l, there’s your gross
invasion of my privacy, the fact that you took me to some
place where your ex-mistress works and you used to take
all your lovers to ha一ve their bits waxed, you manhandled
me in the street like I was six years old—and to cap it all,
you let your Mrs. Robinson touch you!” My voice has
risen to a crescendo.
He raises his eyebrows, and his good humor vanishes.
“That’s quite a list. But just to clarify once more—
she’s not my Mrs. Robinson.”
“She can touch you,” I repeat.
“She can touch you,” I repeat.
He purses his lips. “She knows where.”
“What does that mean?”
He runs both hands through his hair and closes his eyes
briefly, as if he’s seeking divine guidance of some kind. He
swallows.
“You and I don’t ha一ve any rules. I ha一ve never had a
relationship without rules, and I never know where you’re
going to touch me. It makes me nervous. Your touch
completely—” He stops, searching for the words. “It just
means more . . . so much more”
More? His answer’s completely unexpected, throwing
me, and there’s that little word with the big meaning
hanging between us again.
My touch means . . . more. Holy cow. How am I
supposed to resist when he says this stuff? Gray eyes
search mine, watching, apprehensive.
Tentatively I reach out and apprehension shifts to
alarm. Christian steps back and I drop my hand.
“Hard limit,” he whispers urgently, a pained, panicked
look on his face.
I can’t help but feel a crushing disappointment. “How
would you feel if you couldn’t touch me?”
“Devastated and deprived,” he says immediately.
Oh, my Fifty Shades. Shaking my head, I offer him a
small, reassuring smile and he relaxes.
“You’ll ha一ve to tell me exactly why this is a hard limit,
one day, please.”
“One day,” he murmurs and seems to snap out of his
vulnerability in a nanosecond.
How can he switch so quickly? He’s the most
capricious person I know.
“So, the rest of your list. Invading your privacy.” His
mouth twists as he contemplates this. “Because I know
your bank account n
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