Fifty Shades of Grey (book 1+ 2) novel Chapter 92

We shake hands, and I know she's one of those women who doesn't tolerate fools gladly. Like Kate. I like her immediately. She gives Christian a pointed stare, and after an awkward beat, he takes his cue.

"I'll be downstairs," he mutters, and he leaves what will be my bedroom.

"Well Miss Steele. Mr. Grey is paying me a small fortune to attend to you. What can I do for you?"

After a thorough examination and lengthy discussion, Dr. Greene and I decide on the mini pill. She writes me a pre-paid prescription and instructs me to pick them up tomorrow. I love her no-nonsense attitude - she has lectured me until she's as blue as her dress about taking it at the same time every day. And I can tell she's burning with curiosity about my so-called relationship with Mr. Grey. I don't give her any details. Somehow I don't think she'd look so calm and collected if she'd seen his Red Room of Pain. I flush as we pass its closed door and head back downstairs to the art gallery that is Christian's living room.

Christian is reading, seated on his couch. A breathtaking aria is playing on the music system, swirling round him, cocooning him, filling the room with a sweet, soulful song.

For a moment, he looks serene. He turns and glances at us when we enter and smiles warmly at me.

"Are you done?" he asks as if he's genuinely interested. He points the remote at a sleek white box beneath the fireplace that houses his iPod, and the exquisite melody fades but continues in the background. Standing, he strolls towards us.

"Yes, Mr. Grey. Look after her; she's a beautiful, bright young woman."

Christian is taken aback - as am I. What an inappropriate thing for a doctor to say. Is she giving him some kind of not so subtle warningChristian recovers himself.

"I fully intend to," he mutters, bemused.

Gazing at him, I shrug, embarrassed.

"I'll send you my bill," she says crisply as she shakes his hand.

"Good day, and good luck to you, Ana." She smiles, her eyes crinkling as she does when we shake hands.

Taylor appears from nowhere to escort her through the double doors and out to the elevator. How does he do thatWhere does he lurk?

"How was that?" Christian asks.

"Fine, thank you. She said that I had to abstain from all sexual activity for the next four weeks."

Christian's mouth drops open in shock, and I cannot keep a straight face any longer and grin at him like an idiot.

"Gotcha!"

He narrows his eyes, and I immediately stop laughing. In fact, he looks rather forbidding. Oh shit. My subconscious quails in the corner as all the blood drains from my face, and I imagine him putting me across his knee again.

"Gotcha!" he says and smirks. He grabs me around my waist and pulls me up against him. "You are incorrigible, Miss Steele," he murmurs, staring down into my eyes as he weaves his fingers into my hair, holding me firmly in place. He kisses me, hard, and I cling on to his muscular arms for support.

"As much as I'd like to take you here, now, you need to eat and so do I. I don't want you passing out on me later," he murmurs against my lips.

"Is that all you want me for - my body?" I whisper.

"That and your smart mouth," he breathes.

He kisses me again passionately, and then abruptly releases me, taking my hand and leading me to the kitchen. I am reeling. One minute we're joking and the next... I fan my heated face. He's just sex on legs, and now I have to recover my equilibrium and eat something. The aria is still playing in the background.

"What's the music?"

"Villa Lobos, an aria from Bachianas Brasileiras. Good, isn't it?"

"Yes," I murmur in total agreement.

The breakfast bar is laid for two; Christian takes a salad bowl from the fridge.

"Chicken caesar salad okay with you?"

Oh thank heavens, nothing too heavy.

"Yes, fine, thank you."

I watch as he moves gracefully through his kitchen. He's so at ease with his body on one level, but then he doesn't like to be touched... so maybe deep down he isn't. No man is an island, I muse - except perhaps Christian Grey.

"What are you thinking?" he asks, pulling me from my reverie. I flush.

"I was just watching the way you move."

He raises an eyebrow, amused.

"And?" he says dryly.

I flush some more.

"You're very graceful."

"Why thank you, Miss Steele," he murmurs. He sits down beside me, holding a bottle of wine. "Chablis?"

"Please."

"Help yourself to salad," he says, his voice soft.

"Tell me - what method did you opt for?"