“Can I stay?” he asks.
“What do you mean?”
“The night.”
“I assumed that you were.” I flush.
“I assumed that you were.” I flush.
“Good. Where’s the ice cream?”
“In the oven.” I smile sweetly at him.
He cocks his head to one side, sighs, and shakes his
head at me. “Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, Miss
Steele.” His eyes glitter.
Oh shit. What’s he planning?
“I could still take you across my knee.”
I place the bowls in the sink. “Do you ha一ve those silver
ball things?”
He pats his hands down his chest, belly, and the
pockets of his jeans. “Funnily enough, I don’t carry a
spare set around with me. Not much call for them in the
office.”
“I am very glad to hear it, Mr. Grey, and I thought you
said that sarcasm was the lowest form of wit.”
“Well, Anastasia, my new motto is if you can’t beat
‘em, join ‘em.”
I gape at him—I can’t believe he’s just said that —
and he looks sickeningly pleased with himself as he grins at
and he looks sickeningly pleased with himself as he grins at
me. Turning, he opens the freezer and takes out the carton
of Ben & Jerry’s finest vanilla.
“This will do just fine.” He looks up at me, eyes dark.
“Ben & Jerry’s & Ana.” He says each word slowly,
enunciating every syllable clearly.
Oh fucking my. I think my lower jaw is on the floor.
He opens the cutlery drawer and grabs a spoon. When he
looks up, his are eyes hooded, and his tongue skims his
top teeth. Oh, that tongue.
I feel winded. Desire, dark, sleek, and wanton runs hot
through my veins. We’re going to ha一ve fun, with food.
“I hope you’re warm,” he whispers. “I’m going to cool
you down with this. Come.” He holds out his hand, and I
place mine in his.
In my bedroom he places the ice cream on my bedside
table, pulls the duvet off the bed, and removes both the
pillows, placing them all in a pile on the floor.
“You ha一ve a change of sheets, don’t you?”
I nod, watching him, fascinated. He holds up Charlie
Tango.
“Don’t mess with my balloon,” I warn.
His lips quirk upward in half a smile. “Wouldn’
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