Chapter 16 (1/2)
Hmm . . . payback time.
”Sit,” I mutter.
He blinks at me, not understanding. I push him gently toward the lone white stool in the bathroom. He sits down, gazing at me puzzled, and I take the razor from him.
”Ana,” he warns as he realizes my intention. I lean down and kiss him.
”Head back,” I whisper.
He hesitates.
”Tit for tat, Mr. Grey.”
He stares at me with wary, amused disbelief. ”You know what you're doing?” he asks, his voice low. I shake my head slowly, deliberately, trying to look as serious as possible. He closes his eyes and shakes his head then tilts his head back in surrender. Holy shit, he's going to let me shave him. My inner goddess flexes and stretches her arms outward, her fingers interlocked, palms out, limbering up. Tentatively I slide my hand into the damp hair at his forehead, gripping tightly to hold him still. He clenches his eyes closed and parts his lips as he inhales. Very gently, I stroke his razor up from his neck to his chin, revealing a path of skin beneath the lather. Christian exhales.
”Did you think I was going to hurt you?”
”I never know what you're going to do, Ana, but no - not intentionally.”
I run the razor up his neck again, clearing a wider path in the lather.
”I would never intentionally hurt you, Christian.”
He opens his eyes and circles his arms around me as I gently drag the razor down his cheek from the bottom of his sideburn.
”I know,” he says, angling his face so I can shave the rest of his cheek. Two more strokes and I've finished.
”All done, and not a drop of blood spilt.” I grin proudly. He runs his hand up my leg so that my nightdress rides up my thigh and pulls me on to his lap so that I'm astride him. I steady myself with my hands on his upper arms. He's really very muscular.
”Can I take you somewhere today?”
”No sunbathing?” I arch a caustic brow at him.
He licks his lips nervously. ”No. No sunbathing today. I thought you might prefer that.”
”Well, since you've covered me in hickeys and effectively put the kibosh on that, sure, why not?”
Wisely he chooses to ignore my tone. ”It's a drive, but it's worth a visit from what I've read. My dad recommended we visit. It's a hilltop village called Saint Paul de Vence. There are some galleries there. I thought we could pick out some paintings or sculptures for the new house, if we find anything we like.”
Holy crap. I lean back and gaze at him. Art . . . he wants to buy art. How can I buy art?
”What?” he asks.
”I know nothing about art, Christian.”
He shrugs and smiles at me indulgently. ”We'll only buy what we like. This isn't about investment.”