tightly. “I can’t imagine my life without you, Christian. I love you so much it frightens me.”
“Me, too,” he breathes. “My life would be empty without you. I love you so much.” His arms tighten around me and he nuzzles my hair. “I won’t ever let you go.”
“I don’t want to go, ever.” I kiss his neck, and he leans down and kisses me gently.
After a moment, he shifts. “Come—let’s get you dry and into bed. I’m exhausted and you look beat.”
I lean back and arch an eyebrow at his choice of words. He cocks his head to one side and smirks at me.
“You have something to say, Miss Steele?”
I shake my head and clamber unsteadily to my feet.
I am sitting up in bed. Christian insisted on drying my hair—he’s quite skilled at it. How that happened is an unpleasant thought, so I dismiss it immediately. It’s after two in the morning, and I am ready to sleep. Christian gazes down at me and reexamines the keychain before climbing into bed. He shakes his head, incredulous once more.
“This is so neat. The best birthday present I’ve ever had.” He glances at me, his eyes soft and warm. “Better than my signed Guiseppe DeNatale poster.”
“I would have told you earlier, but as it was your birthday . . . What do you give the man who has everything? I thought I’d give you . . . me.”
He puts the keychain down on the bedside table and snuggles in beside me, pulling me into his arms against his chest so that we’re spooning.
“It’s perfect. Like you.”
I smirk, though he can’t see my expression. “I am far from perfect, Christian.”
“Are you smirking at me, Miss Steele?”
How does he know? “Maybe.” I giggle. “Can I ask you something?
“Of course,” he nuzzles my neck.
“You didn’t call on your trip back from Portland. Was that really because of José? You were worried about me being here alone with him?”
Christian says nothing. I turn to face him, and his eyes are wide as I reproach him.
“Do you know how ridiculous that is? How much stress you put your family and me through? We all love you very much.”
He blinks a couple of times and then gives me his shy smile. “I had no idea you’d all be so worried.”
I purse my lips. “When are you going to get it through your thick skull that you are loved?”
“Thick skull?” His eyebrows widen in surprise.
I nod. “Yes. Thick skull.”
“I don’t think the bone density of my head is significantly higher than anywhere else in my body.”
“I’m serious! Stop trying to make me laugh. I am still a little mad at you, though that’s partially eclipsed by the fact that you’re home safe and sound when I thought . . .” My voice fades as I recall those anxious few hours. “Well, you know what I thought.”
His eyes soften and he reaches up to caress my face. “I’m sorry. Okay.”
“Your poor mom, too. It was very moving, seeing you with her,” I whisper.
He smiles shyly. “I’ve never seen her that way.” He blinks at the memory. “Yes, that was really something. She’s normally so self-possessed. It was quite a shock.”
“See? Everyone loves you.” I smile. “Perhaps now you’ll start believing it.” I lean down and kiss him gently.
“Happy birthday, Christian. I’m glad you’re here to share your day with me. And you haven’t seen what I’ve got for you tomorrow um . . . today.” I smirk.
“There’s more?” he says, astounded, and his face erupts into a breathtaking grin.
“Oh yes, Mr. Grey, but you’ll have to wait until then.”
I wake suddenly from a dream or nightmare, and my pulse is thumping. I turn, panicked, and to my relief, Christian is fast asleep beside me. Because I’ve shifted, he stirs and reaches out in his sleep, draping his arm over me, and rests his head on my shoulder, sighing softly.
The room is flooded with light. It’s eight o’clock. Christian never sleeps this late. I lie back and let my racing heart calm. Why the anxiety? Is it the aftermath of last night?
I turn and stare at him. He’s here. He’s safe. I take a deep steadying breath and gaze at his lovely face. A face that is now so familiar, all its dips and shadows eternally etched on my mind.
He looks much younger when he’s asleep, and I grin because today he’s a whole year older. I hug myself, thinking about my present. Oooh . . . what will he do?