Пятьдесят оттенков серого
Chapter 13
He’sdressedinhiscustomarywhitelinenshirt,blackjeans,blacktie,andblackjacket.Hishairisastousledasever.Isigh.Istandforafewsecondsintheentranceofthebar,gazingathim,admiringtheview.Heglances,nervouslyIthink,towardtheentranceandstillswhenheseesme.Blinkingacoupleoftimes,hethensmilesaslow,lazy,sexysmilethatrendersmespeechlessandallmolteninside.Makingasupremeeffortnottobitemylip,Imoveforward,awarethatI,AnastasiaSteeleofClumsyville,aminhighstilettos.Hewalksgracefullyovertomeetme.
“Youlookstunning,”hemurmursasheleansdowntobrieflykissmycheek.“Adress,MissSteele.Iapprove.”Takingmyarm,heleadsmetoasecludedboothandsignalsforthewaiter.
“Whatwouldyouliketodrink?”
Mylipsquirkupinaquick,slysmileasIsitandslideintothebooth—well,atleasthe’saskingme.
“I’llhavewhatyou’rehaving,please.”See!Icanplayniceandbehavemyself.Amused,heordersanotherglassofSancerreandslidesinoppositeme.
“Theyhaveanexcellentwinecellarhere,”hesays.Puttinghiselbowsonthetable,hesteepleshisfingersinfrontofhismouth,hiseyesalivewithsomeunreadableemotion.Andthereitis…thatfamiliarpullandchargefromhim,itconnectssomewheredeepinsideme.Ishiftuncomfortablyunderhisscrutiny,myheartpalpitating.Imustkeepmycool.
“Areyounervous?”heaskssoftly.
“Yes.”
Heleansforward.
“Me,too,”hewhispersconspiratorially.Myeyesshootuptomeethis.Him?Nervous?Never.
