“Thank you.”

I call Andrea to inform her I’m not coming into the office and ask her to reschedule any of today’s meetings. She’s unfazed. “Yes, Mr. Grey. How is Mrs. Grey?” she asks tentatively.

“Much improved. Thank you.”

“That’s good to hear.”

“I’ll be on my cell today, if you need me.”

My omelet is everything that I hoped it would be. I am happily eating when I look up. Ana has appeared in the doorway. She looks well rested; the bruise on her cheek has faded but she’s fully dressed, as if she’s going out somewhere. She’s wearing a skirt that borders on indecent—she’s all legs and high fuck-me heels. I lose my train of thought.

“Good morning, Mrs. Grey. Going somewhere?” I’m hoarse.

“Work.” She throws me a smile that illuminates the room.

I scoff at her audacity. “I don’t think so. Dr. Singh said a week off.”

“Christian, I’m not spending the day lounging in bed on my own.” She flashes me a quick, heated look, which I feel in all the right places. “So, I may as well go to work. Good morning, Gail.”

“Mrs. Grey.” Mrs. Jones flattens her lips, attempting to hide her amusement. “Would you like some breakfast?”

“Please.”

“Granola?”

“I’d prefer scrambled eggs with whole-wheat toast.”

“Very good, Mrs. Grey,” Gail replies, with a broad grin.

“Ana, you are not going to work.” I’m amused that she thinks she should.

“But—”

“No. It’s simple. Don’t argue.” I’m your boss’s boss, and the answer is no.

She narrows her eyes, but her glare becomes a frown as she scrutinizes my attire. “Are you going to work?”

I shake my head and glance down at my pajama pants. “No.”

“It is Monday, right?”

I grin. “Last time I looked.”

“Are you playing hooky?” From her tone, I think she’s intrigued and slightly incredulous.

“I’m not leaving you here on your own to get into trouble. And Dr. Singh said it would be a week before you could go back to work. Remember?”

She sits down on the barstool beside me, her skirt riding up higher, exposing her upper thighs, and I lose my train of thought…again. “You look good,” I murmur, and she crosses her legs. “Very good. Especially here.” I cannot resist running my finger across the exposed skin between her stocking tops and the hem of her skirt. “This skirt is very short,” I murmur.

I can’t keep my eyes off your legs, Mrs. Grey.

I’m not sure I approve.

“Is it? I hadn’t noticed.” Ana waves a nonchalant hand.

Yanking my gaze away from her legs, I look her in the eye. Her cheeks color; she’s such a hopeless liar. “Really, Mrs. Grey?” I raise a brow. “I’m not sure this look is suitable for the workplace.”

“Well, since I’m not going to work, that’s a moot point,” she says stiffly.

“Moot?”

“Moot,” she mouths, and I hide my smile.

There’s that word again. I take another bite of my omelet. “I have a better idea.”

“You do?”

My eyes meet hers, and suddenly it’s there, that look I know so well—her desire responding to mine. The air between us sparks with our own special electricity.

She inhales and I whisper, reeling her in, “We can go see how Elliot’s getting on with the house.”

A momentary flash of disappointment crosses her face, but then she smiles at my teasing. “I’d love to.”

“Good.”

“Don’t you have to work?”

“No. Ros is back from Taiwan. That all went well. Today, everything’s fine.”

There are certain advantages to being your own boss.

“I thought you were going to Taiwan.”

“Ana, you were in the hospital.” There was no way I was leaving you.

“Oh.”

“Yeah—oh. So today I’m spending some quality time with my wife.” I take a sip of Mrs. Jones’s great coffee.

“Quality time?” Ana’s yearning threads through each syllable.

Oh, baby.

Gail places Ana’s scrambled eggs in front of her. “Quality time,” I murmur.

Ana’s eyes dart from my lips to her breakfast. And her breakfast wins.

Damn. Thwarted by scrambled eggs.

“It’s good to see you eat,” I murmur, and pushing my plate aside, I step off my barstool and kiss Ana’s hair. “I’m going to shower.”

“Um…can I come and scrub your back?” she asks through a mouthful of breakfast.

“No. Eat.”

I stride off to the bathroom, feeling her eyes on me. As I exit, I strip off my shirt, and I don’t know if it’s to tempt her to join me in the shower or not. Keeping my hands off her is getting harder and harder in more ways than one.

Grey, grow up.

Ana has insisted that we go visit Ray first, but we don’t stay long. Mr. Rodriguez is with him, watching a British soccer match from yesterday—Manchester United vs. Chelsea. Manchester United is two goals up, which seems to please Mr. Rodriguez enormously, judging by his cheer.

I sigh. Try as I might, I don’t care for soccer.

Ana takes pity on me and lets Ray know that we’re off.