Chapter 2 (1/2)

”Only for you.” I give him my sweetest smile. The late afternoon sun has shifted, and I am under its full glare. He smirks and in one swift move pulls my sun lounger into the shade of the parasol.

”Out of the Mediterranean sun, Mrs. Grey.”

”Thank you for your altruism, Mr. Grey.”

”My pleasure, Mrs. Grey, and I'm not being altruistic at all. If you burn, I won't be able to touch you.” He raises an eyebrow, his eyes shining with mirth, and my heart expands. ”But I suspect you know that and you're laughing at me.”

”Would I?” I gasp, feigning innocence.

”Yes you would and you do. Often. It's one of the many things I love about you.” He leans down and kisses me, playfully biting my lower lip.

”I was hoping you'd rub me down with more suntan lotion.” I pout against his lips.

”Mrs. Grey, it's a dirty job . . . but that's an offer I can't refuse. Sit up,” he orders, his voice husky. I do as I'm told, and with slow meticulous strokes from strong and supple fingers, he coats me in sun lotion.

”You really are very lovely. I'm a lucky man,” he murmurs as his fingers skim over my br**sts, spreading the lotion.

”Yes you are, Mr. Grey.” I gaze coyly up at him through my lashes.

”Modesty becomes you, Mrs. Grey. Turn over. I want to do your back.”

Smiling, I roll over, and he undoes the back strap of my hideously expensive bikini.

”How would you feel if I went topless, like the other women on the beach?” I ask.

”Displeased,” he says without hesitation. ”I'm not very happy about you wearing so little right now.” He leans down and whispers in my ear. ”Don't push your luck.”

”Is that a challenge, Mr. Grey?”

”No. It's a statement of fact, Mrs. Grey.”

I sigh and shake my head. Oh Christian . . . my possessive, jealous, control freak Christian.

When he's finished, he slaps my behind.

”You'll do, wench.”

His ever-present, ever-active BlackBerry buzzes. I frown and he smirks.

”My eyes only, Mrs. Grey.” He raises his eyebrow in playful warning, slaps my backside once more, and sits back down on his lounger to take the call.

My inner goddess purrs. Maybe tonight we could do some kind of floor show for his eyes only. She smirks knowingly, arching a brow. I grin at the thought and drift back into my afternoon siesta.

”Mam'selle? Un Perrier pour moi, un Coca-Cola light p our ma femme, s'il vous plait. Et quelque chose a manger. . . laissez-moi voir la carte.”

Hmm . . . Christian speaking fluent French wakes me. My eyelashes flutter in the glare of the sun, and I find Christian watching me while a liveried young woman walks away, her tray held aloft, her high blond ponytail swinging provocatively.