Пятьдесят оттенков серого
Chapter 9
“I’lldothat.Youcook.Wouldyoulikemetoputsomemusiconsoyoucancontinueyour…er…dancing?”
Istaredownatmyfingers,knowingthatIamturningpuce.
“Please,don’tstoponmyaccount.It’sveryentertaining.”Histoneisoneofwryamusement.
Ipursemylips.Entertaining,eh?Mysubconscioushasdoubledoverinlaughteratme.Iturnandcontinuetowhisktheeggs,probablybeatingthemalittleharderthannecessary.Inamoment,he’sbesideme.Hegentlypullsmypigtail.
“Ilovethese,”hewhispers.“Theywon’tprotectyou.”Hmm,Bluebeard…
“Howwouldyoulikeyoureggs?”Iasktartly.Hesmiles.
“Thoroughlywhiskedandbeaten.”Hesmirks.
Iturnbacktothetaskathand,tryingtohidemysmile.He’shardtostaymadat.Especiallywhenhe’sbeingsouncharacteristicallyplayful.Heopensadrawerandtakesouttwoslateblackplacematsforthebreakfastbar.Ipourtheeggmixintoapan,pulloutthebacon,turnitover,andputitbackunderthegrill.
WhenIturnbackaround,thereisorangejuiceonthetable,andhe’smakingcoffee.
“Wouldyoulikesometea?”
“Yes,please.Ifyouhavesome.”
Ifindacoupleofplatesandplacetheminthewarmingtrayoftherange.ChristianreachesintoacupboardandpullsoutsomeTwiningsEnglishBreakfasttea.Ipursemylips.
“Bitofaforegoneconclusion,wasn’tI?”
“Areyou?I’mnotsurewe’veconcludedanythingyet,MissSteele,”hemurmurs.
Whatdoeshemeanbythat?Ournegotiations?Our,er…relationship…whateverthatis?He’sstillsocryptic.
