the setting sun sinks slowly, glowing blood and flame orange, beyond Olympic National

Park. Vermillion hues bleed into the sky—opals, aquamarines, ceruleans—melding with

the darker purples of the scant wispy clouds and the land beyond the Sound. It is nature’s

best, a visual symphony orchestrated in the sky and reflected in the deep, still waters of the

Sound. I am lost to the view—staring, trying to absorb such beauty.

I realize I’m holding my breath in awe, and Christian is still holding my hand. As I

reluctantly turn my eyes away from the view, he’s gazing anxiously at me.

“You brought me here to admire the view?” I whisper. He nods, his expression serious.

“It’s staggering, Christian. Thank you,” I murmur, letting my eyes feast on it once

more. He releases my hand.

“How would you like to look at it for the rest of your life?” he breathes.

What?I whip my face back to his, startled blue eyes to pensive gray. I think my mouth

drops open, and I gape at him blankly.

“I’ve always wanted to live on the coast. I sail up and down the Sound coveting these

houses. This place hasn’t been on the market long. I want to buy it, demolish it, and build

a new house—for us,” he whispers, and his eyes glow, translucent with his hopes and

dreams.

Holy cow.Somehow I remain upright. I’m reeling. Live, here! In this beautiful haven!

For the rest of my life . . .

“It’s just an idea,” he adds, cautiously.

I glance back to assess the interior of the house. How much is it worth? It must be,

what—five, ten million dollars? I have no idea. Holy shit.

“Why do you want to demolish it?” I ask, looking back at him. His face falls slightly.

Oh no.

“I’d like to make a more sustainable home, using the latest ecological techniques. El-

liot could build it.”

I gaze back at the room again. Miss Olga Kelly is on the far side, hovering by the en-

trance. She’s the realtor, of course. I notice the room is huge and double height, a little like

the great room at Escala. There’s a balcony above—that must be the landing on the second

floor. There’s a huge fireplace and a whole line of French doors opening onto the terrace.

It has an old-world charm.

“Can we look around the house?”

He blinks at me. “Sure,” he shrugs, puzzled.

Miss Kelly’s face lights up like Christmas when we head back in. She’s delighted to

take us on a tour and gives us the spiel.

The house is enormous: twelve thousand square feet on six acres of land. As well as

this main living room, there’s the eat-in—no, banquet-in—kitchen with family room at-

tached— Family!—a music room, a library, a study and, much to my amazement, an indoor

pool and exercise suite with sauna and steam room attached. Downstairs in the basement

there’s a cinema— Jeez—and game room. Hmm . . . what sort of games could we play in

here?Miss Kelly points out all sorts of features, but basically the house is beautiful and was

obviously at one time a happy family home. It’s a little shabby now, but nothing that some

TLC couldn’t cure.

As we follow Miss Kelly up the magnificent main stairs to the second floor, I can

hardly contain my excitement . . . this house has everything I could ever wish for in a home.

“Couldn’t you make the existing house more ecological and self-sustaining?”

Christian blinks at me, nonplussed. “I’d have to ask Elliot. He’s the expert in all this.”

Miss Kelly leads us into the master suite where full height windows open onto a bal-

cony, and the view is still spectacular. I could sit in bed and gaze out all day, watching the

sailing boats and the changing weather.

There are five additional bedrooms on this floor. Jeez—kids. I push the thought hastily

to one side. I have too much to process already. Miss Kelly is busily suggesting to Christian

how the grounds could accommodate riding stables and a paddock. Horses!Terrifying im-

ages of my few riding lessons flash through my mind, but Christian doesn’t appear to be

listening.

“The paddock would be where the meadow is at the moment?” I ask.

“Yes,” Miss Kelly says brightly.

To me the meadow looks like somewhere to lie in the long grass and have picnics, not

for some four-legged fiend of Satan to roam.

Back in the main room, Miss Kelly discreetly disappears, and Christian leads me out

once more onto the terrace. The sun has set and lights from the towns on the Olympic pen-

insula are twinkling on the far side of the Sound.

Christian pulls me into his arms and tips my chin up with his index finger, staring in-

tently down at me.

“Lot to take in?” he asks, his expression unreadable.

I nod.

“I wanted to check you liked it before I bought it.”

“The view?”

He nods.

“I love the view, and I like the house that’s here.”

“You do?”

I smile shyly at him. “Christian, you had me at the meadow.”

His lips part as he inhales sharply, then his face transforms with a grin, and his hands

are suddenly fisting into my hair and his mouth is on mine.

Back in the car as we head for Seattle, Christian’s mood has lifted considerably.

“So you’re going to buy it?” I ask.

“Yes.”

“You’ll put Escala on the market?”

He frowns. “Why would I do that?”

“To pay for . . .” My voice trails off—of course. I flush.

He smirks at me. “Trust me, I can afford it.”

“Do you like being rich?”

“Yes. Show me someone who doesn’t,” he says darkly.

Okay, get off that subject quickly.

“Anastasia, you’re going to have to learn to be rich, too, if you say yes,” he says softly.

“Wealth isn’t something I’ve ever aspired to, Christian.” I frown.

“I know. I love that about you. But then you’ve never been hungry,” he says simply.

His words are sobering.

“Where are we going?” I ask brightly, changing the subject.

“To celebrate.” Christian relaxes.

Oh!“Celebrate what, the house?”

“Have you forgotten already? Your acting editor role.”

“Oh yes.” I grin. Unbelievably, I had forgotten.

“Where?”

“Up high at my club.”

“Your club?”

“Yes. One of them.”

The Mile High Club is on the seventy-sixth floor of Columbia Tower, higher even than

Christian’s apartment. It’s very now and has the most head-spinning views over Seattle.

“Cristal, ma’am?” Christian hands me a glass of chilled champagne as I sit perched on

a barstool.

“Why thank you, sir.” I stress the last word flirtatiously, batting my eyelashes at him

deliberately.

He gazes at me and his face darkens. “Are you flirting with me, Miss Steele?”

“Yes, Mr. Grey, I am. What are you going to do about it?”

“I’m sure I can think of something,” he says, his voice low. “Come—our table’s ready.”

As we approach the table, Christian stops me, his hand on my elbow.

“Go and take your panties off,” he whispers.

Oh?A delicious tingle runs down my spine.

“Go,” he commands quietly.

Whoa, what?I blink up at him. He’s not smiling—he’s dead serious. Every muscle

below my waistline tightens. I hand him my glass of champagne, turn sharply on my heel,

and head for the restroom.

Shit. What’s he going to do? Perhaps this club is aptly named.

The restrooms are the height of modern design—all dark wood, black granite, and

pools of light from strategically placed halogens. In the privacy of the stall, I smirk as I

divest myself of my underwear. Again I’m grateful I changed into the navy blue shift dress.

I thought it appropriate attire to meet the good Dr. Flynn—I hadn’t expected the evening to