“Just imagine how you’ll feel when we’re home,” he whispers. “I can’t wait to get you home.” “It will be your fault if I combust here on the seventy-sixth floor,” I mutter through gritted teeth. “Oh, Anastasia. We’d find a way to put the fire out,” he says, grinning salaciously at me.”

“Just imagine how you’ll feel when we’re home,” he whispers. “I can’t wait to get you home.” “It will be your fault if I combust here on the seventy-sixth floor,” I mutter through gritted teeth. “Oh, Anastasia. We’d find a way to put the fire out,” he says, grinning salaciously at me.”

— E.L. James