“I had no idea.”
He shrugs. “Seemed the least I could do. Also, it means he won’t quit.”
“I’m sure he likes working for you.”
Christian stares at me blankly then shrugs. “I don’t know.”
“I think he’s very fond of you, Christian.” I resume combing and glance at him. His eyes don’t leave mine.
“You think?”
“Yes. I do.”
He snorts a dismissive yet content sound as if he’s secretly pleased that his staff may like him.
“Good. Will you talk to Gia about the rooms over the garage?”
“Yes, of course.” I don’t feel the same irritation I did before at the mention of her name. My subconscious nods sagely at me. Yes . . . we done good today. My inner goddess gloats. Now she’ll leave my husband alone and not make him uncomfortable.
I am ready to cut Christian’s hair. “You sure about this? Your last chance to bail.”
“Do your worst, Mrs. Grey. I don’t have to look at me, you do.” I grin. “Christian, I could look at you all day.” He shakes his head exasperated. “It’s just a pretty face, baby.”
“And behind it is a very pretty man.” I kiss his temple. “My man.” He grins shyly.
Lifting the first lock, I comb it upward and snare it between my index and middle finger. I put the comb in my mouth, take the scissors and make the first snip, cutting an inch off the length. Christian closes his eyes and sits like a statue, sighing contentedly as I continue. Occasionally he opens his eyes, and I catch him watching me intently. He doesn’t touch me while I work, and I’m grateful. His touch is . . . distracting.
Fifteen minutes later, I’m done.
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“Finished.” I’m pleased with the result. He looks as hot as ever, his hair still floppy and sexy . . . just a bit shorter.
Christian gazes at himself in the mirror, looking pleasantly surprised. He grins. “Great job, Mrs. Grey.” He turns his head from side to side and snakes his arm around me. Pulling me to him, he kisses and nuzzles my belly.
“Thank you,” he says.
“My pleasure.” I bend and kiss him briefly.
“It’s late. Bed.” He gives my behind a playful slap.
“Ah! I should clean up in here.” There is hair all over the floor.
Christian frowns, as if the thought would never have occurred to him. “Okay, I’ll get the broom,” he says wryly. “I don’t want you embarrassing the staff with your lack of appropriate attire.”
“Do you know where the broom is?” I ask innocently.
This stops Christian in his tracks. “Um . . . no.” I laugh. “I’ll go.”
As I climb into bed and wait for Christian to join me, I reflect on how differently this day could have ended. I was so mad at him earlier, and he with me. How am I going to deal with this running-a-company nonsense? I have no desire to run my own company. I am not him. I need to head this off at the pass. Perhaps I should have a safe word for when he’s being overbearing and domineering, for when he’s being an arse. I giggle. Perhaps the safe word should be arse. I find the thought very appealing.
“What?” he says as he climbs into bed beside me wearing only his pajama pants.
“Nothing. Just an idea.”
“What idea?” He stretches out beside me.
Here goes nothing. “Christian, I don’t think I want to run a company.” He props himself up on his elbow and gazes down at me. “Why do you say that?”
“Because it’s not something that has ever appealed to me.”
“You’re more than capable, Anastasia.”
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“I like to read books, Christian. Running a company will take me away from that.”
“You could be the creative head.”
I frown.
“You see,” he continues, “running a successful company is all about embracing the talent of the individuals you have at your disposal. If that’s where your talents and your interests lie, then you structure the company to enable that. Don’t dismiss it out of hand, Anastasia. You’re a very capable woman. I think you could do anything you wanted if you put your mind to it.” Whoa! How can he possibly know that I’d be any good at this?
“I’m also worried it will take up too much of my time.” Christian frowns.
“Time I could devote to you.” I deploy my secret weapon.
His gaze darkens. “I know what you’re doing,” he murmurs, amused.
Damn it!
“What?” I feign innocence.
“You’re trying to distract me from the issue at hand. You always do that. Just don’t dismiss the idea, Ana. Think about it. That’s all I ask.” He leans down and kisses me chastely, then skims his thumb down my cheek. This argument is going to run and run. I smile up at him—and something he said earlier today pops unbidden into my mind.
“Can I ask you something?” My voice is soft, tentative.
“Of course.”
“Earlier today you said if I was angry with you, I should take it out on you in bed. What did you mean?”
He stills. “What did you think I meant?”
Holy shit! I should just say it. “That you wanted me to tie you up.” His eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Um . . . no. That’s not what I meant at all.”
“Oh.” I’m surprised by my slight twinge of disappointment.