we can really celebrate.” His expression is so heated, so raw, so commanding. I am melting.

“I’m not hungry. Not for food.”

He shakes his head, thoroughly enjoying himself, but narrows his eyes at me just the

same.

“Eat, or I’ll put you across my knee, right here, and we’ll entertain the other diners.”

His words make me squirm. He wouldn’t dare! He and his twitchy palm. I press my

mouth into a hard line and stare at him. Picking up an asparagus stalk, he dips the head into

the hollandaise.

“Eat this,” he murmurs, his voice low and seductive.

I willingly comply.

“You really don’t eat enough. You’ve lost weight since I’ve known you.” His tone is

gentle.

I don’t want to think about my weight; truth is, I like being this slim. I swallow the

asparagus.

“I just want to go home and make love,” I mutter disconsolately. Christian grins.

“So do I, and we will. Eat up.”

Reluctantly, I turn back to my food and start to eat. Honestly, I’ve taken my panties off

and everything. I feel like a child who has been denied candy. He is such a tease, a deli-

cious, hot, naughty tease, and all mine.

He quizzes me about Ethan. As it turns out, Christian does business with Kate and

Ethan’s father. Hmm . . . it’s small world. I’m relieved he doesn’t mention Dr. Flynn or

the house as I’m finding it difficult to concentrate on our conversation. I want to go home.

The carnal anticipation is unfurling between us. He’s so good at this. Making me wait.

Setting the scene. Between bites, he places his hand on his thigh, so close to mine, but still

doesn’t touch me just to tease me further.

Bastard! Finally I finish my food, and place my knife and fork on the plate.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, and those two words hold so much promise.

I frown at him. “What now?” I ask, desire clawing at my belly. Oh, I want this man.

“Now? We leave. I believe you have certain expectations, Miss Steele. Which I intend

to fulfill to the best of my ability.”

Whoa!

“The best . . . of your a . . . bil . . . ity?” I stutter. Holy shit.

He grins and stands.

“Don’t we have to pay?” I ask, breathless.

He cocks his head to one side. “I am a member here. They’ll bill me. Come, Anastasia,

after you.” He steps aside, and I stand to leave, conscious that I am not wearing my panties.

He gazes at me darkly, like he’s undressing me, and I glory in his carnal appraisal. It

just makes me feel so sexy—this beautiful man desires me. Will I always get a kick out of

this? Deliberately stopping in front of him, I smooth my dress over my hips.

Christian whispers in my ear, “I can’t wait to get you home.” But he still doesn’t touch

me. On the way out he murmurs something about the car to the maître d’, but I’m not listen-

ing, my inner goddess is incandescent with anticipation. Jeez, she could light up Seattle.

Waiting by the elevators, we are joined by two middle-aged couples. When the doors

open, Christian takes my elbow and steers me to the back. I glance around, and we’re sur-

rounded by dark smoked-glass mirrors. As the other couples enter, one man in a rather

unflattering brown suit greets Christian.

“Grey,” he nods politely. Christian nods in return but is silent.

The couples stand in front of us, facing the elevator doors. They are obviously friends—

the women chat loudly, excited and animated after their meal. I think they’re all a little

tipsy.As the doors close, Christian briefly stoops down beside me to tie his shoelace. Odd,

his shoelaces aren’t undone. Discreetly he places his hand on my ankle, startling me, and

as he stands his hand travels swiftly up my leg, skating deliciously over my skin—whoa—

right up. I have to stifle my gasp of surprise as his hand reaches my backside. Christian

moves behind me.

Oh my.I gape at the people in front of us, staring at the backs of their heads. They have

no idea what we’re up to. Wrapping his free arm around my waist, Christian pulls me to

him, holding me in place as his fingers explore. Holy fucking shit . . . in here?The eleva-

tor travels smoothly down, stopping at the fifty-third floor to let some more people on, but

I am not paying attention. I am focused on every little move his fingers make. Circling

around . . . now moving forward, questing, as we shuffle back.

Again I stifle a groan when his fingers find their goal.

“Always so ready, Miss Steele,” he whispers as he slips a long finger inside me. I

squirm and gasp. How can he do this with all these people here?

“Keep still and quiet,” he warns, murmuring in my ear.

I’m flushed, warm, wanting, trapped in an elevator with seven people, six of them

oblivious to what’s occurring in the corner. His finger slides in and out of me, again and

again. My breathing. Jeez, it’s embarrassing. I want to tell him to stop . . . and continue . . .

and stop. I sag against him, and he tightens his arm around me, his erection against my hip.

We halt again at the forty-fourth floor. Oh . . . how long is this torture going to con-

tinue? In . . . out . . . in . . . out . . .Subtly I grind myself against his persistent finger. After all this time of not touching me, he chooses now! Here! And it makes me feel so—wanton.

“Hush,” he breathes, seemingly unaffected as yet two more people come aboard. The

elevator is getting crowded. Christian moves us both farther back so that we’re now pressed

into the corner, holding me in place and torturing me further. He nuzzles my hair. I’m sure

we look like a young couple in love, canoodling in the corner, if anyone could be bothered

to turn round and see what we’re doing . . . And he eases a second finger inside me.

Fuck!I groan, and I’m thankful that the gaggle of people in front of us are still chatting

away, totally oblivious.

Oh, Christian, what you do to me.I lean my head against his chest, closing my eyes and

surrendering to his unrelenting fingers.

“Don’t come,” he whispers. “I want that later.” He splays his hand out on my belly,

pressing down slightly, as he continues his sweet persecution. The feeling is exquisite.

Finally the elevator reaches the first floor. With a loud ping the doors open, and almost

instantly the passengers start exiting. Christian slowly slips his fingers out of me and kisses

the back of my head. I glance round at him, and he smiles, then nods again at Mr. Badly-

fitted-brown-suit who returns his nod of acknowledgment as he shuffles out of the elevator

with his wife. I barely notice, concentrating instead on staying upright and trying to man-

age my panting. Jeez, I feel aching and bereft. Christian releases me, leaving me to stand

on my own two feet without leaning on him.

Turning, I gaze up at him. He looks cool and unruffled, his usual composed self.

Hmm . . . This is so not fair.

“Ready?” he asks. His eyes gleam wickedly as he slips first his index, then his middle

finger into his mouth and sucks on them. “Mighty fine, Miss Steele,” he whispers. I nearly

convulse on the spot.

“I can’t believe you just did that,” I murmur, and I’m practically coming apart at the

seams.

“You’d be surprised what I can do, Miss Steele,” he says. Reaching out, he tucks a lock

of hair behind my ear, a slight smile betraying his amusement.

“I want to get you home, but maybe we’ll only make it as far as the car.” He grins down

at me as he takes my hand and leads me out of the elevator.

What! Sex in the car?Can’t we just do it here on the cool marble of the lobby floor . . .