Chapter 73 (1/2)

”No,” I mutter, figuratively rolling my eyes. He chuckles softly.

”I can tell when you're rolling your eyes, you know . . . and you know how that makes me feel.”

I purse my lips. ”Can we just get this over and done with?” I snap.

”Such impatience, Mrs. Grey. So eager to talk.” His tone is playful.

”Yes!”

”I must feed you first,” he says and brushes his lips over my temple, calming me instantly.

Okay . . . have it your way. I resign myself to my fate and listen to his movements around the kitchen. The fridge door opens and Christian places various dishes on the countertop behind me. He pads over to the microwave, pops something in, and turns it on. My curiosity is piqued. I hear the toaster lever drop, the turn of the control, and the quiet tick of the timer. Hmm - toast?

”Yes. I am eager to talk,” I murmur, distracted. An assortment of exotic, spicy aromas fills the kitchen. What is he doing? I shift in my chair.

”Be still, Anastasia,” he murmurs, and he's close to me again. ”I want you to behave . . . ,” he whispers.

Oh my. My inner goddess freezes, not even blinking.

”And don't bite your lip.” Gently he tugs my bottom lip free of my teeth, and I can't help my smile.

Next, I hear the soft pop of a cork being drawn from a bottle and the gentle glug of wine being poured into a glass. He leans across behind me and I hear a soft click and the quiet white noise of the surroundsound speakers hissing to life. A loud twang of a guitar begins a song I don't know. Christian turns the volume down to background level. A man starts to sing, his voice deep, low, and sexy.

”A drink first, I think,” Christian whispers, diverting me from the song. ”Head back.” I tip my head back. ”Further,” he prompts. I oblige, and his lips are on mine. Cool crisp wine flows into my mouth. I swallow reflexively. Oh my, and memories flood back of not so long ago - me trussed up on my bed in Vancouver before I graduated, with a hot, angry Christian not appreciating my e-mail. Hmm . . . have times changed? Not much. Except now I recognize the wine, Christian's favorite - a Sancerre.

”Hmm,” I murmur in appreciation.

”You like the wine?” he whispers his breath warm on my cheek. I'm bathed in his proximity, his vitality, the heat radiating from his body, even though he doesn't touch me.

”Yes,” I breathe.

”More?”

”I always want more, with you.”

I almost hear his grin. It makes me grin, too. ”Mrs. Grey, are you flirting with me?”

”Yes.”

His wedding ring clinks against the glass as he takes another sip of wine. Now that is a sexy sound. This time he pulls my head right back, cradling me. He kisses me once more, and greedily I swallow the wine he gives me. He smiles as he kisses me again.

”Hungry?”

”I think we've already established that, Mr. Grey.”

The troubadour on the iPod is singing about wicked games. Hmm . . . how apt.

The microwave pings, and Christian releases me. I sit upright. The food smells spicy: garlic, mint, oregano, rosemary, and lamb, I think. What is he cooking? The door to the microwave opens, and the appetizing smell grows stronger.