going to touch you until you say yes,” he says
softly. “But right now, after a really shitty morning, I want
to bury myself in you and just forget everything but us.”
Oh my . . . Us. A magical combination, a small potent
pronoun that clinches the deal. I raise my head to stare at
his beautiful yet serious face.
“I’m going to touch your face,” I breathe, and see his
surprise reflected briefly in his eyes before his acceptance
registers.
Lifting my hand, I caress his cheek, and run my
fingertips across his stubble. He closes his eyes and
exhales, leaning his face into my touch.
He leans down slowly, and my lips automatically lift to
meet his. He hovers over me.
meet his. He hovers over me.
“Yes or no, Anastasia?” he whispers.
“Yes.”
His mouth softly closes on mine, coaxing, coercing my
lips apart as his arms fold around me, pulling me to him.
His hand moves up my back, fingers tangling in the hair at
the back of my head and tugging gently, while his other
hand flattens on my behind, forcing me against him. I moan
softly.
“Mr. Grey.” Taylor coughs, and Christian releases me
immediately.
“Taylor,” he says, his voice frigid.
I whirl round to see an uncomfortable Taylor standing
on the threshold of the great room. Christian and Taylor
stare at each other, some unspoken communication
passing between them.
“My study,” Christian snaps, and Taylor walks briskly
across the room.
“Rain check,” Christian whispers to me before
following Taylor out of the room.
following Taylor out of the room.
I take a deep, steadying breath. Holy hell. Can I not
resist him for one minute? I shake my head, disgusted at
myself, grateful for Taylor’s interruption, embarrassing
though it is.
I wonder what Taylor has had to interrupt in the past.
What’s he seen? I don’t want to think about that. Lunch.
I’ll make lunch. I busy myself slicing potatoes. What does
Taylor want? My mind races—is this about Leila?
Ten minutes later, they emerge, just as the omelet is
ready. Christian looks preoccupied as h
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