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- Э. Л. Джеймс
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I
nuzzle
up
against
him
,
eyes
closed
,
my
nose
at
his
throat
,
drinking
in
his
sexy
Christian
-
and
-
spiced
-
musky
-
bodywash
fragrance
,
my
head
on
his
shoulder
.
I
let
my
mind
drift
,
and
I
allow
myself
to
fantasize
that
he
loves
me
.
Oh
,
and
it
’
s
so
real
,
tangible
almost
,
and
a
small
part
of
my
nasty
harpy
subconscious
acts
completely
out
of
character
and
dares
to
hope
.
I
’
m
careful
not
to
touch
his
chest
but
just
snuggle
in
his
arms
as
he
holds
me
tightly
.
All
too
soon
,
I
’
m
torn
from
my
impossible
daydream
.
“
We
’
re
home
,
”
Christian
murmurs
,
and
it
’
s
such
a
tantalizing
sentence
,
full
of
so
much
potential
.
Home
,
with
Christian
.
Except
his
apartment
is
an
art
gallery
,
not
a
home
.
Taylor
opens
the
door
for
us
,
and
I
thank
him
shyly
,
aware
that
he
’
s
been
within
earshot
of
our
conversation
,
but
his
kind
smile
is
reassuring
and
gives
nothing
away
.
Once
out
of
the
car
,
Christian
assesses
me
critically
.
Oh
no
…
what
have
I
done
now
?
“
Why
don
’
t
you
have
a
jacket
?
”
he
frowns
as
he
shrugs
out
of
his
and
drapes
it
over
my
shoulders
.
Relief
washes
through
me
.
“
It
’
s
in
my
new
car
,
”
I
reply
sleepily
,
yawning
.
He
smirks
at
me
.
“
Tired
,
Miss
Steele
?
”
