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Chapter 3

"You are aware that wearing pants is a woman's way of saying fuck you to men."

I can't help it: I roll my eyes. "That's simply ridiculous, Christian."

Smirking, he wags his finger at me. "Just so you know, I'm keeping track of your insubordination. And, no, it's not. Pants make sex difficult; it's antagonistic. If you're going to walk around with a tight little snatch, the least you can do is make it accessible."

My gasp almost chokes me. Before we married, I never heard a crude word pass through Christian's lips except when he let the F word fly in anger. But now? He's been showing me just how naughty he can be.

Currently we're lying on our bed and he's attempting to get his hand into my jeans. I'm waiting to see if he manages it since his hand is rather large and my jeans rather tight.

"So where were you tonight when you were late meeting me?"

"Shopping for a very special gift."

"Oh?"

"Yes, Mr. Grey. But it's a surprise."

"That's your explanation? The one I waited hours for?" He shakes his head in a faux stern manner. "Oh, Mrs. Grey, you can do better than that."

"It's all you're getting. Now, focus on the task… at hand." I giggle at my pun and he grabs me with his free hand and pulls me atop him. The hand that was captive in my pants is now ripping the button loose from its mooring and forcing down the jeans.

"Tight jeans are even more obnoxious to remove than ordinary trousers but I will concede they have other advantages."

"Well," I pause to nip at his lower lip, "look who's talking, burying all of that manly stuff under layers of corporate suiting."

"Suiting? Making up words again?"

"I'm sure it's a word," I breathe out the sentence heavily for at the moment his hand has found its target and is in the process of sliding fingers over and into pertinent parts, and all thoughts of explanations fly out of my brain. That hand is so very talented, after all.

It's the truth, though. While I waited for Christian to do whatever it is that he does so sublimely well at work, I went shopping. I'd long ago noticed his wardrobe was mostly limited to suits—albeit magnificent ones—and jeans, tee shirts, and sweaters. I thought I'd get him something different for a change. So I went out with a mission. I found a pair of beautiful linen trousers and unstructured jacket, a white silk slim-fit shirt with double pockets with flaps that will look positively x-rated when stretched across his ripped chest, and a pair of Italian shoes that remind me of high-end bowling shoes but are beautifully crafted. I can't wait to dress him. I figure since I'm allowing him to dress me for the fundraiser, he should allow me to do the same. We'll see how well he receives the idea.

Over dinner, he explained to me about Kim.

"She was married a couple of years ago to a man she met at the club. The thing about BDSM is that some people who gravitate towards it are just violent by nature—they're not dominant. Unfortunately for Kim, she couldn't tell the difference until it was too late. In her defense, Gregory was good at pretending. Once they were married, he let his true colors show. Unfortunately, they showed all over Kim's face and body. She left him after a year but he didn't let her go easily." He shook his head at the memory before continuing.

"Providentially, an excellent out-of-state job came his way and he took it. For—"

"Providentially?" I interrupted. "Or did a certain someone make it happen."

"Moi?" he adopted an insulted expression but I could see the amusement shining through. "Are you accusing me of behind-the-scenes manipulation?"

"Yes, I believe I am. Did you?"

"Mmmhmm. Jackson and I finagled the job between us. Gregory screwed it up in short order, as apparently he screws up everything. Now he's back in Seattle making Kim's life miserable. I'm afraid he might really hurt her."

"Does Kim know that you and Jackson were behind it?"

Shaking his head, he took a sip of his drink. "No. We didn't want her feeling indebted to us. Jackson hadn't even met her when he stuck his neck out for her. I asked him to help because he and his partners own stock in Florida real estate. I knew he could put the bastard far away from Kim."

"That was nice. You're a nice man, Christian."

"Don't let it get around now, Ana. You'll smear my reputation as a rogue."

Now we're back home in bed—my favorite place to be with my delectable husband. "They started filming last week, you know."

"How could I not know? It's in or on every newspaper, tabloid, magazine, and television. It's kind of hard to miss."

"Yes, I know. It's patently ridiculous how big it's gotten. Not that I'm complaining, mind you. But, still…"

"Are you going to be on set at all?"

I shrug. "The producers and director gave me an open invite but what do I know about making a film? I'll probably just get in everyone's way. I don't know, I might make a quick visit one of these days but it feels beyond weird to me."

"I think it would be fun for you. Take Mariah; let her be a pain in the ass to someone other than me for a change."

I sit up instantly. "How is Mariah a pain in your ass?"

His shy smile makes an appearance—I love his shy smiles but I don't let him see my affection right now.

"Because she takes you away from me all too often."

Oh, no, he does know how to swell my heart with love for him. I love many people in my life but never have I felt such a pure and even painful love for another person as I do for him.

I clear my throat and attempt to move back to more comfortable territory. "Well, there's that. Okay, I'll take Lady Mariah with me. Spread some of the love around."

"Good. Now focus your attention on spreading that love right here, right now."

Later that night, I lie in bed thinking about Caroline Henry, the woman who called for a reference for Lucien. Why in the world would he give her my name? Does he expect me to give him a glowing reference? I giggle as I imagine her face when I tell her the truth. Well, other than the fact that he drugged and abducted me, we had a very positive working relationship. What is Lucien thinking? Maybe he thinks I'll call him to give him a piece of my mind. But why would he want to hear from me anyway? I don't dare tell Christian of this latest development or he'll get his Irish up in a heartbeat. One of my missions in life now is to keep Christian pacified and placid as much as possible. Mentioning Lucien's nerve would fly in the face of that mission.

Still, my curiosity is piqued. And why does Lucien want Natasha back? Will he succeed? As my thoughts wander to a possible scenario of Natasha in Saudi Arabia—I picture a scene right out of Arabian Nights—I drift off to sleep to dream of desert sands, harem girl, and a sheik with black eyes and a pencil-thin mustache.

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