“No!” Damn! I sense his smile against my belly as his journey continues north.

“So impatient, Mrs. Grey. We have until we touch down on the Emerald Isle.” Reverentially he kisses my breasts and tugs my left nipple between his lips.

Gazing up at me, his eyes are dark like a tropical storm as he teases me.

Oh my . . . I’d forgotten. Europe.

“Husband, I want you. Please.”

He looms up over me, his body covering mine, resting his weight on his elbows. He runs his nose down mine, and I run my hands down his strong, supple back to his fine, fine backside.

“Mrs. Grey . . . wife. We aim to please.” His lips brush. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“Eyes open. I want to see you.”

“Christian . . . ah . . . ,” I cry, as he slowly sinks into me.

“Ana, oh Ana,” he breathes and he starts to move.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Christian shouts, waking me from my very pleasant dream. He’s standing all wet and beautiful at the end of my sun lounger and glaring down at me.

What have I done? Oh no . . . I’m lying on my back . . . Crap, crap, crap and he’s mad. Shit. He’s really mad.

I am suddenly very awake, my erotic dream forgotten.

“I was on my front. I must have turned over in my sleep.” I whisper weakly in my defense.

His eyes blaze with fury. He reaches down, scoops up my bikini top from his sun lounger and tosses it at me.

“Put this on!” he hisses.

“Christian, no one is looking.”

“Trust me. They’re looking. I’m sure Taylor and the security crew are enjoying the show!” he snarls.

30/551

Holy shit! Why do I keep forgetting about them? I grasp my breasts in panic, hiding them. Ever since Charlie Tango’s sabotaged demise, we are constantly shadowed by damned security.