hopeless. I’m wide awake, my body clock on
Greenwich mean time, my mind racing.
So much has happened in the last three weeks—who am I kidding, the last
three months—I feel that my feet ha一ven’t touched the ground. And now here I
am, Ana Steele—Mrs. Anastasia Grey—married to the most delicious, sexy,
philanthropic, absurdly wealthy mogul a woman could meet. How did this all
happen so fast?
I shift onto my side to gaze at him, appraising his beauty. I know he watches
me sleep, but I rarely get the opportunity to repay the compliment. He looks
so young and carefree in his sleep, his long lashes fanned against his cheek,
a light smattering of stubble covering his jaw, and his sculptured lips slightly
parted, relaxed as he breathes deeply. I want to kiss him, to push my tongue
between his lips, run my fingers over his soft yet prickly stubble. I really ha一ve
to fight the urge not to touch him, not to disturb him. Hmm . . . I could just
tease his earlobe with my teeth and suck. My subconscious glares up at me
over her half-moon spectacles, distracted from volume two of the Complete
Works of Charles Dickens, and mentally chastises me. Lea一ve the poor man
alone, Ana.
I am back to work on Monday. We ha一ve today to reacclimatize, then we’re
back into our routine. It will be odd not seeing Christian for a whole day after
spending almost every minute together for the last three weeks. I lie back
and stare at the ceiling. One would think that spending so much time together
would be suffocating, but that’s just not the case. I’ve loved each and every
minute, even our fighting. Every minute . . . except the news of the fire at Grey
House.
My blood chills. Who could want to harm Christian? My mind gnaws at this
mystery again. Someone in his business? An ex? A disgruntled employee? I
ha一ve no idea, and Christian remains tightlipped about it all, drip-feeding me
the minimum information he can get away with in a bid to protect me. I sigh.
My shining white-and-dark knight always tryin
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