his fingers lightly along the line, sending tingles up my leg.
“And this.” I hold out the box, hoping to distract him.
“For me?” he asks in surprise. I nod shyly. He takes the box and shakes it
gently. He grins his boyish, dazzling smile and sits down beside me on the
bed. Leaning over, he grasps my chin and kisses me.
“Thank you,” he says with shy delight.
“You ha一ven’t opened it yet.”
“I’ll love it, whatever it is.” He gazes down at me, his eyes glowing.
“I don’t get many presents.”
“It’s hard to buy you things. You ha一ve everything.”
“I ha一ve you.”
“You do.” I grin at him. Oh, you so do, Christian.
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E L JAMES
He makes short work of the wrapping paper. “A Nikon?” He glances up at
me, puzzled.
“I know you ha一ve your compact digital camera but this is for . . . um . . .
portraits and the like. It comes with two lenses.”
He blinks at me, still not understanding.
“Today in the gallery you liked the Florence D’elle photographs. And I
remember what you said in the Louvre. And of course, there were those
other photographs.” I swallow, trying my best not to recall the images I found
in his closet.
He stops breathing, his eyes widening as realization dawns, and I continue
hurriedly before I lose my nerve.
“I thought you might, um . . . like to take pictures of . . . me.”
“Pictures. Of you?” He gapes at me ignoring the box on his lap. I nod,
desperately trying to gauge his reaction. Finally he gazes back down at the
box, his fingers tracing over the illustration of the camera on the front with
fascinated reverence.
What is he thinking? Oh, this is not the reaction I was expecting, and my
subconscious glares at me like I’m a dumb domesticated farm animal.
Christian never reacts the way I expect. He looks back up at me, his eyes
filled with what, pain? Shit . . . what now?
“Why do you think I want this?” he asks, bemused.
No, no, no! You said you’d love it . . .
“Don’t you?” I ask, refusing to acknowledge my subconscious who is
questioning why anyone would want er
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