Her legs stiffen as I grind into her and her body starts to quiver. Suddenly she cries out as her orgasm seizes her, taking me with her.

“Oh, Ana,” I breathe as I let go, the world blurring, and I come inside her.

Fuck.

“Oh, baby, will I ever get enough of you?” I whisper as I sink onto her.

Slowly I descend to the floor, bringing her with me and wrapping my arms around her. She sits, her head against my shoulder, still panting.

Sweet Lord.

Was it ever like this?

I kiss her hair and she calms, her eyes closed, her breathing slowly returning to normal as I hold her. We’re both sweaty and hot in a humid bathroom, but I don’t want to be anywhere else.

She shifts. “I’m bleeding,” she says.

“Doesn’t bother me.” I don’t want to let her go.

“I noticed.” Her tone is dry.

“Does it bother you?” It shouldn’t. It’s natural. I’ve known only one woman who was squeamish about period sex, but I wouldn’t take any of that crap from her.

“No, not at all.” Ana peers up at me with clear blue eyes.

“Good. Let’s have a bath.” I free her and her brows knit for a moment while she stares at my chest. Her rosy face loses some of its color, and clouded eyes meet mine.

“What is it?” I ask, alarmed by her expression.

“Your scars. They’re not from chicken pox.”

“No, they’re not.” My tone is arctic.

I do not want to talk about this.

Standing, I hold my hand out to her and pull her to her feet. Her eyes are wide with horror.

It’ll be pity next.

“Don’t look at me like that,” I warn, and release her hand.

I don’t want your fucking pity, Ana. Don’t go there.

She studies her hand, suitably chastened, I hope.

“Did she do that?” Her voice is almost inaudible.

I scowl at her, saying nothing, as I try to contain my sudden rage. My silence compels her to look at me.

“She?” I snarl. “Mrs. Robinson?”

Ana pales at my tone.

“She’s not an animal, Anastasia. Of course she didn’t. I don’t understand why you feel you have to demonize her.”

She bows her head to avoid eye contact, walks briskly past me, and steps into the bath, sinking into the foam so I can no longer see her body. Looking up at me, her face contrite and open, she says, “I just wonder what you would be like if you hadn’t met her. If she hadn’t introduced you to your, um, lifestyle.”

Damn it. We’re back to Elena.

I stalk toward the tub, slip into the water, and sit on the underwater shelf out of her reach. She watches me, waiting for an answer. The silence between us swells until all I can hear is the blood pumping through my ears.

Fuck.

She doesn’t take her eyes off mine.

Stand down, Ana!

Nope. It’s not going to happen.

I shake my head. Impossible woman.

“I would probably have gone the way of my birth mother, had it not been for Mrs. Robinson.”

She tucks a damp tendril behind her ear, staying quiet.

What can I say about Elena? I think about our relationship: Elena and me. Those heady years. The secrecy. The furtive couplings. The pain. The pleasure. The release…The order and calm she brought to my world. “She loved me in a way I found…acceptable,” I muse, almost to myself.

“Acceptable?” Ana says in disbelief.

“Yes.”

Ana’s expression is expectant.

She wants more.

Shit.

“She distracted me from the destructive path I found myself following.” My voice is low. “It’s very hard to grow up in a perfect family when you’re not perfect.”

She inhales sharply.

Hell. I hate talking about this.

“Does she still love you?”

No! “I don’t think so, not like that. I keep telling you, it was a long time ago. It’s in the past. I couldn’t change it even if I wanted to, which I don’t. She saved me from myself. I’ve never discussed this with anyone.

“Except Dr. Flynn, of course. And the only reason I’m talking about this now, to you, is because I want you to trust me.”

“I do trust you,” she says, “but I do want to know you better, and whenever I try to talk to you, you distract me. There’s so much I want to know.”

“Oh, for pity’s sake, Anastasia. What do you want to know? What do I have to do?”

She stares at her hands under the surface of the water. “I’m just trying to understand; you’re such an enigma. Unlike anyone I’ve met before. I’m glad you’re telling me what I want to know.”

Abruptly filled with resolve, she moves through the water to sit beside me, leaning against me so my skin sticks to hers.

“Please don’t be angry with me,” she says.

“I am not angry with you, Anastasia. I’m just not used to this kind of talking—this probing. I only have this with Dr. Flynn and with—”

Damn.

“With her? Mrs. Robinson? You talk to her,” she says, her voice breathy and quiet.

“Yes, I do.”

“What about?”

I turn to face her so suddenly that water sloshes out of the bath and onto the floor. “Persistent, aren’t you? Life, the universe—business. Anastasia, Mrs. R and I go way back. We can discuss anything.”

“Me?” she asks.

“Yes.”

“Why do you talk about me?” she asks, and now she sounds sullen.

“I’ve never met anyone like you, Anastasia.”

“What does that mean? Anyone who didn’t just automatically sign your paperwork, no questions asked?”

I shake my head. No. “I need advice.”

“And you take advice from Mrs. Pedo?” she snaps.

“Anastasia—enough,” I almost shout. “Or I’ll put you across my knee. I have no sexual or romantic interest in her whatsoever. She’s a dear, valued friend and a business partner. That’s all. We have a past, a shared history, which was monumentally beneficial for me, though it fucked up her marriage—but that side of our relationship is over.”

She squares her shoulders. “And your parents never found out?”

“No,” I growl. “I’ve told you this.”

She regards me warily, and I think she knows she’s pushed me to my limit.

“Are you done?” I ask.

“For now.”

Thank God for that. She wasn’t lying when she told me there was much she wanted to say. But we’re not talking about what I want to talk about. I need to know where I stand. If our arrangement has a chance.

Seize the day, Grey.

“Right—my turn. You haven’t responded to my e-mail.”

She tucks her hair behind her ear, then shakes her head. “I was going to respond. But now you’re here.”

“You’d rather I wasn’t?” I hold my breath.

“No, I’m pleased,” she says.

“Good. I’m pleased I’m here, too—in spite of your interrogation. So, while it’s acceptable to grill me, you think you can claim some kind of diplomatic immunity just because I’ve flown all this way to see you? I’m not buying it, Miss Steele. I want to know how you feel.”

Her brows knit together. “I told you. I am pleased you’re here. Thank you for coming all this way.” She sounds sincere.

“It’s my pleasure.” I lean down and kiss her, and she opens like a flower, offering and wanting more. I pull back. “No. I think I want some answers first before we do any more.”

She sighs, her wary look returning. “What do you want to know?”

“Well, how you feel about our would-be arrangement, for starters.”

She makes a moue with her mouth, as if her response will be unpalatable.

Oh dear.

“I don’t think I can do it for an extended period of time. A whole weekend being someone I’m not.” She looks down, away from me.

That’s not a “no.” What’s more, I think she’s right.

Grasping her chin, I tilt her head up so I can see her eyes.

“No, I don’t think you could, either.”

“Are you laughing at me?”

“Yes, but in a good way.” I kiss her again. “You’re not a great submissive.”

Her mouth drops open. Is she feigning offense? And then she laughs, a sweet, infectious laugh, and I know she’s not offended.