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- Э. Л. Джеймс
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I
have
to
drive
in
my
bare
feet
—
Wanda
,
my
sea
-
blue
Beetle
,
wasn
’
t
built
to
be
driven
by
stiletto
-
wearers
.
I
pull
up
outside
the
Heathman
at
six
fifty
-
eight
precisely
and
hand
my
car
keys
to
the
valet
for
parking
.
He
looks
askance
at
my
Beetle
,
but
I
ignore
him
.
Taking
a
deep
breath
and
mentally
girding
my
loins
,
I
head
into
the
hotel
.
Christian
is
leaning
casually
against
the
bar
,
drinking
a
glass
of
white
wine
.
He
’
s
dressed
in
his
customary
white
linen
shirt
,
black
jeans
,
black
tie
,
and
black
jacket
.
His
hair
is
as
tousled
as
ever
.
I
sigh
.
I
stand
for
a
few
seconds
in
the
entrance
of
the
bar
,
gazing
at
him
,
admiring
the
view
.
He
glances
,
nervously
I
think
,
toward
the
entrance
and
stills
when
he
sees
me
.
Blinking
a
couple
of
times
,
he
then
smiles
a
slow
,
lazy
,
sexy
smile
that
renders
me
speechless
and
all
molten
inside
.
Making
a
supreme
effort
not
to
bite
my
lip
,
I
move
forward
,
aware
that
I
,
Anastasia
Steele
of
Clumsyville
,
am
in
high
stilettos
.
He
walks
gracefully
over
to
meet
me
.
“
You
look
stunning
,
”
he
murmurs
as
he
leans
down
to
briefly
kiss
my
cheek
.
“
A
dress
,
Miss
Steele
.
I
approve
.
”
Taking
my
arm
,
he
leads
me
to
a
secluded
booth
and
signals
for
the
waiter
.
“
What
would
you
like
to
drink
?
”
My
lips
quirk
up
in
a
quick
,
sly
smile
as
I
sit
and
slide
into
the
booth
—
well
,
at
least
he
’
s
asking
me
.
“
I
’
ll
have
what
you
’
re
having
,
please
.
”
See
!
I
can
play
nice
and
behave
myself
.
Amused
,
he
orders
another
glass
of
Sancerre
and
slides
in
opposite
me
.
“
They
have
an
excellent
wine
cellar
here
,
”
he
says
.
Putting
his
elbows
on
the
table
,
he
steeples
his
fingers
in
front
of
his
mouth
,
his
eyes
alive
with
some
unreadable
emotion
.
And
there
it
is
…
that
familiar
pull
and
charge
from
him
,
it
connects
somewhere
deep
inside
me
.
I
shift
uncomfortably
under
his
scrutiny
,
my
heart
palpitating
.
I
must
keep
my
cool
.
“
Are
you
nervous
?
”
he
asks
softly
.
“
Yes
.
”
