“I’ll have some tea. Can I take a croissant for later?” she asks hopefully.

She’s not going to eat.

“Don’t rain on my parade, Anastasia.”

“I’ll eat later, when my stomach’s woken up. About seven thirty, okay?”

“Okay.” I can’t force her.

She looks defiant and stubborn. “I want to roll my eyes at you,” she says.

Oh, Ana, bring it on.

“By all means, do, and you will make my day.”

She looks up at the fire sprinkler on the ceiling. “Well, a spanking would wake me up, I suppose,” she says, as if she’s weighing the option.

She’s considering it? It doesn’t work that way, Anastasia!

“On the other hand, I don’t want you to be all hot and bothered; the climate here is warm enough.” She gives me a saccharine smile.

“You are, as ever, challenging, Miss Steele.” My voice is droll. “Drink your tea.”

She sits down and takes a couple of sips.

“Drink up. We should go.” I’m keen to get on the road—it’s quite a drive.

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.”

Stop with the grinning, Grey.

She pouts with frustration. Miss Steele, as ever, is curious. But all she’s wearing is her camisole and jeans; she’ll be cold once we’re airborne. “Finish your tea,” I order, and leave the table. In the bedroom I rifle through the armoire and pull out a sweatshirt. This should do. I call the valet and tell him to bring the car out front.

“I’m ready,” she says as I return to the main room.

“You’ll need this.” I toss the sweatshirt to her as she gives me a bewildered look.

“Trust me.” I plant a swift kiss on her lips. Taking her hand, I open the door to the suite and we head for the elevators. There’s a hotel employee standing there—Brian, according to his name tag—also waiting for the elevator.

“Good morning,” he says, giving us both a cheerful salute as the doors open. I glance at Ana and smirk as we enter.

No shenanigans in elevators this morning.

She hides her smile and peers at the floor, her cheeks coloring. She knows exactly what’s going through my mind. Brian wishes us a good day as we exit.

Outside, the valet is waiting with the Mustang. Ana arches a brow, impressed by the GT500. Yeah, it’s a fun drive, even if it’s only a Mustang. “You know, sometimes it’s great being me,” I tease her, and with a polite bow I open her door.

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.” I get behind the wheel and ease the car into drive. At the stoplight I quickly program the address of the airfield into the GPS. It directs us out of Savannah toward I-95. I switch on my iPod via the steering wheel, and the car is filled with a sublime melody.

“What’s this?” Ana asks.

“It’s from La Traviata. An opera by Verdi.”

“La Traviata? I’ve heard of that. I can’t think where. What does it mean?”

I give her a knowing look. “Well, literally, ‘the woman led astray.’ It’s based on Alexandre Dumas’s book La Dame aux Camélias.”

“Ah. I’ve read it.”

“I thought you might have.”

“The doomed courtesan,” she recounts, her voice tinged with melancholy. “Hmm, it’s a depressing story,” she says.

“Too depressing?” We can’t have that, Miss Steele, especially when I’m in such a good mood. “Do you want to choose some music? This is on my iPod.”

I tap the navigation screen and bring up the playlist.

“You choose,” I offer, wondering if she’ll like anything I have in iTunes. She studies the list and scrolls through it, concentrating hard. She taps on a song, and Verdi’s dulcet strings are replaced by a pounding beat and Britney Spears.

“ ‘Toxic,’ eh?” I observe, with wry humor.

Is she trying to tell me something?

Is she referring to me?

“I don’t know what you mean,” she says innocently.

Does she think I should wear a warning?

Miss Steele wants to play games.

So be it.

I turn the music down a tad. It’s a little early for this remix, and for the reminder.

“Sir, this submissive respectfully requests Master’s iPod.”

I glance away from the spreadsheet I’m reading and study her as she kneels beside me, her eyes cast down.

She’s been exceptional this weekend. How can I refuse?

“Sure, Leila, take it. I think it’s in the dock.”

“Thank you, Master,” she says, and stands with her usual grace, without looking at me.

Good girl.

And wearing only red high heels, she teeters over to the iPod dock and collects her reward.

“I didn’t put that song on my iPod,” I tell her breezily, and floor the gas, throwing us both into the back of our seats, but I hear Ana’s small, exasperated huff above the roar of the engine.

As Britney continues at her sultry best, Ana drums her fingers on her thigh, radiating disquiet as she stares out the car window. The Mustang eats up the miles on the freeway; there’s no traffic, and dawn’s first light is chasing us down I-95.

Ana sighs as Damien Rice begins.

Put her out of her misery, Grey.

And I don’t know if it’s my good mood, our talk last night, or the fact that I’m about to go soaring—but I want to tell her who put the song on the iPod. “It was Leila.”

“Leila?”

“An ex, who put the song on my iPod.”

“One of the fifteen?” She turns her full attention to me, hungry for information.

“Yes.”

“What happened to her?”

“We finished.”

“Why?”

“She wanted more.”

“And you didn’t?”

I glance at her and shake my head. “I’ve never wanted more, until I met you.” She rewards me with her bashful smile.

Yes, Ana. It’s not just you who wants more.

“What happened to the other fourteen?” she asks.

“You want a list? Divorced, beheaded, died?”

“You’re not Henry the Eighth,” she scolds me.

“Okay. In no particular order, I’ve only had long-term relationships with four women, apart from Elena.”

“Elena?”

“Mrs. Robinson to you.”

She pauses for a moment, and I know she’s scrutinizing me. I keep my eyes on the road.

“What happened to the four?” she asks.

“So inquisitive, so eager for information, Miss Steele,” I tease.

“Oh, Mr. When Is Your Period Due?”

“Anastasia, a man needs to know these things.”

“Does he?”

“I do.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want you to get pregnant.”

“Neither do I. Well, not for a few years yet,” she says a little wistfully.

Of course, that would be with someone else…the thought is disquieting…She’s mine.

“So the other four, what happened?” she persists.

“One met someone else. The other three wanted—more. I wasn’t in the market for more then.” Why did I open this can of worms?

“And the others?”

“Just didn’t work out.”

She nods and stares out the window as Aaron Neville sings “Tell It Like It Is.”

“Where are we headed?” she asks again.

We’re close now. “An airfield.”

“We’re not going back to Seattle, are we?” She sounds panicked.

“No, Anastasia.” I chuckle at her reaction. “We’re going to indulge in my second favorite pastime.”

“Second?”

“Yep. I told you my favorite this morning.” Her expression tells me she’s completely perplexed. “Indulging in you, Miss Steele. That’s got to be top of my list. Any way I can get you.”

She looks down at her lap, her lips twitching. “Well, that’s quite high up on my list of diverting, kinky priorities, too,” she says.

“I’m pleased to hear it.”

“So, airfield?”

I beam at her. “Soaring. We’re going to chase the dawn, Anastasia.” I take a left into the airfield and drive up to the Brunswick Soaring Association hangar, where I stop the car.

“You up for this?” I ask.

“You’re flying?”

“Yes.”

Her face glows with excitement. “Yes, please!” I love how fearless and enthusiastic she is with any new experience. Leaning over, I kiss her quickly. “Another first, Miss Steele.”