Oh crap. Why am I so nervous?
“What would you like to do, Anastasia?” he asks softly as he walks toward me, all feral
and hot. “I know what I want to do,” he adds in a low voice.
I back up until I bump against the concrete kitchen island.
“I’m still mad at you.”
“I know.” He smiles a lopsided apologetic smile and I melt . . . Well, maybe not so mad.
“Would you like something to eat?” I ask.
He nods slowly. “Yes. You,” he murmurs. Everything south of my waistline clenche.
I’m seduced by his voice alone, but that look, that hungry I-want-you-now look—oh my.
He’s standing in front of me, not quite touching, staring down into my eyes and bathing
me in the heat that’s radiating off his body. I’m stiflingly hot, flustered, and my legs are like
jelly as dark desire courses through me. I want him.
“Have you eaten today?” he murmurs.
“I had a sandwich at lunch,” I whisper. I don’t want to talk food.
He narrows his eyes. “You need to eat.”
“I’m really not hungry right now . . . for food.”
“What are you hungry for, Miss Steele?”
“I think you know, Mr. Grey.”
He leans down, and again I think he’s going to kiss me, but he doesn’t.
“Do you want me to kiss you, Anastasia?” he whispers softly in my ear.