arding me with alarm. But he
doesn’t move, and he doesn’t stop me. Very slowly I
unfasten the button, holding the material away from his
skin, and move tentatively down to the next button,
repeating the process—slowly, concentrating on what I am
doing.
I don’t want to touch him. Well, I do . . . but I won’t .
On the fourth button, the red line reappears, and I smile
shyly up at him.
“Back on home territory.” I trace the line with my
fingers before undoing the final button. I pull his shirt open
and move to his cuffs, removing his black polished stone
cufflinks one at a time.
“Can I take your shirt off?” I ask, my voice low.
He nods, eyes still wide, as I reach up and pull his shirt
over his shoulders. He frees his hands so he’s standing in
front of me naked from the waist up. With his shirt off, he
seems to recover his equilibrium. He smirks down at me.
“What about my pants, Miss Steele?” he asks, raising
an eyebrow.
“In the bedroom. I want you in your bed.”
“In the bedroom. I want you in your bed.”
“Do you now? Miss Steele, you are insatiable.”
“I can’t think why.” I grab his hand, pull him from his
study, and lead him to his bedroom. The room is chilly.
“You opened the balcony door?” he asks, frowning
down at me as we arrive in his room.
“No.” I don’t remember doing that. I recall scanning
the room when I woke. The door was definitely closed.
Oh shit . . . All the blood rushes from my face, and I
stare at Christian as my mouth falls open.
“What?” he snaps, glaring at me.
“When I woke . . . there was someone in here,” I
whisper. “I thought it was my imagination.”
“What?” He looks horrified and dashes to the balcony
door, peers out, then steps back into the room and locks
the door behind him. “Are you sure? Who?” he asks his
voice tight.
“A woman, I think. It was dark. I’d only just woken
up.”
“Get dressed,” he snarls at me on his way back in.
“Get dressed,” he snarls at me on his way back in.
“Now!”
“My clothes are upstairs,” I whimper.
He pulls open one of the dra
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