Grey
Page 113
“Can’t I have a shower?”
“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.”
She gives me a patient look. “What are we doing?”
“It’s a surprise. I told you.”
She shakes her head and beams, very much amused. “Okay.” She climbs out of bed, oblivious to her nudity, and notices her clothes on the chair. I’m delighted that she’s not her usual shy self; maybe it’s because she’s sleepy. She slides on my underwear and gives me a broad smile.
“I’ll give you some room now that you’re up.” Leaving her to dress, I wander back into the main room, sit down at the small dining table, and help myself to some coffee.
She joins me a few minutes later.
“Eat,” I order, motioning for her to take a seat. She stares at me, transfixed, her eyes glazed. “Anastasia,” I say, interrupting her daydream. Her eyelashes flutter as she comes back from wherever she’s been.
“I’ll have some tea. Can I take a croissant for later?” she asks hopefully.
She’s not going to eat.
“Don’t rain on my parade, Anastasia.”
“I’ll eat later, when my stomach’s woken up. About seven thirty, okay?”
“Okay.” I can’t force her.
She looks defiant and stubborn. “I want to roll my eyes at you,” she says.
Oh, Ana, bring it on.
“By all means, do, and you will make my day.”
She looks up at the fire sprinkler on the ceiling. “Well, a spanking would wake me up, I suppose,” she says, as if she’s weighing the option.
She’s considering it? It doesn’t work that way, Anastasia!
“On the other hand, I don’t want you to be all hot and bothered; the climate here is warm enough.” She gives me a saccharine smile.
“You are, as ever, challenging, Miss Steele.” My voice is droll. “Drink your tea.”
She sits down and takes a couple of sips.
“Drink up. We should go.” I’m keen to get on the road—it’s quite a drive.
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.”
Stop with the grinning, Grey.
She pouts with frustration. Miss Steele, as ever, is curious. But all she’s wearing is her camisole and jeans; she’ll be cold once we’re airborne. “Finish your tea,” I order, and leave the table. In the bedroom I rifle through the armoire and pull out a sweatshirt. This should do. I call the valet and tell him to bring the car out front.
“I’m ready,” she says as I return to the main room.
“You’ll need this.” I toss the sweatshirt to her as she gives me a bewildered look.
“Trust me.” I plant a swift kiss on her lips. Taking her hand, I open the door to the suite and we head for the elevators. There’s a hotel employee standing there—Brian, according to his name tag—also waiting for the elevator.
“Good morning,” he says, giving us both a cheerful salute as the doors open. I glance at Ana and smirk as we enter.
No shenanigans in elevators this morning.
She hides her smile and peers at the floor, her cheeks coloring. She knows exactly what’s going through my mind. Brian wishes us a good day as we exit.
Outside, the valet is waiting with the Mustang. Ana arches a brow, impressed by the GT500. Yeah, it’s a fun drive, even if it’s only a Mustang. “You know, sometimes it’s great being me,” I tease her, and with a polite bow I open her door.
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.” I get behind the wheel and ease the car into drive. At the stoplight I quickly program the address of the airfield into the GPS. It directs us out of Savannah toward I-95. I switch on my iPod via the steering wheel, and the car is filled with a sublime melody.
“What’s this?” Ana asks.
“It’s from La Traviata. An opera by Verdi.”
“La Traviata? I’ve heard of that. I can’t think where. What does it mean?”
I give her a knowing look. “Well, literally, ‘the woman led astray.’ It’s based on Alexandre Dumas’s book La Dame aux Camélias.”
“Ah. I’ve read it.”
“I thought you might have.”
“The doomed courtesan,” she recounts, her voice tinged with melancholy. “Hmm, it’s a depressing story,” she says.
“Too depressing?” We can’t have that, Miss Steele, especially when I’m in such a good mood. “Do you want to choose some music? This is on my iPod.”
I tap the navigation screen and bring up the playlist.
“You choose,” I offer, wondering if she’ll like anything I have in iTunes. She studies the list and scrolls through it, concentrating hard. She taps on a song, and Verdi’s dulcet strings are replaced by a pounding beat and Britney Spears.
“?‘Toxic,’ eh?” I observe, with wry humor.
Is she trying to tell me something?
Is she referring to me?
“I don’t know what you mean,” she says innocently.
Does she think I should wear a warning?
Miss Steele wants to play games.
So be it.
I turn the music down a tad. It’s a little early for this remix, and for the reminder.
“Sir, this submissive respectfully requests Master’s iPod.”
I glance away from the spreadsheet I’m reading and study her as she kneels beside me, her eyes cast down.
She’s been exceptional this weekend. How can I refuse?
“Sure, Leila, take it. I think it’s in the dock.”
“Thank you, Master,” she says, and stands with her usual grace, without looking at me.
Good girl.
And wearing only red high heels, she teeters over to the iPod dock and collects her reward.
“I didn’t put that song on my iPod,” I tell her breezily, and floor the gas, throwing us both into the back of our seats, but I hear Ana’s small, exasperated huff above the roar of the engine.
As Britney continues at her sultry best, Ana drums her fingers on her thigh, radiating disquiet as she stares out the car window. The Mustang eats up the miles on the freeway; there’s no traffic, and dawn’s first light is chasing us down I-95.
“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.”
She gives me a patient look. “What are we doing?”
“It’s a surprise. I told you.”
She shakes her head and beams, very much amused. “Okay.” She climbs out of bed, oblivious to her nudity, and notices her clothes on the chair. I’m delighted that she’s not her usual shy self; maybe it’s because she’s sleepy. She slides on my underwear and gives me a broad smile.
“I’ll give you some room now that you’re up.” Leaving her to dress, I wander back into the main room, sit down at the small dining table, and help myself to some coffee.
She joins me a few minutes later.
“Eat,” I order, motioning for her to take a seat. She stares at me, transfixed, her eyes glazed. “Anastasia,” I say, interrupting her daydream. Her eyelashes flutter as she comes back from wherever she’s been.
“I’ll have some tea. Can I take a croissant for later?” she asks hopefully.
She’s not going to eat.
“Don’t rain on my parade, Anastasia.”
“I’ll eat later, when my stomach’s woken up. About seven thirty, okay?”
“Okay.” I can’t force her.
She looks defiant and stubborn. “I want to roll my eyes at you,” she says.
Oh, Ana, bring it on.
“By all means, do, and you will make my day.”
She looks up at the fire sprinkler on the ceiling. “Well, a spanking would wake me up, I suppose,” she says, as if she’s weighing the option.
She’s considering it? It doesn’t work that way, Anastasia!
“On the other hand, I don’t want you to be all hot and bothered; the climate here is warm enough.” She gives me a saccharine smile.
“You are, as ever, challenging, Miss Steele.” My voice is droll. “Drink your tea.”
She sits down and takes a couple of sips.
“Drink up. We should go.” I’m keen to get on the road—it’s quite a drive.
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.”
Stop with the grinning, Grey.
She pouts with frustration. Miss Steele, as ever, is curious. But all she’s wearing is her camisole and jeans; she’ll be cold once we’re airborne. “Finish your tea,” I order, and leave the table. In the bedroom I rifle through the armoire and pull out a sweatshirt. This should do. I call the valet and tell him to bring the car out front.
“I’m ready,” she says as I return to the main room.
“You’ll need this.” I toss the sweatshirt to her as she gives me a bewildered look.
“Trust me.” I plant a swift kiss on her lips. Taking her hand, I open the door to the suite and we head for the elevators. There’s a hotel employee standing there—Brian, according to his name tag—also waiting for the elevator.
“Good morning,” he says, giving us both a cheerful salute as the doors open. I glance at Ana and smirk as we enter.
No shenanigans in elevators this morning.
She hides her smile and peers at the floor, her cheeks coloring. She knows exactly what’s going through my mind. Brian wishes us a good day as we exit.
Outside, the valet is waiting with the Mustang. Ana arches a brow, impressed by the GT500. Yeah, it’s a fun drive, even if it’s only a Mustang. “You know, sometimes it’s great being me,” I tease her, and with a polite bow I open her door.
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.” I get behind the wheel and ease the car into drive. At the stoplight I quickly program the address of the airfield into the GPS. It directs us out of Savannah toward I-95. I switch on my iPod via the steering wheel, and the car is filled with a sublime melody.
“What’s this?” Ana asks.
“It’s from La Traviata. An opera by Verdi.”
“La Traviata? I’ve heard of that. I can’t think where. What does it mean?”
I give her a knowing look. “Well, literally, ‘the woman led astray.’ It’s based on Alexandre Dumas’s book La Dame aux Camélias.”
“Ah. I’ve read it.”
“I thought you might have.”
“The doomed courtesan,” she recounts, her voice tinged with melancholy. “Hmm, it’s a depressing story,” she says.
“Too depressing?” We can’t have that, Miss Steele, especially when I’m in such a good mood. “Do you want to choose some music? This is on my iPod.”
I tap the navigation screen and bring up the playlist.
“You choose,” I offer, wondering if she’ll like anything I have in iTunes. She studies the list and scrolls through it, concentrating hard. She taps on a song, and Verdi’s dulcet strings are replaced by a pounding beat and Britney Spears.
“?‘Toxic,’ eh?” I observe, with wry humor.
Is she trying to tell me something?
Is she referring to me?
“I don’t know what you mean,” she says innocently.
Does she think I should wear a warning?
Miss Steele wants to play games.
So be it.
I turn the music down a tad. It’s a little early for this remix, and for the reminder.
“Sir, this submissive respectfully requests Master’s iPod.”
I glance away from the spreadsheet I’m reading and study her as she kneels beside me, her eyes cast down.
She’s been exceptional this weekend. How can I refuse?
“Sure, Leila, take it. I think it’s in the dock.”
“Thank you, Master,” she says, and stands with her usual grace, without looking at me.
Good girl.
And wearing only red high heels, she teeters over to the iPod dock and collects her reward.
“I didn’t put that song on my iPod,” I tell her breezily, and floor the gas, throwing us both into the back of our seats, but I hear Ana’s small, exasperated huff above the roar of the engine.
As Britney continues at her sultry best, Ana drums her fingers on her thigh, radiating disquiet as she stares out the car window. The Mustang eats up the miles on the freeway; there’s no traffic, and dawn’s first light is chasing us down I-95.
