gently into the main
harbor. When he gives me the okay sign, I press the ignition button and the
engine roars into life.
“Okay, Mrs. Grey, easy does it!” Taylor shouts. I squeeze the accelerator.
The Jet Ski lurches forward then stalls. Crap! How does Christian make it
look so easy? I try again, and once again, I stall. Double crap!
“Just steady on the gas, Mrs. Grey,” Taylor calls.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I mutter under my breath. I try once more, very gently
squeezing the lever, and the Jet Ski lurches forward—but this time it keeps
going. Yes! It goes some more. Ha ha! It still keeps going!
I want to shout and squeal in excitement, but I resist. I cruise gently away from
the yacht into the main harbor. Behind me, I hear the throaty roar of the motor
launch. When I squeeze the gas further, the Jet Ski leaps forward, skating
across the water. With the warm breeze in my hair and a fine sea spray on
either side of me, I feel free. This rocks! No wonder Christian never lets me
drive.
Rather than head for the shore and curtail the fun, I veer around to do a circuit
of the stately Fair Lady. Wow—this is so much fun. I ignore Taylor and the
crew behind me and speed around the yacht for a second time. As I
complete the circuit, I spot Christian on deck. I think he’s gaping at me,
though it’s difficult to tell. Bra一vely, I lift one hand from the handlebars and
wa一ve enthusiastically at him. He looks like he’s made of stone, but finally he
raises his hand in the semblance of a stiff wa一ve. I can’t work out his
expression, and something tells me I don’t want to, so I head to the marina,
speeding across the blue water of the Mediterranean that shimmers in the
late afternoon sun. At the dock, I wait and let Taylor pull up ahead of me. His
expression is bleak, and my heart sinks, though Gaston looks vaguely
amused. I wonder briefly if something has happened to chill GallicAmerican
relations, but deep down I suspect the problem is probably
58 | P a g e
E L JAMES
me. Gaston leaps ou
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