Swinging her over one shoulder, I unlock the key to my hotel room, and push the door open roughly. Taylor is standing just inside, waiting on me, and per my request, he takes Anastasia from me, and helps escort her to the bedroom. She mumbles something incoherent but doesn't stir any further than that.

Once deposited on the bed, I look down at her. Her hair is sprawled out on the pillow, all tangled and messy over her forehead. Her jeans are splattered in her own vomit. Taylor stoically says nothing, but I can't help but wonder what he must be thinking.

"Taylor, tomorrow morning, will you head down and pick up some new clothes for Miss Steele here? I think she'll be needing them." I hand him my card and he nods once more, before leaving the room and closing the door. I don't know what to do. Should I leave her here and sleep on the sofa? What if she's sick again? That was the entire reason I didn't leave her at her own apartment. I move around the bed, and frown as I decide that there's no way I can just leave her in her sick-splattered jeans. Gently, so not to wake her, or startle her, I tug them down her long legs and prop her up enough to pull off her jacket. Again, she doesn't stir, just flops listlessly against the pillows. Her socks come off last, and I pull the blanket over her body, as she cuddles against the edge of the duvet, and rolls onto her side.

I move to my side of the bed, and climb on, not daring myself to slip beneath the duvet myself. Or even undress myself. I glance over at her, and pick up my Blackberry. Home safe, I text to Elliot, but receive no response. I'm hardly surprised.

Pink streaks of light filter through the blinds across the window, and stiffly, I roll onto my back. I ache everywhere, and the room is stiffilingly warm. It takes a few moments to realise where I am, to let awareness slowly creep into my mind, as I take in the furniture across the room. I'm at the Heathman in Portland. My bones no doubtedly ache because of the hiking trip, I'm so warm because I'm still fully-dressed, and I'm so tired because I spent the majority of the evening - despite all intentions - watching Anastasia sleeping, rather than trying to sleep myself. I glance over at her, surprised to find her so close. She's moved to my side of the bed, seeking my warmth and she looks ... incredible. All flawless skin, and dark eyelashes, and big pouty lips.

Belatedly, I realise that her right hand is sitting in the centre of my stomach, holding me to her. I peel her off, shivering at the contact. Nobody touches me. Hard, hard, rock solid limit.

I glance at the time on my phone - it's a little after five in the morning, and I've received a message from Elliot, confirming that he's also home safe - just not his home. Miss Kavanagh's. I roll my eyes, and slide out of the bed, grabbing my workout clothes from the unit. A great feature of the Heathman is it's high-tech gym on the ground floor, and it's beautiful views across the gardens.

The equipment is particularly deserted at this time in the morning, and I take my time on each piece, working out my frustration. The feeling of Miss Steele's hand on my abdomen is still burning a hole in my brain. Nobody has touched me there - ever. Ever. The most frightening part of it was that it didn't have the same effect on me as it has if someone so much as accidentally brushes against me. In fact, I barely noticed to begin with. I run harder on the treadmill, until I feel as though my legs are about to give out. Deciding that she'll probably be awake by now, I head towards the elevator.

Taylor has left a bag of clothes sitting on the sofa, which I grab before making me way over to the bedroom. The door is still tightly closed - the way I left it. I knock once and open the door.

She's awake - sitting up against the pillows, her dark hair curled around her face, totally and utterly bewildered. I place the bag on a chair and notice that Taylor has placed some orange juice on her bedside table. I try hard to control my grin at his humour.

"Good morning, Anastasia. How are you feeling?"

She flushes red all over, and ducks her gaze from me. "Better than I deserve." She glances up slowly, and her hands twist together nervously. "How did I get here?"

I make my way to the edge of the bed, despising how unsure of herself she is around me. I come up with a wonderful lie that disguises any thought of concern for her. "After you passed out, I didn't want to risk the leather upholstery in my car taking you all the way to your aparment. So, I brought you here."

"Did you put me to bed?"

"Yes."

"Did I throw up again?"

"No."

"Did you undress me?" she whispers, unsure.

"Yes." I quirk an eyebrow at her, and she turns the colour of a beetroot in a millisecond.

"We didn't ... ?" She trails off, and the beetroot colour turns almost darker. How?

I try not to appear offended. "Anastasia, you were comatose. Necrophilia is not my thing. I like my women sentient and receptive."

She hangs her head. "I'm so sorry."

"It was a very diverting evening. Not one that I'll forget in a while." I try not to smile, but it's useless. I don't suspect that anyone has ever warranted this much attention from me. She narrows her gaze slowly, and then her face turns into a frown.

"You didn't have to track me down with whatever James Bond stuff you're developing for the highest bidder," she says, her voice dropping like icicles. It's my turn to frown. Was she fucking serious? Who does she think I am?

I pause long enough for her to regret her words, and then I lower my voice. "Firstly, the technology to track cell phones is available over the Internet." Not that I done that, of course. "Secondly, my company does not invest or manufacture any kind of surveillance devices, and thirdly," I barrel on, warming to my cause, "if I hadn't come to get you, you'd probably be waking up in the photographer's bed, and from what I can remember, you weren't overly enthused about him pressing his suit."

I glare at her, my heartbeat pounding in my chest. Insulting me, fine. Insulting my company? No, fucking, way. And then she sinks her teeth into her lower lip and tries to repress her laughter. Her blue eyes twinkle at me. "Which medieval chronicle did you escape from? You sound like a courtly knight." She giggles, and the sound is infections. I try to remain angry, but it's damn-near impossible.

"Anastasia, I don't think so. Dark knight maybe," I rectify. She shouldn't idolise me right now. It's not exactly setting the right tone. I need her to know I have a dark side. With a passion I'm not sure I understand, I draw myself up and pull myself together. Time to slowly introduce her to dominant Christian. "Did you eat last night?" She pauses, looking wary, and shakes her head. I clench my jaw tightly. "You need to eat. That's why you were so ill." I blow out a breath. "Honestly, Anastasia, it's drinking rule number one." I run my hand through my hair and she almost shrinks beneath my glare - but then she narrows her gaze. I see a glimpse of the fire that amuses me so much as she pulls herself up, in a similar way that I'd done only a few minutes ago, and swallows.

"Are you going to continue to scold me?"

"Is that what I'm doing?"

"I think so."

"You're lucky I'm just scolding you." The words are falling out of my mouth before I can stop them. When she looks nothing more than curious, and asks what I mean, I can't help my honest explanation. "Well, if you were mine, you wouldn't be able to sit down for a week after the stunt you pulled yesterday. You didn't eat, you got drunk, you put yourself at risk ... I hate to think what could have happened to you."

Her scowl deepens, and her fire turns into outright indignation at my suggestion. "I would've been fine. I was with Kate."

"And the photographer?" Her face blanches as she recalls his insistence once again, but then regains the colour as quickly as it was lost. "Jose just got out of line." She shrugs non-chalantly. I try not to balk at her. How can she be so calm about that? I grind my teeth together and refrain from asking her if it's a regular occurence; men whom she trusts forcing themselves upon her. How anyone can treat a woman like that is beyond me.

"Well, the next time he gets out of line, maybe someone should teach him some manners."

"You are quite the disciplinarian."

The thought of how right she is, distracts me. "Oh Anastasia, you have no idea." I grin at her, but she does nothing more than stare at me, open-mouthed. "I'm going to have a shower. Unless you'd like to shower first?" Her stunned expression doesn't change, and I catch the way her pupils dilate at my suggestion. I can't help it - my grin practically splits my face at her reaction to me. I reach for those beautiful red lips and run my thumb along the bottom, where her teeth were not a moment before. "Breathe, Anastasia." I glance at the time over her shoulder. "Breakfast will be here in fifteen minutes. You must be famished." And without another word, I leave her in the middle of my bed, all sleep-rumpled and stunned.

I check the time on my watch as I open the door to room service. As always, they are right on time, and enter into the dining area to set up the table. I leave them to it, pulling out my phone to try and reach my brother. I'm not entirely sure what the plan is, but I'm going to have to drop Anastasia at her home.

Do you plan on leaving Miss Kavanagh's bed sometime today? I'm going to drop Anastasia off, and then I have some meetings to attend. You're still alive, right?

It's barely a minute before he texts me back.

Fuck off. I'll be ready when you drop her off. Oh yeah, and fuck off.

I can't help but grin. Winding my brother up has been my favourite hobby since I was old enough to talk.

The waiters finish with breakfast and bow out of the room quietly. I head towards the bedroom and knock on the bathroom door. The water is still running, and when I knock the door, something drops hard against the bottom of the shower. "Breakfast is here," I call to her.

"O-Okay," she stutters, her voice seemingly hesitant. I leave the bedroom and head back towards the spread of food lying across the table. It looks delicious, and my stomach rumbles. There's everything here - I wasn't entirely sure what Anastasia ate, so there's a big enough choice. Everything from pancakes, to french toast, to cereal, to regular toast, eggs, bacon. I refrain from eating anything until she's present, and pull up the morning paper, reading through the business section first. Ultimately, there's nothing very exciting going on. The stock figures are all that's changed, and all I have a chance to read before Anastasia appears. Her pale blue shirt brings out the colour of her blue eyes, and her long, brown hair is tucked beneath a towel. She looks fresh and young.

She pauses before sitting. "Crap, Kate!"

"She knows you're here, and still alive. I texted Elliot," I say. Her frame visibly relaxes as she stares at the table. "Sit." She does as I say and takes her place opposite me.

Her eyes seem to come back into focus, and she looks around the food like she doesn't know where to begin. I grab some omelet for myself, and pour myself a cup of coffee.

"I didn't know what you liked, so I ordered a selection from the breakfast menu." I smile as she relaxes further.

"That's very profligate of you," she mumbles and I agree with her reluctantly. She pulls the plate of pancakes towards her and takes her share, adding to it some eggs and bacon before drenching the entire lot in maple syrup.

"Tea?"

"Yes, please."

I push the teapot of hot water in her direction and she notices the Twinings label, smiling gently. I don't want it to seem like I put too much thought into this, and quickly change the subject. "Your hair's very damp."

"I couldn't find the hairdryer." I highly doubt that. Otherwise, she didn't look very hard. "Thank you for organising the clothes."

I appreciate her thanks, tell her how good the clothes suit her, and then she offers to pay for them. I pause, a spoonful of egg halfway to my mouth. "Anastasia, trust me, I can afford it."

"That's not the point. Why should you buy these for me?"

"Because I can."

"Just because you can doesn't mean you should." I'm unsure as to what to say. No woman has ever questioned the gifts I've bought for her. Most welcome them. Others just accept them as part of the package. Nobody wants to hand them back, or give me the money for them. She's such a mystery - such a strange phenomenon to me. Her voice lowers further, and she looks the most hesitant I've ever seen her. "Why did you send me the books, Christian?"

I place my cutlery down on the table and regard her for a second, wondering how to respond. I had a few options here; A) lie straight out and say I found them and thought she might appreciate them. B) Explain how drawn I am to her, and that I thought these books would win her affection. C) Tell the truth. Her blue eyes bore into me, exposing me right through to the bone, and I started slowly.

"Well, when you were nearly run over by the cyclist - and I was holding you and you were looking up at me - all 'kiss me, kiss me, Christian' - I felt I owed you an apology, and a warning. I'm not a hearts and flowers kind of man. I don't do romance. My tastes are very singular. You should steer clear of me." I risk a glance and she swallows hard. I feel the tension between us crackling in the air. "There's something about you, though, and I'm finding it impossible to stay away. But I think you've figured that out already."

Her eyes widen momentarily, and she stops eating. She places her cutlery down too, and doesn't say a word for the longest time.

"Then don't."

Two words. Two fucking words, and I'm fantasising about pulling her from her chair and taking her across the breakfast table. I gasp and shake my head. "You don't know what you're saying."

"Enlighten me, then."

I open my mouth to do just that, and stop myself. How do I explain what I want from her over my omelet, and her bacon? I imagine her reaction not exactly being pretty. If she reacts badly, she could go home and tell Kate, and Elliot.

"You're not celibate then?"

She pulls me from my thoughts with a laugh. "No, Anastasia. I'm not celibate." Her flush creeps up her neck, and highlights her cheeks. "What are your plans for the next few days?"

"I'm working today, from midday." She stiffens. "What is the time?"

"It's just after ten, you've plenty of time. What about tomorrow?"

"Kate and I are going to start packing. We're moving to Seattle next weekend, and I'm working at Clayton's all this week."

I fail to hide my surprise. "You have a place in Seattle already?"

"Yes."

"Where?"

"I can't remember the address. It's in the Pike Market District."

I smile widely. That will be handy. "Not far from me. So what are you going to do for work in Seattle?"

She shrugs, noncomittally. "I've applied for some internships. I'm waiting to hear."

"Have you applied to my company as I suggested?"

Her flush returns for the umpteenth time this morning. "Um, no."

"And what's wrong with my company?" I try for mock hurt.

She smirks. "Your company, or your company?"

I bite my lip to hide my smile, but it leaks out anyways. This teasing, fun side to her is definitely attractive. "Are you smirking at me, Miss Steele?" Anastasia bites her bottom lip, looking down at the table. "I'd like to bite that lip," I whisper unintentionally. She gasps and glances up unwillingly, and her eyes bore into me.

"Why don't you?" Christ, this girl is a mass of contradictions. Blushing at everything, and then coming on to me like crazy.

"Because I'm not going to touch you Anastasia - not until I have your written consent to do so."

Her eyebrows knit together. "What does that mean?"

"Exactly what I say," and then with a sigh, I shake my head and realise I'm hedging around the conversation. "I need to show you, Anastasia. What time do you finish work at this evening?"

"About eight." Hmm .. we could go by helicopter. Who knows, if everything works itself out, she could stay the night. I'm surprised by how much I want that.

"Well, we could go to Seattle this evening ... or next Saturday for dinner at my place, and I'll acquaint you with the facts then. The choice is yours."

Her bottom lip juts out. "Why can't you tell me now?"

"Because I'm enjoying my breakfast and your company. Once you're enlightened, you probably won't want to see me again."

I watch her mind churn on that one. Watch her expression go from mildly scared, to curious, to downright confused. And then her omnipresent blush creeps up again, and I smile at it's familiarity. She meets my gaze with a hardened resolve.

"Tonight."

"Like Eve, you're so quick to eat from the tree of knowledge." Had she never heard of the term, 'ignorance is bliss'? Well she would certainly know it by tonight. Pulling up my cellphone, I hit speed dial and Taylor answers after only one ring.

"Taylor, I'm going to need Charlie Tango." I watch the confusion flit across her face once more, and Taylor asks what time I'll need her from. "From Portland, at say twenty-thirty." Taylor repeats my instructions back to me, but as I watch Anastasia squirm in her seat, I realise that she may not want to stay. "Standby at Escala ... all night."

I continue the conversation, sorting the particulars with Taylor before he confirms it's been organised, and we hang up. The remainder of our breakfast is mostly conversation on our plans for tonight. Anastasia seems eager, squirming around in her seat like a child, not being able to eat. I glance down at her plate, and see the amount of food sitting there. Something uncomfortable stirs inside me.

"Eat." She looks puzzled by my sharp tone. "Anastasia, I have an issue with wasted food ... eat."

Anastasia's gaze shifts towards the contents laid out upon the table, and I realise she's misunderstood me. "I can't eat all this."

"Eat what's on your plate. If you'd eaten properly yesterday, you wouldn't be here, and I wouldn't be declaring my hand so soon."

Turning back to her food, she chews slowly and uncomfortably, and for what feels like the umpteenth time since I met her, I want to smack myself. There is rarely an occasion where I've said something and immediately want to take it back, but when she looks at me like she is right now, I can't help but feel regret. It's an emotion I'm not used to.

"Good girl. I'll take you home when you've dried your hair. I don't want you getting ill." She bites that lip again, but says nothing, just places her cutlery down on her empty plate and stands. She's almost halfway to the room when she turns, a challenge in her eyes.

"Where did you sleep last night?"

I pause in my reading of the newspaper and meet her gaze, daring her to comment when I answer her. "In my bed."

"Oh." Her cheeks flame.

I smile slowly. "Yes. It was quite a novelty for me too."

"Not having ... sex?" She swallows as if she's been holding that sentence in since she met me.

"No." Oh no, I've had sex in a bed. A memory crawls from the back of my mind, Elena handcuffing me to the headboard, not being able to move, the feeling so alien and awful, but so arousing all at once. The confusion. The turmoil in my mind ... "Sleeping with someone."

She nods once, totally and completely bewildered, and turns on her heel back towards the bedroom. I watch her go, with a rising sense of panic. Where are all these random memories escaping from? I swear she brings them out of me. I haven't thought of that first night with Elena almsot since it happened. I can only remember the war that went on in my head. Wondering if this was wrong, or if I was wrong for thinking it was wrong. The physical pain of someone touching me, the emotional pain of wondering how screwed up I was to enjoy this.

My phone ringing interrupts me from my thoughts abruptly - and not entirely unwelcome. It's Ros, and as I launch into details of our new navy yard build, I realise I can't shake the memories like normal. They've crawled out, and once they have, they're impossible to be put back. I consider making the good doc my next phonecall.

"They arrive in Darfur on ... the 4th August. We've got a great price on material ... everything's set up for you to give the go ahead..."

I nod, still distracted. "Okay, let's do it. Keep me abreast of progress." I hang up the phone as I spot Anastasia standing in the doorway. Her long, brown hair is now dried and tied in a ponytail that flicks over her shoulder. She has a bag of her clothes in her hand, and an almost guilty look on her face. I want to ask her why, but think better of it.

"Ready to go?" When she nods, I grab my car keys and a jacket, and head out. She smells amazing. Maybe it's her shampoo, I think idly as we stand and wait for the elevator. She's so close that I can feel the heat coming from her body, and suddenly .. I realise I'm forgetting my past right before my eyes, she's so distracting.

The elevator arrives with a small ding and the doors open. No couple making out this time, just the two of us, riding down in silence. I watch the floors, feel the electricity buzz between us, but it isn't until I see her glance at me, her lip caught between her teeth that I lose that precious self-control I've been grasping at since I saw her.

"Oh, fuck the paperwork," I growl as I grab for her. She's shocked, takes a moment to recover but then she drops her bags to the floor of the elevator with a quiet thud, and suddenly, she's kissing me back with as much fervour. I grab her hands to prevent her from touching me, certain that I wouldn't be able to handle it, and pin them above her head as my lips clash against hers once more. She whimpers slightly, and fuck, if it doesn't almost kill me. I grab her long hair and give it a sharp tug, and she gasps, allowing my tongue the entry it's been seeking. She tastes like that tea she drinks and .. mint?

I practically lose it when I feel her tongue begin to stroke against mine, totally hesitant and unsure, but oh, so good. And it's all sensation after that. Our lips clashing, tongues moving against one another. I can feel every curve of her body against mine, my dick rubbing against the zip of my pants is the most excruciating torture I've ever experienced, and yet, I'm able to pull away, glancing quickly over at the number of floor we're currently on.

"You, are, so, sweet," I mumble against her lips once more, before stepping back and leaving her against the wall. She looks bereft, and I can sympathise with her, as I attempt to catch my breath. Shit. I shouldn't have done that. The doors open on the fifth floor and three men get on with us, each wearing expensive suits. We move further towards the back to allow them in, and I catch Anastasia glancing at me. I let out a breath and she smirks.

The men exit on the second floor - the conference rooms, I imagine. And before the elevator stops once more, I turn to her. "You've brushed your teeth."

She grins. "I used your toothbrush."

I don't know whether to be shocked, repulsed or impressed. And I can't tell whether or not she's kidding. My mind conjurs an image of her being spanked across my knee for that, and I tighten everywhere. "Oh, Anastasia Steele, what am I going to do with you?"

The doors open on the ground floor and I grab her hand, dragging her across the hotel lobby until we reach the front door and exit into the sunshine. I glance at her and smile. Somehow, this has just gotten a whole lot more interesting...