in disbelief.
Oh, he’s back. I breathe a long, cleansing sigh of
relief.
He opens his eyes again, and his expression is forlorn
—sincere. “You weren’t going to run?” he asks.
“No!”
He closes his eyes again and his whole body relaxes.
When he opens his eyes, I can see his pain and anguish.
“I thought—” He stops. “This is me, Ana. All of
me . . . and I’m all yours. What do I ha一ve to do to make
you realize that? To make you see that I want you any way
I can get you. That I love you.”
“I love you, too, Christian, and to see you like this
is . . .” I choke and my tears start afresh. “I thought I’d
broken you.”
“Broken? Me? Oh no, Ana. Just the opposite.” He
reaches out and takes my hand. “You’re my lifeline,” he
whispers, and he kisses my knuckles before pressing my
palm against his.
With his eyes wide and full of fear, he gently tugs my
hand and places it on his chest over his heart—in the
forbidden zone. His breathing quickens. His heart is
beating a frantic, pounding tattoo beneath my fingers. He
doesn’t take his eyes off mine; his jaw is tense, his teeth
clenched.
I gasp. Oh my Fifty! He’s letting me touch him. And
it’s like all the air in my lungs has vaporized—gone. The
blood is pounding in my ears as the rhythm of my heart
rises to match his.
He releases my hand, lea一ving it in place over his heart.
I flex my fingers slightly, feeling the warmth of his skin
I flex my fingers slightly, feeling the warmth of his skin
beneath the thin fabric of his shirt. He’s holding his breath.
I can’t bear it. I make to move my hand.
“No,” he says quickly and places his hand once more
over mine, pressing my fingers against him. “Don’t.”
Emboldened by these two words, I shuffle closer so
our knees are touching and tentatively raise my other hand
so that he knows exactly what I intend to do. His eyes
grow wider but he doesn’t stop me.
Gently I start to undo the buttons on his shirt. It’s
tricky with one hand. I flex my fingers beneath his hand
and he lets go, allowing me to use bo
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