Author's Note: OK folks, one more chapter of banter and flirting and your patience will be rewarded. The next not one but TWO chapters will earn this story its "M" rating. And they're all written so you won't be left waiting. I hope I didn't get too into the weeds with this dinner date, but I wanted to build up the anticipation and also show the quirks of their personalities, interactions and future conflicts. Thanks so much for following along and for all the feedback. I love every bit of it so please keep it coming! It's always so nice to know that you're not just sending your story into no-man's land :) And btw, the SocialSharer thing is a reference to a certain social media giant who shall remain nameless in case there's any copyright infringement ;) Enjoy!

CHAPTER 10: READY TO RUMBLE

"So what was your most memorable experience during one of these five-star stays?" And can I top it?

Ana cocked her head to the side, chewing her lip. Christian avidly watched.

"There was one time we stayed at the Washington Eclipse, that stately historic property by the White House. They put us up in the presidential suite, which is usually reserved for heads of state. Over 5,000 square feet of space, something like $10,000 a night and it was decked out in this imperial red-and-gold décor scheme reminiscent of Versailles — kind of like this place!"

He smiled. "I'm choosing to take that as a compliment Ms. Steele."

"It is Mr. Grey," she assured him, returning his smile. Fuck is she flirting with me!

Stop trying to flirt Ana. You wind up looking like you need to use the bathroom or something.

Her lips tightened. "Anyway, after we jumped up and down on the king-size bed and made use of the Jacuzzi, we didn't know what to do with all that space. So we took the tablecloth off the ginormous dining room table, stood at opposite ends and played paper football. Then I slid across the hardwood floors in the living room à la 'Risky Business,' only I wasn't as smooth as Tom Cruise so I busted my ass. I had to hobble into the five-star dining room later that night because I had a huge bruise on my hip."

Christian laughed alongside Ana picturing her klutziness, though he could've done without the visual of her and another man in a Jacuzzi. Only this girl would play paper football on a table where international treaties are probably signed.

"What about you?" she asked, her cheeks rosy from giggling.

He looked at her quizzically. "What? Have I done the Tom Cruise slide? Sorry can't say that I have."

"No silly, although who hasn't done that slide? But I digress. You've traveled the world and stayed in all kinds of places. What was your most memorable moment? Or at least something fun you did? Besides trade stocks."

Christian literally scratched his head.

"Fun? Ummm, sex, I guess," he replied matter-of-factly. Ana snorted out her wine again, triggering another bout of hysteria.

"What? You asked!" Christian exclaimed, playfully nudging her shoulder.

"Ahhh men," she sighed, taking in a big gulp of air. "One-track minds. One-track minds."

"I know, I'm a cliché. The millionaire playboy," he leaned in, eyes sparkling with mirth.

"You're inexplicable."

He did a double take. "You have such a remarkable way of phrasing things Ana."

"I sure as hell better. I'm a writer," she reproached him.

"And a damn fine one based on what I've read." She quirked her brow at him. Shit, she knows I've been studying up her. Change the subject.

"You're equally inexplicable Ms. Steele. There's nothing one-dimensional about you."

"Oh I'm not as complicated as you give me credit for," she said, deflecting his praise. "Besides, we're all clichés," she began, going off on another one of her signature tangents that Christian increasingly found endearing.

"You know that social media site, SocialSharer? I'm like everyone else — I only put up the most awesome, flattering photos of myself. I always say there's the SocialSharer, cookie-cutter version of you and the real-life version. A friend once told me that she saw my pictures and wished she had my life. I told her I wished I had that life too!"

"I'm quite curious to see your page then. I'm actually barely on there. I find it tedious. One of my exes finally convinced me to set up a profile and then all my other exes flocked to it. That pretty much guaranteed that I steered clear of it."

"So it's an unvarnished window into your love life eh?"

He chuckled. "I suppose so. You're more than welcome to connect with me and access my page if you're so inclined." I spy on you digitally baby. Might as well return the favor.

"No thanks. I'll keep my cyber-stalking to a minimum," she laughed.

"Just as well perhaps. I have no intention of your mug shot ever joining my lineup of exes." What the hell are you implying Grey? That you'll never break up with this girl? You're not even dating for God's sake.

Yeah yeah I get it Mr. Humble Hotshot — I'll never be the type of girl you date.

Christian awkwardly cleared his throat, wanting to erase the twinge of hurt he saw flicker across Ana's face. "I'll still send you a connection request. Since you've already overlooked my real-life stalking, the least I could do is extend the same courtesy to you online."

"That's OK," she waved him off dismissively. "Honestly the site irks the crap out of me too. The most annoying are those cryptic crisis postings begging for sympathy. You know, the ones that say something like, 'Please pray for me. We need all the strength we can get.' Pray for what?! How can I pray if I don't know what I'm praying for! It's like an evil cliffhanger — drives me nuts."

"That's not as irritating as the parents who post 10,000 photos of their kids taking a bath and then complain about how the internet exploits children."

"Or the people who have 4,000 connections when you know they have a maximum of four friends, on a good day," Ana lobbed back, enjoying their game of one-upmanship.

"Or the people who put up every trivial aspect about their lives. 'I sat in traffic today.' Congratulations, so did a billion other people."

"Not all of us get to sit in gridlock in the comfort of a chauffeured backseat Mr. Grey," she scolded him.

"Touché my dear. But they still take selfies of themselves while driving — instead of driving — no doubt contributing to the congestion."

"In my defense, I've never taken a selfie. On principle, I don't think anyone over the age of 30 should. But I am guilty of the humble brag — though I always acknowledge it's a humble brag before I put up some exotic picture of whatever beach I'm lounging on."

"So you and your husband traveled a lot?" Christian inquired, pleased with his clever segue into her past.

Ana got whiplash. Wait, weren't we just talking about selfies?

"Umm yeah, most of Europe and then random spots here and there. It was our 'thing.' We loved to explore new cultures, see how other people lived, escape our boring, everyday existence so to speak."

"Was he as scared of flying as you are?"

"Oh no, we were diametrically opposed on that front. He loved it, except that he'd always step off the plane with huge welt marks on his arms from my nails digging into them." She didn't reach for my arm on our flight.

"He's actually the reason I developed my vodka coping mechanism. We were young and naïve when we started flying internationally and were astounded that the drinks were free, so we always went overboard," she smiled, recalling a mile-high moment. Ana promptly took a sip of wine to indicate that she was done throwing him crumbs about Jose.

Christian felt as if he had been catapulted him back onto their flight, where he spent seven grueling hours trying to extract personal information out of her.

He let the silence stretch out to compel her to talk.

As usual, Ana's radar misread the signals.

"I'm sorry Christian. I don't mean to keep talking about my husband. Old habits die hard. It's just that after all those years together, our stories are so inextricably linked that it's impossible to separate them — pardon the pun."

"No, I don't mind at all," he insisted, wriggling his way into the tiny crack she inadvertently left him. "How long have you two been separated by the way?"

"Six months."

Pulling teeth.

"Do you still talk to each other?"

"Not as much as we used to."

A dentist couldn't yank out her teeth with a truckload of Novocain.

Why is this commitment-phobe so fixated on my marriage? Ana took a deep breath and decided to toss him a bone.

"It was a pretty bad break — more like a schism. He had a hard time accepting it at first but he's since moved on."

"Have you?" He leaned in closely to gauge her reaction.

"I suppose," she said evasively, popping a pan-seared scallop into her mouth.

He mimicked a spinning ball with his fingers, motioning for her to elaborate.

"I date, if that's what your spinney fingers are hinting at. I dabbled in the world of online matchmaking," she shrugged her shoulders, the uncharacteristic brevity of her responses frustrating him.

Christian drummed his fingers loudly on the tabletop. "Now you're stalling."

"Oh good grief — give your fingers a rest. Yes I did the online dating thing. It was exciting at first, but bizarre. I was like a dinosaur from the prehistoric, pre-texting world of dating. But I was also pleasantly surprised. The men were a lot more normal and decent than I imagined them to be. It was convenient actually — like an assembly line where you check off your ideal traits. And I can't deny that it was a major ego boost when my inbox got flooded with prospective suitors vying for my attention."

Under the table, Christian's hand balled into a fist. "So did any of them succeed?"

"A few," she replied, thwarting him again.

"And…"

"I also met a few doozies," she said, dancing around his question like a savvy politician. "One guy was a financial something or other — like you — and he drank himself into a stupor on our lunch date because I think he was about to be convicted for insider trading the next day. Another one barely spoke to me for three excruciating hours, but the minute I got home he asked me for another date. I was like, 'We said eight words to each other. Why would you want to see me again?'

"Never mind, don't answer that," she corrected herself. "One-track minds. He probably wasn't interested in talking."

Christian's fingernails were beginning to leave an imprint in the palm of his tightly closed fist.

"But eventually it began to feel like homework. I couldn't keep up with the emails and got sick of giving the same spiel over and over again, perpetually explaining my backstory. Like all novelties, it wore off," she said, giving him a pointed stare.

Retrieving her reporter cap from Christian, Ana decided to turn the tables on him.

"Do you use those dating websites?"

"No I don't," he said curtly, his mind still stuck on Ana's array of digital suitors.

She tapped her fingernails on the tablecloth in a pronounced fashion.

"Now who's stalling? Give and take Mr. Grey."

The feel of her admonishing sapphire eyes jarred him back to the present. "Excuse me Ms. Steele. You're right — as always," he bowed his head. "My dating life is usually an extension of my professional life. I typically meet women at work-related functions or through business associates or even occasionally through my exes."

"Holy crap! So let me get this straight, you've built up a referral network of women, from the women you used to date! That takes mad skill."

He chortled with pride.

"Now you're giving me too much credit. To be honest, they were a young, impressionable bunch. They were as risk-averse to commitment as I was, so …"

"It was a mutually beneficial arrangement," Ana finished his sentence, rolling her eyes. "I remember your lovey-dovey description from Paris. So what was the average age of this 'bunch' of girls?"

"I don't know, mid-20s I suppose." Christian could see through the narrowed slits of Ana's eyes that she did not approve. "No, sometimes late 20s," he added in a feeble attempt to defend himself.

"Hmmph, you must've raided the retirement home to find those old biddies," she sniped, her tone laced with scorn. Does this guy think a woman's boobs melt or something after the magical cutoff age of 30? That if you have one wrinkle you no longer qualify to serve in his harem?

Christian had touched a raw nerve. Ana was well past her 20s but competing with that generation, both professionally and personally. Her fuse of indignation and insecurity was lit and about to explode.

"I'm sorry but that is a bit cliché Mr. Grey" — and I'm not using your last name in a cutesy way either. "I'm sick of the whole 'I'm incapable of dating women my own age' load of hooey that older men spew to justify their vanity and fear of being challenged by their equal," she hissed, surprised by the vehemence in her voice. Geez Ana, tame that feminist roar. The man's just being upfront with you.

Duly chastised, Christian took a long chug of wine, cautiously eyeing Ana over the rim of his glass. I'm not the one who apparently has a whole army of suitors lined up in my inbox. Fuck, look at her. She's really pissed! Salvage this sinking ship before she gets away!

"Let me explain Ana" — even though I've never had to before.

"No Christian wait," she cut him off, feigning indifference. "You don't owe me any kind of explanation whatsoever. Your private life is your business." And it's just that — business-like. "I have a nasty habit of spewing out things you're not supposed to say in polite society. Just ignore me." And put this date out of its misery because we're clearly on two different wavelengths.

Christian's throat constricted at the prospect of their date going south. He could feel her walls crashing down on him.

"No Anastasia, please let me just say something," he began, trying to hide his obvious distress. "I have dated older — ahem — women my own age before, but I find I cannot meet their expectations. They know what they want out of life, as do I, and the two are usually not mutually compatible. Whereas with younger women, I will be perfectly frank, they tend to be less complicated, more transient. They're not looking for anything serious — nor am I — so when we invariably part ways, it's more amicable. I'm sorry but as I told you in Paris, I'm unapologetic about my lifestyle" — even though I just apologized for it. Fuck, she still looks disappointed! Maybe I should apologize again?

Christian anxiously scanned her face, waiting for her response with bated breath. It was Ana's turn to down an inordinate amount of wine.

Why are you letting this guy crawl under your skin? You won't see him after tonight anyway. He'll probably shove you in a cab and bang that 25-year-old Russian hostess.

The unpalatable thought stirred her inner bitch, but it also put Christian into perspective for her. Listening to his dispassionate portrayal of relationships, Ana's anger receded and was replaced by a strange kind of sorrow. This man has never experienced love. It's the worst force in the world but also the best, and his life will be destitute without it. All that money but he's emotionally bankrupt.

"Ana, tell me what you're thinking," he asked, the nervous edge in his voice snapping her out of her reverie. Show him a 35-year-old can be amicable too.

"I'm thinking that I'm a colossal hypocrite Christian. I gave you a pious speech on the plane about how no one has the right to judge other people, yet here I am guilty of not heeding my own advice. I'm sorry. I'm older and re-entering the dating world after an 8,000-year hiatus, so I guess the age thing is a sore spot for me. I'm just a bitter 35-year-old soon-to-be divorcee. Don't pay any attention to me," she sighed, her voice slightly faltering.

His chest tightened, her vulnerability crushing him. Christian grabbed her hand before she could whisk it away under the table.

"You're a beautiful 35-year-old woman and I'm glad I met you. And I want to get to know you better if you'll keep an open mind and give me a chance. You're probably stepping outside your comfort zone for me too," he quietly pointed out.

She gave him a sly smile. "Understatement of the year."

"Precisely. So perhaps we could be the exceptions to each other's rules," he said hopefully, giving her hand an affectionate squeeze. Jesus Christian did you just lay all your cards on the table? You're not even out on a limb; your fat ass broke the branch and toppled the tree.

Ana's cheeks were on fire and her head was spinning trying to solve the riddle in front of her. One minute, he was a chauvinist pig, and in the next he transformed into a scared puppy dog.

"Like I said Christian, you're inexplicable, and it'll take more than one dinner to figure you out, so of course I'll give you a chance." Oh holy hell Ana, did you just ask yourself out on another date!

Christian's face erupted into a megawatt smile, just as their elaborately constructed entrées arrived.

"Bon appétit," he said brightly, digging into his truffle-encrusted steak. But Christian couldn't shake the fear that Ana was going to pigeonhole him as a serial philanderer.

"And actually, just FYI, my last girlfriend was 34, so I don't discriminate my dear," he said, carefully studying her reaction.

"Well that's good to know. I won't slap you with an age-discrimination lawsuit then," she giggled, taking a bite of her flaky sea bass. He exhaled. "So what happened? Why did it end?"

"It just fizzled out. In fact, it didn't end amicably with Veronica. She refused to accept that it was over and kept calling and emailing. She was actually the one who set up my SocialSharer page, probably as a last-ditch effort to stay together. It was all rather inconvenient for a while."

Christian stopped, realizing he had caught Ana's diarrhea of the mouth. Did I just try to prove to her that I'm not an insensitive ass by making myself sound like an insensitive ass?

Ana bit her lip to stifle her laugh but it was a lost cause — much like Christian, who was already laughing at himself.

"I know, I'm hopeless," he threw his hands up in the air.

"No not at all. OK, maybe just a little," she chuckled. "Seriously Christian, I know it's not my place to lecture you but you should realize that you're an amazing catch and maybe have a little more sympathy for these girls. It can't be easy to snag a guy like you and then lose you. Getting dumped burns — no matter what the age."

Christian moved his chunks of meat around the plate, castigated and contrite. He mentally resolved to stop badmouthing Veronica. Then a light bulb went off when he replayed Ana's words. Did she just throw me a lifeline?

"An amazing catch eh?" he gloated, flashing her his all-American-boy smile.

Oh boy, this guy has a rebound rate of two seconds!

"Out of that entire statement, that's what you heard?" she laughed at his juvenile egotism. "I think you're missing the gist of what I'm saying."

"So you don't think I'm amazing?" He crossed his hands over his injured heart, fishing for a compliment. "Let me guess, you only think I'm a good catch on paper. In reality, you think I'm a glorified stockbroker — or a lowly adolescent boy trapped in a grown man's body. You wound me Ms. Steele," he teased, daring her to deny it.

"Humility doesn't suit you Mr. Grey," she narrowed her eyes at him, stepping up to the plate.

"Bullshit doesn't suit you."

She gave him a knowing smile. So don't fall for his and you may come out of this alive Ana.

Keep it up Christian and she'll be eating out of your hands in no time.

But by the time dessert arrived, she wasn't, and the pressure was on for Christian to up his game.

"So where are you staying tonight? You never said." Even though I've been trying to weasel it out of you since the appetizer.

"Oh I forget the name of the hotel. You can just drop me off in Greenwich Village. I've got the address written somewhere in my purse," she replied, eluding his attempts to pin her down yet again.

"Why are you being so mysterious Ana? I've been trying to wrangle this out of you all night," he finally conceded.

"Oh I'm well aware. In addition to humility, subtlety is not your strong suit. OK, I'll tell you, but only if you promise not to have a millionaire freak-out moment on me."

He was about to freak out.

"It's a hostel," she said, her tone hushed, as if the word was too filthy to utter in the refined grandeur of their surroundings.

"A hostel," he whispered, glaring at her like she had just committed treason.

"Yes Christian, I'm on a budget, remember?" she said as if speaking to a child. "But it's one of those new-age hostels," she quickly added to reassure him. "Chic and trendy. Lots of hipsters — I'll probably be like their den mother."

Suddenly, Christian's blood ran cold.

"Wait, is Henry going to be there?" he demanded to know, his tone vaguely accusatory.

Her brows crinkled in confusion. "Who? The blogger from Spain? Umm, no, he's in Spain. Where did that come from?"

"Uhhh never mind. For some reason I just associated him with hostels. Let me get us a refill on the wine." Christian craned his neck to locate their waiter, his suave façade temporarily slipping.

They polished off another exorbitantly priced, ambiguously fruity wine. Ana regaled him with stories of her online dating exploits in her typical scattershot fashion, while Christian peppered her with questions in his compartmentalized CEO style, jotting down mental notes. He had been on countless dates over the years but had never conversed with anyone as easily as he did with Ana. Probably because I never cared what they had to say.

So by the end of the date, Christian was scrambling for ways to extend it.

"Thank you Christian. That was an excellent meal," Ana said, slipping her arms into the jacket he was holding out for her.

"My pleasure. Want to go for a walk? It's a nice night." He twined her fingers with his and began leading her down the street, not bothering to wait for an answer.

She smiled to herself. Presumptuous much Mr. Grey?

Christian watched as Ana gawked at the vertical wall of Manhattan skyscrapers with childlike wonder, making sure she didn't stumble. Around the corner, a seedy bar caught his eye. Dinner was a bust, so maybe it's time to go in a completely different direction.

"Do you play billiards Ana? There's a pool hall over there."

"I love pool," she screeched, flashing him a breathtaking smile that made his heart, among other things, swell.

Inside Pete's Pool Joint, the dingy, faded-yellow walls matched the dilapidated, sticky floor, but the only thing Ana noticed was the jukebox.

"'Sweet Home Alabama' — I love this song," she clasped her hands together, exuding enthusiasm.

"I take it you like dive bars then my dear."

"Oh I like hip-hop clubs, five-star restaurants and hole-in-the-wall bars. My tastes are eclectic Mr. Grey," she batted her eyelashes at him, the Bordeaux giving her a shot of liquid courage. His dick stood at full staff.

She mistook his silence for indifference. What did I tell you about flirting Ana? Now he probably thinks you're constipated.

His slight was quickly forgotten when the jukebox began playing "Motownphilly."

"I love this one too! Doesn't this song take you back?" Ana beamed.

"I don't really remember it," Christian shrugged.

"Hello! Boyz II Men, ABC, BBD, the East Coast Family…"

All she got was a blank stare.

Ana stared back at Christian, equally mystified.

"Have you been hiding under a rock Mr. Grey? This is a classic! Mmm nnnaaahh, mmm nnnaaahhh," she belted out, humming the lyrics.

"You're a horrible singer," he laughed.

"And you're a horrible dancer," she parried back.

As always, their verbal jousting kept him on his toes.

When it came to pool, however, Christian was a graceful pro. Ana was not, flubbing most of her shots. But Christian graciously let her win each time, drinking in the sight of her bouncing up and down in victory.

He also capitalized on her inexperience, leaning in close to give her pointers on how to aim for the pockets. When Christian wasn't hovering over her, he sat back and adjusted the rising tent in his pants as he watched her stretch her body over the contours of the table.

Ana may have been a novice at pool, but she quickly caught onto Christian's game, missing most of her shots on purpose to get a firsthand lesson. A tremor ran through her when Christian covered her hands with his own and bent her over the table, pressing his groin into her behind as he cued up the ball with her.

A preview of tonight baby, Christian thought, breaking into a fine sheen of sweat at the intimate contact.

Suddenly, the sound of shattered beer bottles pierced the din of the jukebox and a scuffle broke out by the bar.

Ana instinctively moved to get a closer look but Christian just as quickly yanked her back to him, caging her in his arms. "Whoa Ana, you're supposed to run away from danger, not toward it. Stay here with me," he instructed sternly and held her fast to him. She gave him an exaggerated pout but relaxed into the protective sanctuary of his arms.

Christian wasn't worried about the two kids duking it out at the bar. He was a brawler in college and still boxed in his free time, so he could easily hold his own if the spat came closer to Ana.

But just as quickly as it started, the commotion was over and the two drunks were kicked out. Christian didn't let Ana go, though, seizing his opportunity. He snaked his arms more firmly around her waist, his warm breath blowing past her ear and tickling her cheek. She didn't object, leaning into the solid expanse of his chest. She could feel the wild pounding of his heart, which matched the erratic rhythm of hers.

Everyone else faded into a blur as Ana and Christian became singularly focused on each other, hyper-aware of each vibration their bodies made. The steady cadence of his breathing hypnotized her, while the rise and fall of her chest entranced him. It was a moment suspended in time — one Christian was not going to squander.

"Come home with me Ana," he whispered in her ear, the low timbre of his voice making her knees turn to jelly. He squeezed her tightly to him, relishing her gasp when she felt the blatant arousal jammed into her back.

Christian tipped his head back in agony. Fuck if we don't get out of here I'm going to bend her over and take her right now. But I don't want to let her go just yet.

So he didn't, imprisoning her in his embrace and trailing a line of butterfly kisses along the soft slope of her neck. "I want you so much," he confessed, almost inaudibly, his erection straining the confines of his pants and digging into her spine.

Oh shit, this is really happening. I'm going to need some more really old wine. Ana grasped the strong arms holding her upright as she fought to control her breathing, her throat on fire.

"Let's go then," she replied, the huskiness in her voice sounding alien to her own ears.

He didn't need any more encouragement, throwing the waitress a hundred-dollar bill as he hauled a shell-shocked Ana out to the car.

Sitting in the backseat, with one of the finest male specimens she'd ever laid eyes on, Ana's bravado vanished and her nerves set in.

Did I shave this morning? I've been out all day — my boobs must be so sweaty. And why the fuck did I have to wear sensible underwear today of all days? Because you didn't think you'd be having sex with a freaking underwear model Ana!

A few inches away, the only thought that repeatedly ran through Christian's mind was regret — regret that he didn't have a privacy divider installed so he could fuck her in the backseat. Christian swallowed, furiously rubbing his hand along the bottom of his mouth. This is going to be the longest car ride ever, he thought, unconsciously scooting his body toward the middle seat, while Ana squirmed in hers.

Both of them survived the 15-minute-long ride, immersed in each other while making inane small talk about French wine and bar fights. When they exited the car, Christian kept his arm cinched around Ana's waist but stepped away from her in the elevator, afraid that if he got any closer they wouldn't make it to the apartment. The air crackled, a charge running between them as they stole furtive glances at one another.

The confined space made Christian envision all the ways he would finally take Ana, and all the surfaces he'd take her on. I could just fuck her up against this elevator wall if it weren't for the damn cameras. He looked over at her tiny form, her fingers knotted together in worry, and a nagging voice quieted the beast in him.

You wined, dined and steamrolled this girl Christian. Maybe this isn't what she wants. For God's sake, she's in a strange city with no place to go for the night, completely at your mercy. Hmm, completely at my mercy…

A lustful grin spread across his face as he pictured the possibilities. In the end, though, his better nature won out over his inherent libido.

"Ana," he exhaled, "it's no secret what I want, but you don't have to do anything you're not comfortable with. I'm offering you my place — no strings attached. The guest room is yours and you can have all the privacy you need. We can talk, hang out, whatever you'd like, or you can go to sleep."

Naked, with me, after I fucked you raw!

Ana knew what she wanted, and it didn't involve talking or sleeping. How many chances will you have like this Ana? Even if he ditches you in the morning, you will have had the time of your life the night before. Go for it girl!

Christian watched in mute fascination as she slowly closed the distance between them, coming to stand directly below his chin and peeking up at him with doe-like eyes that did little to mask the wanton desire lurking behind them. His Adams apple's bobbed up and down and his lips parted to accommodate his labored breathing.

"I appreciate that Christian. But I'm a big girl and I know what I'm doing — and exactly what I want," she said, her smoldering gaze leaving no doubt as to what that was.

"I know what I want too Ana," he growled, splaying his hands around her hips and jerking her into his raging erection, "and I think we're finally on the same page."

When the elevator pinged, Christian's legs suddenly felt like lead, but he wasted no time sprinting across the hallway to his front door, dragging Ana behind him — a man on a mission.