.
“How did I get here?” she asks, as though she’s afraid of the answer.
Reassure her, Grey.
I sit down on the edge of the bed and stick to the facts. “After you passed out, I didn’t want to risk the leather upholstery in my car, taking you all the way to your apartment. So I brought you here.”
“Did you put me to bed?”
“Yes.”
“Did I throw up again?”
“No.” Thank God.
“Did you undress me?”
“Yes.” Who else would have undressed you?
She blushes, and at last she has some color in her cheeks. Perfect teeth bite down on her lip. I suppress a groan.
“We didn’t—?” she whispers, staring at her hands.
Christ, what kind of animal does she think I am?
“Anastasia, you were comatose. Necrophilia is not my thing.” My tone is dry. “I like my women sentient and receptive.” She sags with relief, which makes me wonder if this has happened to her before, that she’s passed out and woken up in a stranger’s bed and found out he’s fucked her without her consent. Maybe that’s the photographer’s modus operandi. The thought is disturbing. But I recall her confession last night—that she’d never been drunk before. Thank God she hasn’t made a habit of this.
“I’m so sorry,” she says, her voice full of shame.
Hell. Maybe I should go easy on her.
“It was a very diverting evening. Not one that I’ll forget in a while.” I hope that sounds conciliatory, but her brow creases.
“You didn’t have to track me down with whatever James Bond gadgetry you’re developing for the highest bidder.”
Whoa! Now she’s pissed. Why?
“First, the technology to track cell phones is available over the Internet.”
Well, the Deep Net…
“Second, my company does not invest or manufacture any kind of surveillance devices.”
My temper is fraying, but I’m on a roll. “And third, if I hadn’t come to get you, you’d probably be waking up in the photographer’s bed, and from what I can remember, you weren’t overly enthused about him pressing his suit.”
She blinks a couple of times, then starts giggling.
She’s laughing at me again.
“Which medieval chronicle did you escape from? You sound like a courtly knight.”
She’s beguiling. She’s calling me out…again, and her irreverence is refreshing, really refreshing. However, I’m under no illusion that I’m a knight in shining armor. Boy, has she got the wrong idea. And though it may not be to my advantage, I’m compelled to warn her that there’s nothing chivalrous or courtly about me. “Anastasia, I don’t think so. Dark knight, maybe.” If only she knew—and why are we discussing me? I change the subject. “Did you eat last night?”
She shakes her head.
I knew it!
“You need to eat. That’s why you were so ill. Honestly, it’s drinking rule number one.”
“Are you going to continue to scold me?”
“Is that what I’m doing?”
“I think so.”
“You’re lucky I’m just scolding you.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, if you were mine, you wouldn’t be able to sit down for a week after the stunt you pulled yesterday. You didn’t eat, you got drunk, you put yourself at risk.” The fear in my gut surprises me; such irresponsible, risk-taking behavior. “I hate to think what could have happened to you.”
She scowls. “I would have been fine. I was with Kate.”
Some help she was!
“And the photographer?” I retort.
“José just got out of line,” she says, dismissing my concern and tossing her tangled hair over her shoulder.
“Well, the next time he gets out of line, maybe someone should teach him some manners.”
“You’re quite the disciplinarian,” she snaps.
“Oh, Anastasia, you have no idea.”
An image of her shackled to my bench, peeled gingerroot inserted in her ass so she can’t clench her buttocks, comes to mind, followed by judicious use of a belt or strap. Yeah…That would teach her not to be so irresponsible. The thought is hugely appealing.
She’s staring at me wide-eyed and dazed, and it makes me uncomfortable. Can she read my mind? Or is she just looking at a pretty face.
“I’m going to have a shower. Unless you’d like to shower first?” I tell her, but she continues to gape. Even with her mouth open she’s quite lovely. She’s hard to resist, and I grant myself permission to touch her, tracing the line of her cheek with my thumb. Her breath catches in her throat as I stroke her soft bottom lip.
“Breathe, Anastasia,” I murmur, before I stand and inform her that breakfast will be here in fifteen minutes. She says nothing, her smart mouth silent for once.
In the bathroom I take a deep breath, strip, and climb into the shower. I’m half tempted to jerk off, but the familiar fear of discovery and disclosure, from an earlier time in my life, stops me.
Elena would not be pleased.
Old habits.
Her purse is on the sofa where I dropped it last night, and the door to the bedroom is closed, so I assume she’s not left and that she’s still asleep.
It’s a relief. Poring over the room-service menu, I decide to order some food. She’ll be hungry when she wakes, but I have no idea what she’ll eat, so in a rare moment of indulgence I order a selection from the breakfast menu. I’m informed it will take half an hour.
Time to wake the delectable Miss Steele; she’s slept enough.
Grabbing my workout towel and the shopping bag, I knock on the door and enter. To my delight, she’s sitting up in bed. The tablets are gone and so is the juice.
Good girl.
She pales as I saunter into the room.
Keep it casual, Grey. You don’t want to be charged with kidnapping.
She closes her eyes, and I assume it’s because she’s embarrassed.
“Good morning, Anastasia. How are you feeling?”
“Better than I deserve,” she mutters, as I place the bag on the chair. When she turns her gaze to me her eyes are impossibly big and blue, and though her hair is a tangled mess…she looks stunning.
“How did I get here?” she asks, as though she’s afraid of the answer.
Reassure her, Grey.
I sit down on the edge of the bed and stick to the facts. “After you passed out, I didn’t want to risk the leather upholstery in my car, taking you all the way to your apartment. So I brought you here.”
“Did you put me to bed?”
“Yes.”
“Did I throw up again?”
“No.” Thank God.
“Did you undress me?”
“Yes.” Who else would have undressed you?
She blushes, and at last she has some color in her cheeks. Perfect teeth bite down on her lip. I suppress a groan.
“We didn’t—?” she whispers, staring at her hands.
Christ, what kind of animal does she think I am?
“Anastasia, you were comatose. Necrophilia is not my thing.” My tone is dry. “I like my women sentient and receptive.” She sags with relief, which makes me wonder if this has happened to her before, that she’s passed out and woken up in a stranger’s bed and found out he’s fucked her without her consent. Maybe that’s the photographer’s modus operandi. The thought is disturbing. But I recall her confession last night—that she’d never been drunk before. Thank God she hasn’t made a habit of this.
“I’m so sorry,” she says, her voice full of shame.
Hell. Maybe I should go easy on her.
“It was a very diverting evening. Not one that I’ll forget in a while.” I hope that sounds conciliatory, but her brow creases.
“You didn’t have to track me down with whatever James Bond gadgetry you’re developing for the highest bidder.”
Whoa! Now she’s pissed. Why?
“First, the technology to track cell phones is available over the Internet.”
Well, the Deep Net…
“Second, my company does not invest or manufacture any kind of surveillance devices.”
My temper is fraying, but I’m on a roll. “And third, if I hadn’t come to get you, you’d probably be waking up in the photographer’s bed, and from what I can remember, you weren’t overly enthused about him pressing his suit.”
She blinks a couple of times, then starts giggling.
She’s laughing at me again.
“Which medieval chronicle did you escape from? You sound like a courtly knight.”
She’s beguiling. She’s calling me out…again, and her irreverence is refreshing, really refreshing. However, I’m under no illusion that I’m a knight in shining armor. Boy, has she got the wrong idea. And though it may not be to my advantage, I’m compelled to warn her that there’s nothing chivalrous or courtly about me. “Anastasia, I don’t think so. Dark knight, maybe.” If only she knew—and why are we discussing me? I change the subject. “Did you eat last night?”
She shakes her head.
I knew it!
“You need to eat. That’s why you were so ill. Honestly, it’s drinking rule number one.”
“Are you going to continue to scold me?”
“Is that what I’m doing?”
“I think so.”
“You’re lucky I’m just scolding you.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, if you were mine, you wouldn’t be able to sit down for a week after the stunt you pulled yesterday. You didn’t eat, you got drunk, you put yourself at risk.” The fear in my gut surprises me; such irresponsible, risk-taking behavior. “I hate to think what could have happened to you.”
She scowls. “I would have been fine. I was with Kate.”
Some help she was!
“And the photographer?” I retort.
“José just got out of line,” she says, dismissing my concern and tossing her tangled hair over her shoulder.
“Well, the next time he gets out of line, maybe someone should teach him some manners.”
“You’re quite the disciplinarian,” she snaps.
“Oh, Anastasia, you have no idea.”
An image of her shackled to my bench, peeled gingerroot inserted in her ass so she can’t clench her buttocks, comes to mind, followed by judicious use of a belt or strap. Yeah…That would teach her not to be so irresponsible. The thought is hugely appealing.
She’s staring at me wide-eyed and dazed, and it makes me uncomfortable. Can she read my mind? Or is she just looking at a pretty face.
“I’m going to have a shower. Unless you’d like to shower first?” I tell her, but she continues to gape. Even with her mouth open she’s quite lovely. She’s hard to resist, and I grant myself permission to touch her, tracing the line of her cheek with my thumb. Her breath catches in her throat as I stroke her soft bottom lip.
“Breathe, Anastasia,” I murmur, before I stand and inform her that breakfast will be here in fifteen minutes. She says nothing, her smart mouth silent for once.
In the bathroom I take a deep breath, strip, and climb into the shower. I’m half tempted to jerk off, but the familiar fear of discovery and disclosure, from an earlier time in my life, stops me.
Elena would not be pleased.
Old habits.
