fifty-shades-of-grey

We glide around the dining table, over to the piano, and backwards and forwards infront of the glass wall, Seattle twinkling outside, a dark and magical mural to our dance,and I can’t help my carefree laugh. He grins down at me as the song comes to a close.“There’s no nicer witch than you,” he murmurs, then kisses me sweetly. “Well, that’sbought some color to your cheeks, Miss Steele. Thank you for the dance. Shall we go andmeet my parents?”“You’re welcome, and yes, I can’t wait to meet them,” I answer breathlessly.“Do you have everything you need?”“Oh, yes,” I respond sweetly.“Are you sure?”I nod as nonchalantly as I can manage under his intense, amused scrutiny. His facesplits into a huge grin, and he shakes his head.“Okay. If that’s the way you want to play it, Miss Steele.”He grabs my hand, collects his jacket which is hanging on one of the barstools, andleads me through the foyer to the elevator. Oh, the many faces of Christian Grey. Will Iever be able to understand this mercurial man?I peek up at him in the elevator. He’s enjoying a private joke, a trace of a smile flirtingwith his beautiful mouth. I fear that it may be at my expense. What was I thinking? I’mgoing to see his parents, and I’m not wearing any underwear. My subconscious gives mean unhelpful I told you so expression. In the relative safety of his apartment, it seemed likea fun, teasing idea. Now, I’m almost outside with No Panties! He peers down at me, andit’s there, the charge building between us. The amused look disappears from his face andhis expression clouds, his eyes dark… oh my.The elevator doors open on the ground floor. Christian shakes his head slightly as ifto clear his thoughts and gestures for me to exit before him in a most gentlemanly manner.Who’s he kidding? He’s no gentleman. He has my panties.Taylor draws up in the large Audi. Christian opens the rear door for me, and I climb insideas elegantly as I can, considering my state of wanton undress. I’m grateful that Kate’splum dress is so clingy and hangs to the top of my knees.We speed up the I-5, both of us quiet, no doubt inhibited by Taylor’s steady presencein the front. Christian’s mood is almost tangible and seems to shift, the humor dissipatingslowly as we head north. He’s brooding, staring out of the window, and I can feel himslipping away from me. What is he thinking? I can’t ask him. What can I say in front ofTaylor?“Where did you learn to dance?” I ask tentatively. He turns to gaze at me, his eyesunreadable beneath the intermittent light of the passing street lamps.“Do you really want to know?” he replies softly.My heart sinks, and now I don’t because I can guess.“Yes,” I murmur, reluctantly.“Mrs. Robinson was fond of dancing.”Oh, my worst suspicions confirmed. She has taught him well, and the thought depressesme – there’s nothing I can teach him. I have no special skills.“She must have been a good teacher.”“She was,” he says softly.