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Boy, what an evening. I feel like I’ve been run over by a train—the freight train that is my husband. Hard to believe that the man lying beside me, looking so serene and young in his sleep, was so tortured last night . . . and so tortured me last night. I gaze up at the ceiling, and it occurs to me that I always think of Christian as strong and dominating—yet the reality is he’s so fragile, my lost boy. And the irony is that he looks upon me as fragile—and I don’t think I am. Compared to him I’m strong.

But am I strong enough for both of us? Strong enough to do what I’m told and give him some peace of mind? I sigh. He’s not asking that much of me. I flit through our conversation of last night. Did we decide anything other than to both try harder? The bottom line is that I love this man, and I need to chart a course for both of us. One that lets me keep my integrity and independence but still be more for him. I am his more, and he is mine. I resolve to make a special effort this weekend not to give him cause for concern.Christian stirs and lifts his head off my chest, looking sleepily at me.

“Good morning, Mr. Grey.” I smile.

“Good morning, Mrs. Grey. Did you sleep well?” He stretches out beside me.

“Once my husband stopped making that terrible racket on the piano, yes, I did.”

He smiles his shy smile, and I melt. “Terrible racket? I’ll be sure to e-mail Miss Kathie and let her know.”

“Miss Kathie?”

“My piano teacher.”

I giggle.

“That’s a lovely sound,” he says. “Shall we have a better day today?”

“Okay,” I agree. “What do you want to do?”

“After I have made love to my wife, and she’s cooked me breakfast, I’d like to take her to Aspen.”

I gape at him. “Aspen?”

“Yes.”

“Aspen, Colorado?”

“The very same. Unless they’ve moved it. After all, you did pay twenty-four thousand dollars for the experience.”

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I grin at him. “That was your money.”

“Our money.”

“It was your money when I made the bid.” I roll my eyes.

“Oh, Mrs. Grey, you and your eye rolling,” he whispers as he runs his hand up my thigh.

“Won’t it take hours to get to Colorado?” I ask to distract him.

“Not by jet,” he says silkily as his hand reaches my behind.

Of course, my husband has a jet. How could I forget? His hand continues to skim up my body, lifting my nightdress as it goes, and soon I’ve forgotten everything.

Taylor drives us onto the tarmac at Sea-Tac and around to where the GEH jet is waiting. It’s a gray day in Seattle, but I refuse to let the weather dampen my soaring spirits. Christian is in a much better mood. He’s excited about something—lit up like Christmas and twitching like a small boy with a big secret. I wonder what scheme he’s dreamed up. He looks dreamy, all tousled hair, white T-shirt and black jeans. Not CEO-like at all today. He takes my hand as Taylor glides to a stop at the foot of the jet steps.

“I have a surprise for you,” he murmurs and kisses my knuckles.

I grin at him. “Good surprise?”

“I hope so.” He smiles warmly.

Hmm . . . what can it be?

Sawyer leaps out from the front and opens my door. Taylor opens Christian’s then retrieves our cases from the trunk. Stephan is waiting at the top of the stairs when we enter the aircraft. I glance into the cockpit and see First Officer Beighley flipping switches on the imposing instrument panel.

Christian and Stephan shake hands. “Good morning, sir.” Stephan smiles.

“Thanks for doing this at such short notice.” Christian grins back at him.

“Our guests here?”

“Yes sir.”

Guests ? I turn and gasp. Kate, Elliot, Mia, and Ethan are all smiling and sitting in the cream-colored leather seats. Wow! I spin around to Christian.

“Surprise!” he says.

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“How? When? Who?” I mumble inarticulately, trying to contain my delight and elation.

“You said you didn’t see enough of your friends.” He shrugs and gives me a lopsided, apologetic smile.

“Oh, Christian, thank you.” I throw my arms around his neck and kiss him hard in front of everyone. He puts his hands on my hips, hooking his thumbs through the belt loops of my jeans, and deepens the kiss.

Oh my.

“Keep this up and I’ll drag you into the bedroom,” he murmurs.

“You wouldn’t dare,” I whisper against his lips.

“Oh, Anastasia.” He grins, shaking his head. He releases me and without further preamble, stoops down, grabs my thighs, and lifts me over his shoulder.

“Christian, put me down!” I smack his behind.

I briefly catch Stephan’s smile as he turns and heads into the cockpit. Taylor is standing at the doorway trying to stifle his grin. Ignoring my pleas and my fu-tile struggles, Christian strides through the narrow cabin past Mia and Ethan who are facing each other in the single seats, past Kate and Elliot, who is whooping like a demented gibbon.

“If you’ll excuse me,” he says to our four guests. “I need to have a word with my wife in private.”

“Christian!” I shout. “Put me down!”

“All in good time, baby.”

I have a brief view of Mia, Kate, and Elliot laughing. Damn it! This is not funny, it’s embarrassing. Ethan gawks at us, mouth open and utterly shocked, as we disappear into the cabin.

Christian closes the cabin door behind him and releases me, letting me slide down his body slowly, so that I feel every hard sinew and muscle. He gives me his boyish grin, thoroughly pleased with himself.

“That was quite a show, Mr. Grey,” I murmur, crossing my arms and regarding him with faux indignation.

“That was fun, Mrs. Grey.” And his grin widens. Oh boy. He looks so young.

“Are you going to follow through?” I arch a brow, unsure how I feel about this. I mean, the others will hear us, for heaven’s sake. Suddenly, I feel shy. Glancing anxiously at the bed, I feel a blush steal across my cheeks as I recall our wedding night. We talked so much yesterday, did so much yesterday. I feel as if we 258/551

leaped some unknown hurdle—but that’s the problem. It’s unknown. My eyes find Christian’s intense but amused gaze, and I’m unable to keep a straight face.

His grin is too infectious.

“I think it might be rude to keep our guests waiting,” he says silkily as he steps toward me. When did he start to care what people think ? I step back against the cabin wall and he imprisons me, the heat from his body holding me in place.

He leans down and runs his nose along mine.

“Good surprise?” he whispers, and there’s a hint of anxiety in his voice.

“Oh, Christian, fantastic surprise.” I run my hands up his chest, curl them around his neck, and kiss him.

“When did you organize this?” I ask when I pull away from him, stroking his hair.

“Last night, when I couldn’t sleep. I e-mailed Elliot and Mia, and here they are.”

“It’s very thoughtful. Thank you. I’m sure we’ll have a great time.”

“I hope so. I thought it would be easier to avoid the press in Aspen than at home.”

The paparazzi! He’s right. If we’d stayed in Escala, we’d have been imprisoned. A shiver runs down my spine as I recollect the snapping cameras and dazzling flashes of the few photographers Taylor sped through this morning.

“Come. We’d better take our seats—Stephan will be taking off shortly.” He offers me his hand and together we walk back into the cabin.

Elliot cheers as we enter. “That sure was speedy in-flight service!” he calls mockingly.

Christian ignores him.

“Please be seated, ladies and gentlemen as we’ll shortly begin taxiing for takeoff.” Stephan’s voice echoes calmly and authoritatively around the cabin. The brunette woman— um . . . Natalie? —who was on the flight for our wedding night appears from the galley and gathers up the discarded coffee cups. Natalia . . . Her name’s Natalia.