Chapter 127 (1/2)

”You're drunk.”

”Yes.” He smiles, but his smile changes as he thinks about it, and a haunted expression crosses his face, a look that chills me to the bone.

”Come on, Christian,” I say gently. I hate his expression. It speaks of horrid, ugly memories that no child should see. ”Let's get you into bed.” I push him gently and he flops down onto the mattress, sprawling in all directions and grinning up at me, his haunted expression gone.

”Join me,” he slurs.

”Let's get you undressed first.”

He grins widely, drunkenly. ”Now you're talking.”

Holy cow. Drunk Christian is cute and playful. I'll take him over mad-as-hell Christian anytime.

”Sit up. Let me take your jacket off.”

”The room is spinning.”

Shit . . . is he going to throw up? ”Christian, sit up!”

He smirks up at me. ”Mrs. Grey, you are a bossy little thing . . .”

”Yes. Do as you're told and sit up.” I put my hands on my hips. He grins again, struggles up onto his elbows then sits up in a most unChristian-like, gawky fashion. Before he can flop down again, I grab his tie and wrestle him out of his gray jacket, one arm at a time.

”You smell good.”

”You smell of hard liquor.”

”Yes . . . bour-bon.” He pronounces the syllables with such exaggeration that I have to stifle a giggle. Discarding his jacket on the floor beside me, I make a start on his tie. He rests his hands on my hips.

”I like the feel of this fabric on you, Anastasia,” he says, slurring his words. ”You should always be in satin or silk.” He runs his hands up and down my hips then jerks me forward, pressing his mouth against my belly.

”And we have an invader in here.”

I stop breathing. Holy cow. He's talking to Little Blip.

”You're going to keep me awake, aren't you?” he says to my belly.