Kate and Mia are waxing lyrical about Paris.
"Have you been to Paris, Ana?" Mia asks innocently, distracting me from my jealous reverie.
"No, but I'd love to go." I know I'm the only one at the table who has never left mainland USA.
"We honeymooned in Paris." Grace smiles at Mr. Grey who grins back at her.
It's almost embarrassing to witness. They obviously love each other deeply, and I wonder for a brief moment what it must be like to grow up with both one's parents in situ.
"It's a beautiful city," Mia agrees. "In spite of the Parisians. Christian, you should take Ana to Paris," Mia states firmly.
"I think Anastasia would prefer London," Christian says softly.
Oh... he remembered. He places his hand on my knee - his fingers traveling up my thigh. My whole body tightens in response. No... not here, not now. I flush and shift, trying to pull away from him. His hand clamps down on my thigh, stilling me. I reach for my wine, in desperation.
Little Miss European Pigtails returns, all coy glances and swaying hips, with our en-tree, a Beef Wellington, I think. Fortunately, she gives us our plates and then leaves, although she lingers handing Christian his. He looks quizzically at me as I watch her close the dining room door.
"So what was wrong with the Parisians?" Elliot asks his sister. "Didn't they take to your winsome ways?"
"Ugh, no they didn't. And Monsieur Floubert, the ogre I was working for, he was such a domineering tyrant."
I splutter into my wine.
"Anastasia, are you okay?" Christian asks solicitously, taking his hand off my thigh.
Humor has returned to his voice. Oh thank heavens. When I nod, he pats my back gently, and only removes his hand when he knows I've recovered.
The beef is delicious and served with roasted sweet potatoes, carrots, parsnips, and green beans. It is even more palatable since Christian manages to retain his good-humor for the rest of the meal. I suspect that it's because I'm eating so heartily. The conversation flows freely among the Greys, warm and caring, gently teasing each other. Over our dessert of lemon syllabub, Mia regales us with her exploits in Paris, lapsing at one point into fluent French. We all stare at her, and she stares back puzzled, until Christian tells her in equally fluent French what she's done, whereupon she bursts into a fit of giggles. She has a very infectious laugh and soon we're all in stitches.
Elliot holds forth about his latest building project, a new eco-friendly community to the north of Seattle. I glance up at Kate, and she's hanging on every word Elliot says, her eyes glowing with lust or love. I haven't quite worked out which yet. He grins down at her, and it's as if an unspoken promise passes between them. Laters, baby, he's saying, and it's hot, freaking hot. I flush just watching them.
I sigh and peek up at Fifty Shades. He's so beautiful, I could stare at him forever. He has light stubble over his chin, and my fingers itch to scratch it and feel it against my face, against my br**sts... between my thighs. I blush at the direction of my thoughts. He peers down at me and raises his hand to pull at my chin.
"Don't bite your lip," he murmurs huskily. "I want to do that."
Grace and Mia clear our dessert glasses and head to the kitchen, while Mr. Grey, Kate, and Elliot discuss the merits of solar panels in Washington State. Christian, feigning interest in their conversation, puts his hand once more on my knee, and his fingers travel up my thigh. My breathing hitches, and I press my thighs together in a bid to halt his progress. I can see him smirk.
"Shall I give you a tour of the grounds?" he asks me quite openly.
I know I'm meant to say yes, but I don't trust him. Before I can answer however, he's on his feet and holding his hand out to me. I place my hand in his, and I feel all the muscles clench deep in my belly, responding to his dark, hungry gray gaze.
"Excuse me," I say to Mr. Grey and follow Christian out of the dining room.
He leads me through the hallway and into the kitchen where Mia and Grace are stack-ing the dishwasher. European Pigtails is nowhere to be seen.
"I'm going to show Anastasia the backyard," Christian says innocently to his mother.
She waves us out with a smile as Mia heads back to the dining room.
We step out onto a grey flagstone patio area lit by recessed lights in the flagstones.
There are shrubs in grey stone tubs and a chic metal table and chairs set up in one corner.
Christian walks past those, up some steps, and onto a vast lawn that leads down to the bay... oh my - it's beautiful. Seattle twinkles on the horizon, and the cool, bright, May moon etches a sparkling silver path across the water toward a jetty where two boats are moored. Beside the jetty stands a boathouse. It is so picturesque, so peaceful. I stand and gape for a moment.
Christian pulls me behind him, and my heels sink into the soft grass.
"Stop, please." I am stumbling in his wake.
He stops and gazes at me, his expression unfathomable.
"My heels. I need to take my shoes off."
"Don't bother," he says, and he bends down and scoops me over his shoulder. I squeal loudly with shocked surprise, and he gives me a ringing slap on my behind.
"Keep your voice down," he growls.
Oh no... this is not good, my subconscious is quaking at the knees. He's mad about something - could be Jose, Georgia, no panties, biting my lip. Jeez, he's easy to rile.
"Where are we going?" I breathe.
"Boathouse," he snaps.
I hang on to his hips as I'm tipped upside-down, and he strides purposefully in the moonlight across the lawn.
"Why?" I sound breathless, bouncing on this shoulder.