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“You’re quiet,” I whisper and kiss his shoulder. He turns and looks at me, his expression giving nothing away. “That was fun.” Shit, is something wrong?

“You confound me, Mrs. Grey.”

“Confound you?”

He shifts so that we’re face to face. “Yes. You. Calling the shots. It’s . . .

different.”

“Good different or bad different?” I trail a finger over his lips. His brow furrows, as if he doesn’t quite understand the question. Absentmindedly, he kisses my finger.

“Good different,” he says, but he doesn’t sound convinced.

“You’ve never indulged this little fantasy before?” I blush as I say it. Do I really want to know any more about my husband’s colorful . . . um, kaleidoscopic sex life before me? My subconscious eyes me warily over her tortoiseshell half-moon specs. Do you really want to go there?

“No, Anastasia. You can touch me.” It’s a simple explanation that speaks volumes. Of course, the fifteen couldn’t.

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“Mrs. Robinson could touch you.” I murmur the words before my brain registers what I’ve said. Shit. Why did I mention her?

He stills. His eyes widen with his oh-no-where’s-she-going-with-this expression. “That was different,” he whispers.

Suddenly I want to know. “Good different or bad different?” He gazes at me. Doubt and possibly pain flit across his face, and fleetingly he looks like a man drowning.

“Bad, I think.” His words are barely audible.

Holy shit!

“I thought you liked it.”

“I did. At the time.”

“Not now?”

He gazes at me, eyes wide, then slowly shakes his head.

Oh my . . . “Oh, Christian.” I’m overwhelmed by the feelings that swamp me.

My lost boy. I launch myself at him and kiss his face, his throat, his chest, his little round scars. He groans, pulls me to him, and kisses me passionately. And very slowly, and tenderly, at his pace, he makes love to me once more.

“Ana Tyson. Punching above your weight!” Ethan applauds as I head into the kitchen for breakfast. He’s sitting with Mia, and Kate at the breakfast bar while Mrs.

Bentley cooks waffles. Christian is nowhere to be seen.

“Good morning, Mrs. Grey.” Mrs. Bentley smiles. “What would you like for breakfast?”

“Good Morning. Whatever’s going, thank you. Where’s Christian?”

“Outside.” Kate gestures with her head toward the backyard. I wander over to the window that looks out over the yard and the mountains beyond. It’s a clear, powder-blue summer day, and my beautiful husband is about twenty feet away in deep discussion with some guy.

“That’s Mr. Bentley he’s talking to,” calls Mia from the breakfast bar. I turn to look at her, distracted by her sulky tone. She looks venomously at Ethan. Oh

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dear. I wonder once more what’s going on between them. Frowning, I turn my attention back to my husband and Mr. Bentley.

Mrs. Bentley’s husband is fair-haired, dark eyed and wiry, dressed in work pants and an Aspen Fire Department T-shirt. Christian is dressed in his black jeans and T-shirt. As the two men amble across the lawn toward the house lost in their conversation, Christian casually bends to pick up what looks like a bamboo cane that must have been blown over or discarded in the flowerbed. Pausing, Christian absentmindedly holds out the cane at arm’s length as if weighing it carefully and swipes it through the air, just once.

Oh . . .

Mr. Bentley appears to see nothing odd in his behavior. They continue their discussion, nearer to the house this time, then pause once more, and Christian repeats the gesture. The tip of the cane hits the ground. Glancing up, Christian sees me standing at the window. Suddenly I feel as if I’m spying on him. He stops. I give him an embarrassed wave then turn and walk back to the breakfast bar.

“What were you doing?” asks Kate.

“Just watching Christian.”

“You have got it bad.” She snorts.

“And you don’t, oh soon-to-be sister-in-law?” I reply, grinning and trying to bury the disquieting visual of Christian wielding a cane. I am startled when Kate leaps up and hugs me.

“Sister!” she exclaims, and it’s hard not to be swept up in her joy.

“Hey, sleepyhead.” Christian wakes me. “We’re about to land. Buckle up.”

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I fumble sleepily for my seat belt, but Christian fastens it for me. He kisses my forehead before settling back into his seat. I lean my head on his shoulder again and close my eyes.

An impossibly long hike and a picnic lunch on top of a spectacular mountain have exhausted me. The rest of our party is quiet, too—even Mia. She looks despondent, as she has all day. I wonder how her campaign with Ethan is going. I don’t even know where they slept last night. My eyes catch hers, and I give a small are-you-okay smile. She gives me a brief sad smile in return and goes back to her book. I peek up at Christian through my lashes. He’s working on a contract or something, reading it through and annotating the margins. But he seems relaxed. Elliot is snoring softly beside Kate.