JOSÉ JOINS US WITH Chinese takeout at eight. We’re done. We’re packed and ready to go. He brings several bottles of beer, and Kate and I sit on the couch while he’s cross-legged on the floor between us. We watch crap TV, drink beer, and, as the evening wears on, we fondly and loudly reminisce as the beer takes effect. It’s been a good four years.

The atmosphere between José and me has returned to normal, the attempted kiss forgotten. Well, it’s been swept under the rug that my inner goddess is lying on, eating grapes and tapping her fingers, waiting not so patiently for Sunday. There’s a knock on the door, and my heart leaps into my throat. Is it …?

Kate answers the door and is nearly knocked off her feet by Elliot. He seizes her in a Hollywood-style clinch that moves quickly into a European art house embrace. Honestly … get a room. José and I stare at each other. I’m appalled at their lack of modesty.

“Shall we walk down to the bar?” I ask José, who nods frantically. We are too uncomfortable with the unrestrained sexing unfolding in front of us. Kate looks up at me, flushed and bright-eyed.

“José and I are going for a quick drink.” I roll my eyes at her. Ha! I can still roll my eyes in my own time.

“Okay.” She grins.

“Hi, Elliot. Bye, Elliot.”

He winks a big blue eye at me, and José and I are out the door, giggling like teenagers.

As we stroll down to the bar, I put my arm through José’s. God, he’s so uncomplicated—I hadn’t really appreciated that before.

“You’ll still come to the opening of my show, won’t you?”

“Of course, José, when is it?”

“June ninth.”

“What day is that?” I suddenly panic.

“It’s a Thursday.”

“Yeah, I should make that … and you will visit us in Seattle?”

“Try to stop me.” He grins.

IT’S LATE WHEN I arrive back from the bar. Kate and Elliot are nowhere to be seen, but boy, can they be heard. Holy shit. I hope I’m not that loud. I know Christian isn’t. I flush at the thought and escape to my room. After a brief not-at-all-awkward-thank-goodness hug, José has gone. I don’t know when I’ll see him again, probably his photography show, and once again, I’m blown away that he finally has an exhibition. I shall miss him and his boyish charm. I couldn’t bring myself to tell him about the Beetle. I know he’ll freak when he finds out, and I can only deal with one man at a time freaking out at me. Once in my room, I check the mean machine, and of course, there’s an e-mail from Christian.

Crap … José … shit.

I grab my phone. Five missed calls and one voice message. Tentatively, I listen to the message. It’s Christian.

“I think you need to learn to manage my expectations. I am not a patient man. If you say you are going to contact me when you finish work, then you should have the decency to do so. Otherwise, I worry, and it’s not an emotion I’m familiar with, and I don’t tolerate it very well. Call me.”

Double crap. Will he ever give me a break? I scowl at the phone. He is suffocating me. With a deep dread uncurling in my stomach, I scroll down to his number and press “call.” My heart is in my mouth as I wait for him to answer. He’d probably like to beat seven shades of shit out of me. The thought is depressing.

“Hi,” he says softly, and his response knocks me off balance because I am expecting his anger, but if anything, he sounds relieved.

“Hi,” I murmur.

“I was worried about you.”

“I know. I’m sorry I didn’t reply, but I’m fine.”

He pauses for a beat.

“Did you have a pleasant evening?” He is crisply polite.

“Yes. We finished packing and Kate and I had Chinese takeout with José.” I close my eyes tightly as I say José’s name. Christian says nothing.

“How about you?” I ask to fill the sudden deafening chasm of silence. I will not let him make me feel guilty about José.

Eventually, he sighs.

“I went to a fund-raising dinner. It was deathly dull. I left as soon as I could.”

He sounds so sad and resigned. My heart clenches. I picture him all those nights ago sitting at the piano in his huge living room and the unbearable bittersweet melancholy of the music he was playing.

“I wish you were here,” I whisper, because I have an urge to hold him. Soothe him. Even though he won’t let me. I want his proximity.

“Do you?” he murmurs blandly. Holy shit. This doesn’t sound like him, and my scalp prickles with dawning apprehension.

“Yes,” I breathe. After an eternity, he sighs.

“I’ll see you Sunday?”

“Yes, Sunday,” I murmur, and a thrill courses through my body.

“Good night.”

“Good night, Sir.”

My address catches him unawares, I can tell by his sharp intake of breath.

“Good luck with your move tomorrow, Anastasia.” His voice is soft. And we’re both hanging on the phone like teenagers, neither wanting to hang up.

“You hang up,” I whisper. Finally, I sense his smile.

“No, you hang up.” And I know he’s grinning.

“I don’t want to.”

“Neither do I.”

“Were you very angry with me?”

“Yes.”

“Are you still?”

“No.”

“So you’re not going to punish me?”

“No. I’m an in-the-moment kind of guy.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“You can hang up now, Miss Steele.”

“Do you really want me to, Sir?”

“Go to bed, Anastasia.”

“Yes, Sir.”

We both stay on the line.

“Do you ever think you’ll be able to do what you’re told?” He’s amused and exasperated at once.

“Maybe. We’ll see after Sunday.” And I press “end” on the phone.

Elliot stands and admires his handiwork. He has replugged our TV into the satellite system in our Pike Place Market apartment. Kate and I flop onto the couch giggling, impressed by his prowess with a power drill. The flat screen looks odd against the brickwork of the converted warehouse, but no doubt I will get used to it.

“See, baby, easy.” He grins a wide, white-toothed smile at Kate, and she almost literally dissolves into the couch.

I roll my eyes at the pair of them.

“I’d love to stay, baby, but my sister is back from Paris. It’s a compulsory family dinner tonight.”

“Can you come by after?” Kate asks tentatively, all soft and un-Kate-like.

I stand and make my way over to the kitchen area on the pretense of unpacking one of the crates. They are going to get icky.

“I’ll see if I can escape,” he promises.

“I’ll come down with you.” Kate smiles.

“Laters, Ana.” Elliot grins.

“Bye, Elliot. Say hi to Christian from me.”

“Just hi?” His eyebrows shoot up suggestively.

“Yes.” I flush. He winks at me, and I go crimson as he follows Kate out of the apartment.

Elliot is adorable and so different from Christian. He’s warm, open, physical, very physical, too physical, with Kate. They can barely keep their hands off each other—to be honest it’s embarrassing—and I am pea green with envy.

Kate returns about twenty minutes later with pizza, and we sit, surrounded by crates, in our new open space, eating straight from the box. Kate’s dad has done us proud. The apartment is not large, but it’s big enough, three bedrooms and a large living space that looks out onto Pike Place Market itself. It’s all solid wood floors and red brick, and the kitchen tops are smooth concrete, very utilitarian, very now. We both love that we will be in the heart of the city.

At eight, the entry-phone buzzes. Kate leaps up—and my heart leaps into my mouth.

“Delivery, Miss Steele, Miss Kavanagh.” Disappointment flows freely and unexpectedly through my veins. It’s not Christian.

“Second floor, apartment two.”

Kate buzzes the delivery boy in. His mouth falls open when he sees Kate, all tight jeans, T-shirt, and hair piled high with escaping tendrils. She has that effect on men. He holds a bottle of champagne with a helicopter-shaped balloon attached. She gives him a dazzling smile to send him on his way and proceeds to read the card out to me.

Kate shakes her head in disapproval.

“Why can’t he just write ‘from Christian’? And what’s with the weird helicopter balloon?”

“Charlie Tango.”

“What?”

“Christian flew me to Seattle in his helicopter.” I shrug.

Kate stares at me openmouthed. I have to say I love these occasions—Katherine Kavanagh, silent and floored—they are so rare. I take a brief and luxurious moment to enjoy it.

“Yep, he has a helicopter, which he flew himself,” I state proudly.

“Of course the obscenely rich bastard has a helicopter. Why didn’t you tell me?” Kate looks accusingly at me, but she’s smiling, shaking her head in disbelief.

“I’ve had a lot on my mind lately.”

She frowns.

“Are you going to be okay while I’m away?”

“Of course,” I answer reassuringly. New city, no job … nut-job boyfriend.

“Did you give him our address?

“No, but stalking is one of his specialties,” I muse matter-of-factly.

Kate’s brow knits further.

“Somehow I’m not surprised. He worries me, Ana. At least it’s a good champagne and it’s chilled.”

Of course. Only Christian would send chilled champagne, or get his secretary to do it … or maybe Taylor. We open it there and then and find our teacups—they were the last items to be packed.

“Bollinger Grande Année Rosé 1999, an excellent vintage.” I grin at Kate, and we clink teacups.

I WAKE EARLY TO a gray Sunday morning after a surprisingly refreshing night’s sleep and lie awake staring at my crates. You should really be unpacking these, my subconscious nags, pursing her harpy lips together. No … today’s the day. My inner goddess is beside herself, hopping from foot to foot. Anticipation hangs heavy and portentous over my head like a dark tropical storm cloud. Butterflies flood my belly—as well as a darker, carnal, captivating ache as I try to imagine what he will do to me … and of course, I have to sign that damned contract, or do I? I hear the ping of incoming mail from the mean machine on the floor beside my bed.

I roll my eyes at his bossiness, but his last line makes me smile. I head for the bathroom, wondering if Elliot made it back last night and trying hard to rein in my nerves.

I CAN DRIVE THE Audi in high heels! At 12:55 p.m. precisely, I pull into the garage at Escala and park in bay five. How many bays does he own? The Audi SUV and R8 are there, along with two smaller Audi SUVs … hmm. I check my seldom-worn mascara in the light-up vanity mirror on my visor. Didn’t have one of these in the Beetle.

Go girl! My inner goddess has her pom-poms in hand—she’s in cheerleading mode. In the infinity mirrors of the elevator, I check out my plum dress—well, Kate’s plum dress. The last time I wore this, he wanted to peel it off me. My body clenches at the thought. The feeling is just exquisite, and I catch my breath. I’m wearing the underwear that Taylor bought for me. I flush at the thought of his buzz cut roaming the aisles of Agent Provocateur or wherever he bought it. The doors open, and I’m facing the foyer of apartment number one.

Taylor stands at the double doors as I step out of the elevator.

“Good afternoon, Miss Steele,” he says.

“Oh, please, call me Ana.”

“Ana.” He smiles. “Mr. Grey is expecting you.”

I bet he is.

Christian is seated on his living room couch reading the Sunday papers. He glances up as Taylor directs me into the living area. The room is exactly as I remember it—it’s been a whole week since I’ve been here, but it feels so much longer. Christian looks cool and calm—actually, he looks heavenly. He’s in a loose white linen shirt and jeans, no shoes or socks. His hair is tousled and unkempt, and his eyes twinkle wickedly. He rises and strolls toward me, an amused appraising smile on his beautiful sculptured lips.

I stand immobilized at the entrance of the room, paralyzed by his beauty and the sweet anticipation of what’s to come. The familiar charge between us is there, sparking slowly in my belly, drawing me to him.

“Hmm … that dress,” he murmurs approvingly as he gazes down at me. “Welcome back, Miss Steele,” he whispers and, clasping my chin, he leans down and proffers a gentle, light kiss on my lips. The touch of his lips to mine reverberates throughout my body. My breath hitches.

“Hi,” I whisper as I flush.

“You’re on time. I like punctual. Come.” He takes my hand and leads me to the couch. “I wanted to show you something,” he says as we sit. He hands me the Seattle Times. On page eight, there’s a photograph of the two of us together at the graduation ceremony. Holy crap. I’m in the paper. I check the caption.

I laugh. “So I’m your ‘friend’ now.”

“So it would appear. And it’s in the newspaper, so it must be true.” He smirks.

Sitting beside me, his whole body is turned toward me, one of his legs tucked under the other. Reaching over, he tucks my hair behind my ear with his long index finger. My body comes alive at his touch, waiting and needful.

“So, Anastasia, you have a much better idea of what I’m about since you were last here.”

“Yes.” Where’s he going with this?

“And yet you’ve returned.”

I nod shyly, and his eyes blaze. He shakes his head as if he’s struggling with the idea.

“Have you eaten?” he asks out of the blue.

Shit.

“No.”

“Are you hungry?” He’s really trying not to look annoyed.

“Not for food,” I whisper, and his nostrils flare in reaction.

He leans forward and whispers in my ear. “You are as eager as ever, Miss Steele, and just to let you in on a little secret, so am I. But Dr. Greene is due here shortly.” He sits up. “I wish you’d eat,” he scolds me mildly. My heated blood cools. Holy cow—the doctor. I’d forgotten.

“What can you tell me about Dr. Greene?” I ask to distract us both.

“She’s the best ob-gyn in Seattle. What more can I say?” He shrugs.

“I thought I was seeing your doctor, and don’t tell me you’re really a woman, because I won’t believe you.”

He gives me a don’t-be-ridiculous look.

“I think it’s more appropriate that you see a specialist. Don’t you?” he says mildly.

I nod. Holy Moses, if she’s the best ob-gyn, he’s scheduled her to see me on a Sunday—at lunchtime! I cannot begin to imagine how much that costs. Christian frowns suddenly as if recalling something unpleasant.

“Anastasia, my mother would like you to come to dinner this evening. I believe Elliot is asking Kate, too. I don’t know how you feel about that. It will be odd for me to introduce you to my family.”

Odd? Why?

“Are you ashamed of me?” I can’t keep the wounded hurt out of my voice.

“Of course not.” He rolls his eyes.

“Why is it odd?”

“Because I’ve never done it before.”

“Why are you allowed to roll your eyes, and I’m not?”

He blinks at me. “I wasn’t aware that I was.”

“Neither am I, usually,” I snap.

Christian glares at me, speechless. Taylor appears at the doorway.

“Dr. Greene is here, sir.”

“Show her up to Miss Steele’s room.”

Miss Steele’s room!

“Ready for some contraception?” he asks as he stands and holds out his hand to me.

“You’re not going to come as well, are you?” I gasp, shocked.

He laughs. “I’d pay very good money to watch, believe me, Anastasia, but I don’t think the good doctor would approve.”

I take his hand, and he pulls me up into his arms and kisses me deeply. I clutch his arms, taken by surprise. His hand is in my hair, holding my head, and he pulls me against him, his forehead against mine.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” he whispers. “I can’t wait to get you naked.”