“My work ‘ere is done,” Franco exclaims.Christian rises and strolls toward us. “Thank you, Franco.”Franco turns, grasps me in an overwhelming bear hug, and kisses both my cheeks. “Never let anyone else be cutting your hair, bellissima Anastasia!”I laugh, slightly embarrassed by his familiarity. Christian shows him to the foyer door and returns moments later.“I’m glad you kept it long,” he says as he walks toward me, his eyes bright. He takes a strand between his ngers.“So soft,” he murmurs, gazing down at me. “Are you still mad at me?”I nod and he smiles.“What precisely are you mad at me about?”I roll my eyes. “You want the list?”“There’s a list?”“A long one.”“Can we discuss it in bed?”“No.” I pout at him childishly.“Over lunch, then. I’m hungry, and not just for food,” he gives me a salacious smile.“I am not going to let you dazzle me with your sexpertise.”He sties a smile. “What is bothering you specically, Miss Steele? Spit it out.”Okay.“What’s bothering me? Well, there’s your gross invasion of my privacy, the fact that you took me to some place where your ex-mistress works and you used to take all your lov-ers to have their bits waxed, you manhandled me in the street like I was six years old—and to cap it all, you let your Mrs. Robinson touch you!” My voice has risen to a crescendo.He raises his eyebrows, and his good humor vanishes.“That’s quite a list. But just to clarify once more—she’s not my Mrs. Robinson.”“She can touch you,” I repeat.He purses his lips. “She knows where.”“What does that mean?”He runs both hands through his hair and closes his eyes briey, as if he’s seeking divine guidance of some kind. He swallows.“You and I don’t have any rules. I have never had a relationship without rules, and I never know where you’re going to touch me. It makes me nervous. Your touch complete-ly—” He stops, searching for the words. “It just means more . . . so much more”More? His answer’s completely unexpected, throwing me, and there’s that little word with the big meaning hanging between us again. My touch means . . . more. Holy cow. How am I supposed to resist when he says this stuff? Gray eyes search mine, watching, apprehensive. Tentatively I reach out and apprehension shifts to alarm. Christian steps back and I drop my hand.“Hard limit,” he whispers urgently, a pained, panicked look on his face.I can’t help but feel a crushing disappointment. “How would you feel if you couldn’t touch me?”“Devastated and deprived,” he says immediately.