Chapter Two
I blink up at him, suddenly very awake after my sleep, my erotic dream
forgotten.
“I was on my front. I must ha一ve turned over in my sleep.” I whisper weakly in
my defense.
His eyes blaze with fury. He reaches down, scoops up my bikini top from his
sun lounger, and tosses it at me.
“Put this on!” he hisses.
“Christian, no one is looking.”
“Trust me. They’re looking. I’m sure Taylor and the security crew are enjoying
the show!” he snarls.
Holy shit! Why do I keep forgetting about them? I grasp my breasts in panic,
hiding them. Ever since Charlie Tango’s sabotaged demise we are
constantly shadowed by damned security.
“Yes,” Christian snarls. “And some sleazy fucking paparazzi could get a shot
of you, too. Do you want to be all over the cover of Star magazine? Naked
this time?”
Shit! The paparazzi! Fuck! As I hurriedly scramble into my top, all fingers and
thumbs, the color drains from my face. I shudder. The unpleasant memory of
being besieged by the paparazzi outside SIP
after our engagement was leaked comes unwelcome to mind—all part of the
Christian Grey package.
“L’addition!” Christian snaps at the passing waitress. “We’re going,” he says
to me.
“Now?”
“Yes. Now.”
Oh shit, he’s not to be argued with.
He pulls on his shorts, even though his trunks are dripping wet, then his gray
T-shirt. The waitress is back in a moment with his credit card and the check.
Reluctantly, I wriggle into my turquoise sundress and step into my flip-flops.
Once the waitress has left, Christian snatches up his book
22 | P a g e
E L JAMES
and BlackBerry and masks his fury behind mirrored a一viator glasses. He’s
bristling with tension and anger. My heart sinks. Every other woman on the
beach is topless—it’s not that big of a crime. In fact I look odd with my top
on. I sigh inwardly, my spirits sinking. I thought Christian would see the funny
side . . . sort of . . . maybe if I’d stayed on my front, but his sense of humor
has evaporated.
“Please don’t be mad at me,” I whisper, taki
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