fifty-shades-of-grey

He glares at me as if I have offended him on some level. I hurry on.“You’ve already given me the books, which, of course, I can’t accept. But theseclothes, please let me pay you back.” I smile tentatively at him.“Anastasia, trust me, I can afford it.”“That’s not the point. Why should you buy these for me?”“Because I can,” his eyes flash with a wicked gleam.“Just because you can doesn’t mean that you should,” I reply quietly as he arches aneyebrow at me, his eyes twinkling, and suddenly I feel that we’re talking about somethingelse, but I don’t know what it is. Which reminds me…“Why did you send me the books, Christian?” My voice is soft. He puts down hiscutlery and regards me intently, his gray eyes burning with some unfathomable emotion.Holy crap – my mouth dries.“Well, when you were nearly run over by the cyclist – and I was holding you and youwere looking up at me – all kiss me, kiss me, Christian,” he pauses and shrugs slightly, “Ifelt I owed you an apology and a warning.” He runs his hand through his hair. “Anastasia,I’m not a hearts and flowers kind of man, I don’t do romance. My tastes are very singular.You should steer clear from me.” He closes his eyes as if in defeat. “There’s somethingabout you, though, and I’m finding it impossible to stay away. But I think you’ve figuredthat out already.”My appetite vanishes. He can’t stay away!“Then don’t,” I whisper.He gasps, his eyes wide.“You don’t know what you’re saying.”“Enlighten me, then.”We sit gazing at each other, neither of us touching our food.“You’re not celibate then?” I breathe.Amusement lights up his gray eyes.“No, Anastasia, I’m not celibate.” He pauses for this information to sink in, and I flushscarlet. The mouth-to-brain filter is broken again. I can’t believe I’ve just said that outloud.“What are your plans for the next few days?” he asks, his voice low.“I’m working today, from midday. What is the time?” I panic suddenly.“It’s just after ten, you’ve plenty of time. What about tomorrow?” He has his elbowson the table, and his chin is resting on his long steepled fingers.“Kate and I are going to start packing. We’re moving to Seattle next weekend, and I’mworking at Clayton’s all this week.”“You have a place in Seattle already?”“Yes.”“Where?”“I can’t remember the address. It’s in the Pike Market District.”“Not far from me,” his lips twitch up in a half smile. “So what are you going to do forwork in Seattle?”Where is he going with all these questions? The Christian Grey Inquisition is almostas irritating as the Katherine Kavanagh Inquisition.