Fifty Shades Book 1 - Page 129

We!

I sit up, and the sheet pools at my waist, revealing my body. He stands to give me room, his eyes dark.

"What time is it?"

"5:30 in the morning."

"Feels like 3:00 a.m."

"We don't have much time. I let you sleep as long as possible. Come."

"Can't I have a shower?"

He sighs.

"If you have a shower, I'll want one with you, and you and I know what will happen then - the day will just go. Come."

He's excited. Like a small boy, he's iridescent with antic.i.p.ation and excitement. It makes me smile.

"What are we doing?'

"It's a surprise. I told you."

I can't help but grin up at him.

"Okay." I clamber off the bed and search for my clothes. Of course they are neatly folded on the chair beside my bed. He's laid out a pair of his jersey boxer briefs too, Ralph Lauren, no less. I slip them on, and he grins at me. Hmm, another piece of Christian Grey's underwear - a trophy to add to my collection - along with the car, the BlackBerry, the Mac, his black jacket, and a set of old valuable first editions. I shake my head at his lar-gesse, and I frown as a scene from Tess crosses my mind: the strawberry scene. It evokes my dream. To h.e.l.l with Dr. Flynn - Freud would have a field day - and then he'd probably expire trying to deal with Fifty Shades.

"I'll give you some room now that you're up." Christian exits toward the living area, and I wander into the bathroom. I have needs to attend to, and I want a quick wash. Seven minutes later, I am in the living area, scrubbed, brushed and dressed in jeans, my camisole, and Christian Grey's underwear. Christian glances up from the small dining table where he's eating breakfast. Breakfast! Jeez, at this time.

"Eat," he says.

Holy Moses... my dream. I gape at him, thinking about his tongue on his palate. Hmm, his expert tongue.

"Anastasia," he says sternly, pulling me out of my reverie.

It really is too early for me. How to handle this?

"I'll have some tea. Can I take a croissant for later?"

He eyes me suspiciously, and I smile very sweetly.

"Don't rain on my parade, Anastasia," he warns softly.

"I will eat later when my stomach's woken up. About 7:30 a.m.... okay?"

"Okay." He peers down at me.

Honestly. I have to concentrate hard on not making a face at him.

"I want to roll my eyes at you."

"By all means, do, and you will make my day," he says sternly.

I gaze up at the ceiling.

"Well a spanking would wake me up, I suppose." I purse my lips in quiet contempla-tion.

Christian's mouth drops open.

"On the other hand, I don't want you to be all hot and bothered, the climate here is warm enough." I shrug nonchalantly.

Christian closes his mouth and tries very hard to look displeased, but fails hopelessly.

I can see the humor lurking in the back of his eyes.

"You are, as ever, challenging, Miss Steele. Drink your tea."

I notice the Twinings label, and inside, my heart sings. See, he does care, my subconscious mouths at me. I sit and face him, drinking in his beauty. Will I ever get enough of this man?

As we leave the room, Christian throws a sweats.h.i.+rt at me.

"You'll need this."

I look at him, puzzled.

"Trust me." He grins, leans over and kisses me quickly on the lips, then grabs my hand and we head out.

Outside, in the relative cool of the half-light of pre-dawn, the valet hands Christian a set of keys to a flash sports car with a soft top. I raise an eyebrow at Christian, who smirks back at me.

"You know, sometimes it's great being me," he says with a conspiratorial but smug grin that I simply can't help emulating. He's so lovable when he's playful and carefree. He opens my car door with an exaggerated bow, and in I climb. He is in such a good mood.

"Where are we going?"

"You'll see." He grins as he slips the car into drive, and we head out on Savannah Parkway. He programs the GPS and presses a switch on the steering wheel and a cla.s.sical orchestral piece fills the car.

"What's this?" I ask as the sweet, sweet sound of a hundred violin strings a.s.sails us.

"It's from La Traviata. An opera by Verdi."

Oh, my... it's lovely.

"La TraviataI've headr of that. I can't think where. What does it mean?"

Christian glances at me and smirks.

"Well, literally, the woman led astray. It's based on Alexander Dumas's book, La Dame aux Camelias."

"Ah. I've read it."

"I thought you might."

"The doomed courtesan." I squirm uncomfortably in the plush leather seat. Is he trying to tell me something"Hmm, it's a depressing story," I mutter.

"Too depressingDo you want to choose some musicThis is on my iPod." Christian has that secret smile again.

I can't see his iPod anywhere. He taps the screen on the console between us, and behold - there is a play list.

"You choose." His lips twitch up into a smile, and I know it's a challenge.

Christian Grey's iPod, this should be interesting. I scroll through the touch screen, and find the perfect song. I press play. I wouldn't have figured him for a Britney fan. The club-mix, techno beat a.s.saults us both, and Christian turns the volume down. Maybe it's too early for this: Britney's at her most sultry.

"Toxic, eh?" Christian grins.

"I don't know what you mean." I feign innocence.

He turns the music down a little more, and inside I am hugging myself. My inner G.o.ddess is standing on the podium awaiting her gold medal. He turned the music down.

Victory!

"I didn't put that song on my iPod," he says casually, and puts his foot down so that I am thrown back into my seat as the car accelerates along the freeway.