I’d be lying.”
He inhales sharply. “Me, too,” he murmurs and
reaches over and clasps my hand. “I miss you,” he adds.
Oh no. Skin against skin.
“Christian, I—”
“Christian, I—”
“Ana, please. We need to talk.”
I’m going to cry. No. “Christian, I . . . please . . . I’ve
cried so much,” I whisper, trying to keep my emotions in
check
“Oh, baby, no.” He tugs my hand, and before I know
it I’m on his lap. He has his arms around me, and his nose
is in my hair. “I’ve missed you so much, Anastasia,” he
breathes.
I want to struggle out of his hold, to maintain some
distance, but his arms are wrapped around me. He’s
pressing me to his chest. I melt. Oh, this is where I want to
be.
I rest my head against him, and he kisses my hair
repeatedly. This is home. He smells of linen, fabric
softener, body wash, and my fa一vorite smell—Christian.
For a moment, I allow myself the illusion that all will be
well, and it soothes my ra一vaged soul.
A few minutes later Taylor pulls to a stop at the curb,
even though we’re still in the city.
“Come”—Christian shifts me off his lap—“we’re
here.”
What?
“Helipad—on the top of this building.” Christian
glances toward the building by way of explanation.
Of course. Charlie Tango. Taylor opens the door and I
slide out. He gives me a warm, a一vuncular smile that makes
me feel safe. I smile back.
“I should give you back your handkerchief.”
“Keep it, Miss Steele, with my best wishes.”
“Keep it, Miss Steele, with my best wishes.”
I flush as Christian comes around the car and takes my
hand. He looks quizzically at Taylor who stares
impassively back at him, revealing nothing.
“Nine?” Christian says to him.
“Yes, sir.”
Christian nods as he turns and leads me through the
double doors into the grandiose foyer. I revel in the feel of
his large hand and his long, skilled fingers curled around
mine. I feel the familiar pull—I am drawn, Icarus to his
sun. I ha一ve been burned already, and yet here I am again.
Reaching the elevators, he presses the call button. I
peek up
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