“Well, you won’t take your top off again,” I grunt, and even to my own ears I sound like a petulant teen.

She glares at me. “I don’t like you leaving marks on me. Well, not this many, anyway. It’s a hard limit!” She spits at me like a cornered kitten.

“I don’t like you taking your clothes off in public. That’s a hard limit for me,” I counter.

I warned you, Ana.

“I think we’ve established that,” she continues in the same vein. “Look at me!” She tugs down her top, exposing the love-bites I’ve left on her. I count six. I didn’t know my plan would be quite so effective.

But I don’t want to fight.

I raise my hands, palms up in surrender. “Okay, I get it.”

Maybe I overreacted.

“Good!” she snaps.

I run my hand through my hair, feeling helpless.

I’m lost. What more can I do? “I’m sorry. Please don’t be mad at me.” I don’t want to fight. Ana. Please.

“You are such an adolescent sometimes.” Ana shakes her head, but she sounds more resigned than forthright. I take a step forward and tuck a loose tendril behind her ear.

“I know, I have a lot to learn.”

“We both do.” She sighs and slowly raises her hand and places it over my heart.

Ana.

I place my hand over hers and give her an apologetic smile. “I’ve just learned that you’ve got a good arm and a good aim, Mrs. Grey. I would never have figured that, but then I constantly underestimate you. You always surprise me.”

Her lips form a half smile and she arches a brow. “Target practice with Ray. I can throw and shoot straight, Mr. Grey, and you’d do well to remember that.”

“I will endeavor to do that or ensure that all potential projectile objects are nailed down and that you don’t have access to a gun.”

She narrows her eyes. “I’m resourceful.”

Oh, Ana. I don’t doubt it. “That you are,” I whisper, and releasing her hand, I fold her into my arms. Her hands move over my back and she returns my embrace. I plant my nose in her hair, inhaling her soothing scent. “Am I forgiven?” I ask, quietly.

“Am I?”

“Yes,” I respond.

“Ditto.”

We stand at the bow, the French Riviera passing us by, and we just…are.

For a moment, it’s the best feeling in the world.

“Hungry?” I ask.

“Yes. Famished. All the, um, activity has given me an appetite. But I’m not dressed for dinner.”

“You look good to me, Anastasia. Besides, it’s our boat for the week. We can dress how we like. Think of it as dress-down Tuesday on the Côte d’Azur. Anyway, I thought we’d eat on deck.”

“Yes, I’d like that.”

I reach under her chin and raise her lips to mine and kiss her. Slowly. Gently.

Forgive me, Ana.

She smiles and together we walk hand in hand back to where our dinner awaits.

“Why do you always braid my hair?” Ana asks as I’m about to tuck into my crème brûlée.

I frown, because the answer’s obvious. “I don’t want your hair catching in anything.” I’ve always done it. Hair and toys don’t mix. “Habit, I think, I add. And from nowhere a vision of a young woman singing an eighties pop song as she brushes out her long dark hair comes to mind. She turns and smiles at me, the dust motes circling in the air around her.

Hey, Maggot. Do you want to brush my hair?

And I’m back in a godforsaken slum in Detroit, a lifetime ago. Ana caresses my chin and runs a finger across my lips, bringing me back to the Fair Lady.

Why is the crack whore haunting me now?

“It doesn’t matter,” Ana whispers. “I don’t need to know. I was just curious.” She smiles and leans forward to kiss the corner of my lips. “I love you,” she whispers. “I’ll always love you, Christian.”

“And I you.” I’m thankful that she’s here to drag me back from the dark abyss of my early childhood.

“In spite of my disobedience?” She smirks, immediately lightening the mood.

I chuckle, feeling better. “Because of your disobedience, Anastasia.”

She bashes the caramelized sugar of her dessert with her spoon and scoops up a mouthful, and all thoughts of the crack whore fade.

Once Rebecca has cleared our plates, I offer Ana more rosé. She looks past me to check we’re alone, then leans toward me with a conspiratorial air. “What’s with the no-going-to-the-bathroom thing?” she asks.

Always curious. “You really want to know?”

“Do I?”

I smile. “The fuller your bladder, the more intense your orgasm, Ana.”

“Oh. I see.” A sweet blush colors her cheeks, and I know she’s embarrassed.

Don’t be, baby.

“Yes. Well…” She takes a swift gulp of wine.

“What do you want to do for the rest of the evening?” I ask, to move us on to a more comfortable topic. She raises her right shoulder in a shrug, a suggestive shrug, I think.

Again, Ana?

And I know I could make up for my transgression in bed. But I want more. “I know what I want to do.” I pick up my glass of wine and stand, holding out my hand to her. “Come.”

We move to the main salon and I guide her to the dresser, where my iPod is plugged into an impressive speaker. I select a song, something sweet and romantic for my girl. “Dance with me,” I ask, and sweep her into my arms.