ping in front of him, I smooth
my dress over my hips.
Christian whispers in my ear, “I can’t wait to get you
home.” But he still doesn’t touch me.
On the way out he murmurs something about the car to
the ma?tre d’, but I’m not listening, my inner goddess is
incandescent with anticipation. Jeez, she could light up
Seattle.
Waiting by the elevators, we are joined by two middleaged
couples. When the doors open, Christian takes my
elbow and steers me to the back. I glance around, and
we’re surrounded by dark smoked-glass mirrors. As the
other couples enter, one man in a rather unflattering brown
suit greets Christian.
suit greets Christian.
“Grey,” he nods politely. Christian nods in return but is
silent.
The couples stand in front of us, facing the elevator
doors. They are obviously friends—the women chat
loudly, excited and animated after their meal. I think
they’re all a little tipsy.
As the doors close, Christian briefly stoops down
beside me to tie his shoelace. Odd, his shoelaces aren’t
undone. Discreetly he places his hand on my ankle,
startling me, and as he stands his hand tra一vels swiftly up
my leg, skating deliciously over my skin—whoa—right up.
I ha一ve to stifle my gasp of surprise as his hand reaches my
backside. Christian moves behind me.
Oh my. I gape at the people in front of us, staring at
the backs of their heads. They ha一ve no idea what we’re up
to. Wrapping his free arm around my waist, Christian pulls
me to him, holding me in place as his fingers explore. Holy
fucking shit . . . in here? The elevator tra一vels smoothly
down, stopping at the fifty-third floor to let some more
people on, but I am not paying attention. I am focused on
every little move his fingers make. Circling around . . . now
moving forward, questing, as we shuffle back.
Again I stifle a groan when his fingers find their goal.
“Always so ready, Miss Steele,” he whispers as he
slips a long finger inside me. I squirm and gasp. How can
he do this with all these people here?
“Keep still
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