“Will that be all, sir?” the young man asks. I love his French accent. Christian glances at me, takes off his shades, and slips them into the collar of his T-shirt, letting them hang.
“Would you like a drink?” he asks me.
“Do I need one?”
He cocks his head to one side. “Why would you say that?” His voice is soft.
“You know why.”
He frowns as if weighing something in his mind.
Oh, what is he thinking?
33/551
“Two gin and tonics, please. And some nuts and olives,” he says to the steward, who nods and quickly vanishes.
“You think I’m going to punish you?” Christian’s voice is silky.
“Do you want to?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“I’ll think of something. Maybe when you’ve had your drink.” And it’s a sensual threat. I swallow, and my inner goddess squints from her sun lounger where she’s trying to catch rays with a silver reflector fanned out at her neck.
Christian’s frowns once more.
“You want to be?”
How does he know? “Depends,” I mutter, flushing.
“On what?” He hides his smile.
“If you want to hurt me or not.”
His mouth presses into a hard line, humor forgotten. He leans forward and kisses my forehead.
“Anastasia, you’re my wife, not my sub. I don’t ever want to hurt you. You should know that by now. Just . . . just don’t take your clothes off in public. I don’t want you naked all over the tabloids. You don’t want that, and I’m sure your mom and Ray don’t want that either.”
Oh! Ray. Holy shit, he’d have a coronary. What was I thinking? I mentally castigate myself.
The steward appears with our drinks and snacks and places them on the teak table.
“Sit,” Christian commands. I do as he says and settle into a director’s chair.
Christian takes a seat beside me and passes me a gin and tonic.
“Cheers, Mrs. Grey.”