nating to watch as he loses himself in thought, staring at the little helicopter. What is he

thinking?

“You like it?”

“Ana, I love it. Thank you.” He grabs me and kisses me swiftly, then turns back to

watch the rotor spin. “I’ll add it to the glider in my office,” he says distractedly, watching

the blade spin. He moves his hand out of the sunlight, and the blade slows down and comes

to a stop.

I can’t help my face-splitting grin, and I want to hug myself. He loves it. Of course,

he’s all about alternative technologies. I’d forgotten that in my haste to buy it. Placing it on

the chest of drawers, he turns to face me.

“It’ll keep me company while we salvage Charlie Tango.”

“Is it salvageable?”

“I don’t know. I hope so. I’ll miss her, otherwise.”

Her?I am shocked at myself for the small pang of jealousy I feel for an inanimate

object. My subconscious snorts with derisory laughter. I ignore her.

“What’s in the other box?” he asks, his eyes wide with almost childish excitement.

Holy fuck.“I’m not sure if this present is for you or me.”

“Really?” he asks, and I know I have piqued his interest. Nervously I hand him the

second box. He shakes it gently and we both hear a heavy rattle. He glances up at me.

“Why are you so nervous?” he asks, bemused. I shrug, embarrassed and excited as I

flush. He raises an eyebrow at me.

“You have me intrigued, Miss Steele,” he whispers, and his voice runs right through

me, desire and anticipation spawning in my belly. “I have to say I’m enjoying your reac-

tion. What have you been up to?” He narrows his eyes speculatively.

I remain tight-lipped as I hold my breath.

He removes the lid of the box and takes out a small card. The rest of the contents are

wrapped in tissue. He opens the card, and his eyes dart quickly to mine—widening with

shock or surprise. I just don’t know.

“Do rude things to you?” he murmurs. I nod and swallow. He cocks his head to one

side warily, assessing my reaction, and frowns. Then turns his attention back to the box. He

tears through the pale-blue tissue paper and fishes out an eye mask, some nipple clamps,

a butt plug, his iPod, his silver-gray tie—and last but by no means least—the key to his

playroom.

He gazes at me, his expression dark, unreadable. Oh shit. Is this a bad move?

“You want to play?” he asks softly.

“Yes,” I breathe.

“For my birthday?”

“Yes.” Could my voice sound any smaller?

A myriad of emotions cross his face, none of which I can place, but he settles for anx-

ious. Hmm . . .Not quite the reaction I was expecting.

“You’re sure?” he asks.

“Not the whips and stuff.”

“I understand that.”

“Yes, then. I’m sure.”

He shakes his head and gazes down at the contents of the box. “Sex mad and insatiable.

Well, I think we can do something with this lot,” he murmurs almost to himself, then puts

the contents back in the box. When he glances at me again, his expression has completely

changed. Holy cow, his gray eyes burn, and his mouth lifts in a slow erotic smile. He holds

out his hand.

“Now,” he says, and it’s not a request. My belly clenches, tight and hard, deep, deep

down.

I put my hand in his.

“Come,” he orders, and I follow him out of the bedroom, my heart in my mouth. Desire

races slick and hot through my blood as my insides tighten with hungry anticipation. My

inner goddess somersaults round her chaise longue. Finally!

Christian pauses outside the playroom.

“You’re sure about this?” he asks, his gaze heated yet anxious.

“Yes,” I murmur, smiling shyly at him.

His eyes soften. “Anything you don’t want to do?”

I’m derailed by his unexpected question, and my mind goes into overdrive. One thought

occurs. “I don’t want you to take photos of me.”

He stills, and his expression hardens as he cocks his head to one side and eyes me

speculatively.

Oh shit.I think he’s going to ask me why, but fortunately he doesn’t.

“Okay,” he murmurs. His brow furrows as he unlocks the door, then stands aside to

usher me into the room. I feel his eyes on me as he follows me inside and closes the door.

Placing the gift box on the chest of drawers, he takes out the iPod, switches it on, then

waves at the music center on the wall so that the smoked glass doors glide silently open.

He presses some buttons, and after a moment, the sound of a subway train echoes round

the room. He turns it down so that the slow, hypnotic electronic beat that follows becomes

ambient. A woman starts to sing, I don’t know who she is but her voice is soft yet rasping

and the beat is measured, deliberate . . . erotic. Oh my. It’s music to make love to.

Christian turns to face me as I stand in the middle of the room, my heart pounding, my

blood singing in my veins, pulsing—or so it feels—in time to the music’s seductive beat.

He saunters casually over to me and tugs on my chin so I’m no longer biting my lip.

“What do you want to do, Anastasia?” he murmurs, planting a soft chaste kiss at the

corner of my mouth, his fingers still grasping my chin.

“It’s your birthday. Whatever you want,” I whisper. He traces his thumb along my

lower lip, his brow creased once more.

“Are we in here because you think I want to be in here?” His words are softly spoken,

but he regards me intently.

“No,” I whisper. “I want to be in here, too.”

His gaze darkens, growing bolder as he assesses my response. After what seems an

eternity, he speaks.

“Oh, there are so many possibilities, Miss Steele.” His voice is low, excited. “But let’s

start with getting you naked.” He pulls the sash of my robe so that it falls open, revealing

my silk nightdress, then steps back and sits nonchalantly down on the arm of the chester-

field couch.

“Take your clothes off. Slowly.” He gives me a sensual, challenging look.

I swallow compulsively, pressing my thighs together. I’m already damp between my

legs. My inner goddess is stripped naked and standing in line, ready and waiting and beg-

ging me to play catch-up. I pull the robe away from my shoulders, my eyes never leaving

his, and shrug, letting it fall billowing to the floor. His mesmerizing gray eyes heat, and he

runs his index finger over his lips as he gazes at me.

Slipping the spaghetti straps of my gown off my shoulders, I gaze at him for a beat,

then release them. My nightdress skims and ripples softly down my body, pooling at my

feet. I am naked and practically panting and oh-so-ready.

Christian pauses for a moment, and I marvel at the frankly carnal appreciation in his

expression. Standing up, he makes his way over to the chest and picks up his silver-gray

tie—my favorite tie. He pulls it through his fingers as he turns and strolls casually toward

me, a smile playing on his lips. When he stands in front of me, I expect him to ask for my

hands, but he doesn’t.

“I think you’re underdressed, Miss Steele,” he murmurs. He places the tie around my

neck, and slowly but dexterously ties it in what I assume is a fine Windsor knot. As he

tightens the knot, his fingers brush the base of my throat and electricity shoots through me,

making me gasp. He leaves the wide end of the tie long, long enough so the tip skims my

pubic hair.

“You look mighty fine now, Miss Steele,” he says and bends to kiss me gently on my

lips. It’s a swift kiss, and I want more, desire spiraling wantonly through my body.