is on purpose. He wants me to be embarrassed and ask for my panties back, and he’ll either say yes or no. My inner goddess grins at me. Hell… two can play that particular game. Resolving there and then not to ask him for them and not give him that satisfaction, I shall go meet his parents sans culottes. Anastasia Steele! My subconscious chides me, but I don’t want to listen to her – I almost hug myself with glee because I know this will drive him crazy.
Back in the bedroom, I put on my bra, slip into my dress, and climb into my shoes. I remove the braid and hastily brush out my hair, I then glance down at the drink he’s left. It’s pale pink. What’s this? Cranberry and sparkling water. Hmm… it tastes delicious and quenches my thirst.
Dashing back into the bathroom, I check myself in the mirror: eyes bright, cheeks slightly flushed, slightly smug look because of my panty plan, and I head downstairs. Fifteen minutes. Not bad, Ana.
Christian is standing by the panoramic window, wearing the grey flannel pants that I love, the ones that hang in that unbelievably sexy way off his hips, and of course, a white linen shirt. Doesn’t he ha一ve any other colors? Frank Sinatra sings softly over the surround sound speakers.
Christian turns and smiles as I enter. He looks at me expectantly.
“Hi,” I say softly, and my sphinx-like smile meets his.
“Hi,” he says. “How are you feeling?” His eyes are alight with amusement.
“Good, thanks. You?”
“I feel mighty fine, Miss Steele.”
He is so waiting for me to say something.
“Frank. I never figured you for a Sinatra fan.”
He raises his eyebrows at me, his look speculative.
“Eclectic taste, Miss Steele,” he murmurs, and he paces toward me like a panther until he’s standing in front of me, his gaze so intense it takes my breath away.
Frank starts crooning… an old song, one of Ray’s fa一vorites. ‘Witchcraft.’ Christian leisurely traces his fingertips down my cheek, and I feel it all the way down there.
“Dance with me,” he murmurs, his voice husky.
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