Part II 11

Jack cocks his head to one side as he leans in toward me, invading my personal space—again. “You’re being very coy, Ana.” “Well, he’s in telecommunications, manufacturing, and agriculture.” Jack raises his eyebrows. “So many things. Who does he work for?” “He works for himself. If you’re happy with the document, I’d like to go, if that’s okay?” He leans back. My personal space is safe again. “Of course. Sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you,” he says disingenuously. “What time does the building close?” “Security is here until eleven.” “Good.” I smile, and my subconscious flops down in her armchair, relieved to know that we are not alone in the building. Switching off my computer, I grab my purse and stand up, ready to lea一ve. stand up, ready to lea一ve. “You like him then? Your boyfriend?” “I love him,” I answer, looking Jack squarely in the eye. “I see.” Jack frowns and he stands up from my desk. “What’s his surname?” I flush. “Grey. Christian Grey,” I mumble. Jack’s mouth drops open. “Seattle’s richest bachelor? That Christian Grey?” “Yes. The same.” Yes, that Christian Grey, your future boss who will ha一ve you for breakfast if you invade my personal space again. “I thought he looked familiar,” Jack says darkly and his brow creases again. “Well, he’s a lucky man.” I blink at him. What do I say to that? “Ha一ve a good evening, Ana.” Jack smiles, but the smile doesn’t touch his eyes, and he walks stiffly back into his office without a backward glance. I let out a long sigh of relief. Well, that problem might be solved. Fifty works his magic again. Just his name is my talisman, and it has this man retreating with his tail between his legs. I allow myself a small victorious smile. You see, Christian? Even your name protects me—you didn’t ha一ve to go to all that trouble of clamping down on expenses. I tidy my desk and check my watch. Christian should be outside. The Audi is parked up against the sidewalk, and Taylor leaps out to open the rear passenger door. I ha一ve never been so pleased to see him, and I scramble into the never been so pleased to see him, and I scramble into the car out of the rain. Christian is in the rear seat, gazing at me, his eyes wide and wary. He’s bracing himself for my anger, his jaw tight and tense. “Hi,” I murmur. “Hi,” he replies cautiously. He reaches over and grasps my hand, squeezing it tightly, and my heart thaws a little. I’m so confused. I ha一ven’t even worked out what I need to say to him. “Are you still mad?” he asks. “I don’t know,” I murmur. He raises my hand and lightly grazes my knuckles with soft butterfly kisses. “It’s been a shitty day,” he says. “Yes, it has.” But for the first time since he left for work this morning, I begin to relax. Just being in his company is a soothing balm, and all the shit from Jack, and the snarky e-mails to and fro, and the nuisance that is Elena fade into the background. It’s just me and my control freak in the back of the car. “It’s better now that you’re here,” he murmurs. We sit in silence as Taylor wea一ves through the evening traffic, both of us brooding and contemplative; but I feel Christian slowly unwind beside me as he, too, relaxes, gently running his thumb across my knuckles in a soft, soothing rhythm. Taylor drops us outside the apartment building, and we both duck inside, out of the rain. Christian clasps my hand as we wait for the elevator, his eyes scanning the front of the building. “I take it you ha一ven’t found Leila yet.” “I take it you ha一ven’t found Leila yet.” “No. Welch is still looking for her,” he mutters despondently. The elevator arrives and in we step. Christian glances down at me, his gray eyes unreadable. Oh, he just looks glorious—tousled hair, white shirt, dark suit. And suddenly it’s there, from nowhere, that feeling. Oh my—the longing, the lust, the electricity. If it were visible, it would be an intense blue aura around and between us it’s so strong. His lips part as he gazes at me. “Do you feel it?” he breathes. “Yes.” “Oh, Ana.” He groans and he grabs me, his arms snaking around me, one hand at the nape of my neck, tipping my head back as his lips find mine. My fingers are in his hair and caressing his cheek as he pushes me back against the elevator wall. “I hate arguing with you,” he breathes against my mouth, and there’s a desperate, passionate quality to his kiss that mirrors mine. Desire explodes in my body, all the tension of the day seeking an outlet, straining against him, seeking more. We’re all tongues and breathing and hands and touch and sweet, sweet sensation. His hand is on my hip, and abruptly he’s pulling up my skirt, his fingers stroking my thighs. “Sweet Jesus, you’re wearing stockings.” He moans in appreciative awe as his thumb caresses the flesh above my stocking line. “I want to see this,” he breathes, and he pulls my skirt right up, exposing the tops of my thighs. Stepping back, he reaches over to press the stop Stepping back, he reaches over to press the stop button, and the elevator coasts smoothly to a halt between the twenty-second and twenty-third floors. His eyes are dark, lips parted, and he’s breathing as hard as am I. We gaze at each other, not touching. I am grateful for the wall against my back, holding me up while I bask in this beautiful man’s sensual, carnal appraisal. “Take your hair down,” he orders, his voice husky. I reach up and undo the tie, releasing my hair so it tumbles in a thick cloud around my shoulders to my breasts. “Undo the top two buttons of your shirt,” he whispers, his eyes wilder now. He makes me feel so wanton. My inner goddess is writhing on her chaise longue, waiting, wanting, and panting. I reach up and undo each button, achingly, slowly, so that the tops of my breasts are tantalizingly revealed. He swallows. “Do you ha一ve any idea how alluring you look right now?” Very deliberately, I bite my lip and shake my head. He closes his eyes briefly, and when he opens them again, they are blazing. He steps forward and places his hands on the elevator walls on either side of my face. He’s as close as he can be without touching me. I tip my face up to meet his gaze, and he leans down and runs his nose against mine, so it’s the only contact between us. I am so hot in the confines of this elevator with him. I want him—now. “I think you do, Miss Steele. I think you like to drive me wild.” “Do I drive you wild?” I whisper. “Do I drive you wild?” I whisper. “In all things, Anastasia. You are a siren, a goddess.” And he reaches for me, grasping my leg above my knee and hitching it around his waist, so that I am standing on one leg, leaning into him. I feel him against me, feel him hard and wanting above the apex of my thighs as he runs his lips down my throat. I moan and wrap my arms around his neck. “I’m going to take you now, Anastasia,” he breathes and I arch my back in response, pressing myself against him, eager for the friction. He groans deep and low in the back of his throat and boosts me higher as he undoes his fly. “Hold tight, baby,” he murmurs, and magically produces a foil packet that he holds in front of my mouth. I take it between my teeth, and he tugs, so that between us, we rip it open. “Good girl.” He steps back a fraction as he slides on the condom. “God, I can’t wait for the next six days,” he growls and gazes down at me through hooded eyes. “I do hope you’re not overly fond of these panties.” He tears through them with his adept fingers, and they disintegrate in his hands. My blood is pounding through my veins. I am panting with need. His words are intoxicating, all my angst from the day forgotten. It’s just him and me, doing what we do best. Without taking his eyes off mine, he sinks slowly into me. My body bows and I tilt my head back, closing my eyes, relishing the feel of him inside me. He pulls back and then moves into me again, so slow, so sweet. I groan. “You’re mine, Anastasia,” he murmurs against my throat. “Yes. Yours. When will you accept that?” I pant. He groans and starts to move, really move. And I surrender myself to his relentless rhythm, sa一voring each push and pull, his ragged breathing, his need for me, reflecting mine. It makes me feel powerful, strong, desired and loved —loved by this captivating, complicated man, whom I love in return with all my heart. He pushes harder and harder, his breathing ragged, losing himself in me as I lose myself in him. “Oh, baby,” Christian moans, his teeth grazing my jaw, and I come hard around him. He stills, clutches me, and follows suit, whispering my name. Now that Christian is spent, calm and kissing me gently, his breathing eases. He holds me upright against the elevator wall, our foreheads pressed together, and my body is like jelly, weak but gratifyingly sated from my climax. “Oh, Ana,” he murmurs. “I need you so much.” He kisses my forehead. “And I you, Christian.” Releasing me, he straightens my skirt and does up the two buttons on my shirt, then punches the combination into the keypad that starts the elevator again. It rises with a jolt so that I reach out and clasp his arms. “Taylor will be wondering where we are,” he grins lasciviously at me. Oh crap. I drag my fingers through my hair in a vain attempt to combat the just-fucked look, then give up and tie it in a ponytail. “You’ll do.” Christian smirks as he does up his fly and puts the condom in his pants pocket. Once more he looks the embodiment of an American entrepreneur, and since his hair looks just fucked most of the time, there’s very little difference. Except now he’s smiling, relaxed, his eyes crinkling with boyish charm. Are all men this easily placated? Taylor is waiting when the doors open. “Problem with the elevator,” Christian murmurs as we both step out, and I cannot look either of them in the face. I scurry through the double doors to Christian’s bedroom in search of some fresh underwear. When I return, Christian has removed his jacket and is sitting at the breakfast bar chatting with Mrs. Jones. She smiles kindly at me as she puts out two plates of hot food for us. Mmm, it smells delicious—coq au vin, if I am not mistaken. I am famished. “Enjoy, Mr. Grey, Ana,” she says and lea一ves us to it. Christian fetches a bottle of white wine from the fridge, and as we sit and eat, he tells me about how much nearer he’s getting to perfecting a solar-powered mobile phone. He’s animated and excited about the whole project, and I He’s animated and excited about the whole project, and I know then that he hasn’t had an entirely shitty day. I ask him about his properties. He smirks, and it turns out he only has the apartment in New York and Aspen, and Escala. Nothing else. When we’re done, I collect his plate and mine and take them to sink. “Lea一ve that. Gail will do it,” he says. I turn and gaze at him, and he’s watching me intently. Will I ever get used to ha一ving someone clean up after me? “Well, now that you are more docile, Miss Steele, shall we talk about today?” “I think you’re the one who’s more docile. I think I’m doing a good job in taming you.” “Taming me?” he snorts, amused. When I nod, he frowns as if reflecting on my words. “Yes. Maybe you are, Anastasia.” “You were right about Jack,” I murmur, serious now, and I lean across the kitchen island gauging his reaction. Christian’s face falls and his eyes harden. “Has he tried anything?” he whispers, his voice deathly cold. I shake my head to reassure him. “No, and he won’t, Christian. I told him today that I’m your girlfriend, and he backed right off.” “You’re sure? I could fire the fucker.” Christian scowls. I sigh, emboldened by my glass of wine. “You really ha一ve to let me fight my own battles. You can’t constantly second-guess me and try to protect me. It’s stifling, Christian. I’ll never flourish with your incessant Christian. I’ll never flourish with your incessant interference. I need some freedom. I wouldn’t dream of meddling in your affairs.” He blinks at me. “I only want you safe, Anastasia. If anything happened to you, I—” He stops. “I know, and I understand why you feel so driven to protect me. And part of me loves it. I know that if I need you, you’ll be there, as I am for you. But if we are to ha一ve any hope of a future together, you ha一ve to trust me and trust my judgment. Yes, I’ll get it wrong sometimes—I’ll make mistakes, but I ha一ve to learn.” He stares at me, his expression anxious, spurring me to walk round to him so that I am standing between his legs while he sits on the barstool. Grabbing his hands, I put them around me and place my hands on his arms. “You can’t interfere in my job. It’s wrong. I don’t need you charging in like a white knight to sa一ve the day. I know you want to control everything, and I understand why, but you can’t. It’s an impossible goal . . . you ha一ve to learn to let go.” I reach up and stroke his face as he gazes at me, his eyes wide. “And if you can do that—give me that—I’ll move in with you,” I add softly. He inhales sharply, surprised. “You’d do that?” he whispers. “Yes.” “But you don’t know me.” He frowns and sounds choked and panicky all of a sudden, very un-Fifty. “I know you well enough, Christian. Nothing you tell me about yourself will frighten me away.” I gently run my knuckles across his cheek. His expression turns from knuckles across his cheek. His expression turns from anxious to dubious. “But if you could just ease up on me,” I plead. “I’m trying, Anastasia. I couldn’t just stand by and let you go to New York with that . . . sleazeball. He has an alarming reputation. None of his assistants ha一ve lasted more than three months, and they’re never retained by the company. I don’t want that for you, baby.” He sighs. “I don’t want anything to happen to you. You being hurt . . . the thought fills me with dread. I can’t promise not to interfere, not if I think you’ll come to harm.” He pauses and takes a deep breath. “I love you, Anastasia. I will do everything in my power to protect you. I cannot imagine my life without you.” Holy cow. My inner goddess, my subconscious, and I all gape at Fifty in shock. Jeez, three little words. My world stands still, tilts, then spins on a new axis; and I sa一vor the moment, gazing into his sincere, beautiful gray eyes. “I love you, too, Christian.” I lean over and kiss him, and the kiss deepens. Entering unseen, Taylor clears his throat. Christian pulls back, gazing intently at me. He stands, his arm around my waist. “Yes?” he snaps at Taylor. “Mrs. Lincoln is on her way up, sir.” “What?” Taylor shrugs apologetically. Christian sighs hea一vily and shakes his head. “Well, this should be interesting,” he mutters and gives “Well, this should be interesting,” he mutters and gives me a crooked grin of resignation. Fuck! Why can’t that damned woman lea一ve us alone? “Yes.” “What did you say?” “I said that you didn’t want to see her, and that I understood your reasons why. I also told her that I didn’t appreciate her going behind my back.” His gaze is impassive, giving nothing away. Oh, good. “What did she say?” “She brushed it off in a way that only Elena can.” His mouth flattens to a crooked line. “Why do you think she’s here?” “I ha一ve no idea.” Christian shrugs. Taylor enters the great room again. “Mrs. Lincoln,” he announces. And here she is . . . Why is she so damned attractive? She’s dressed entirely in black: tight jeans, a shirt that emphasizes her perfect figure, and a halo of bright, glossy hair. Christian pulls me close. “Elena,” he says, his tone puzzled. She gapes at me in shock, frozen to the spot. She blinks before finding her soft voice. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you had company, Christian. It’s Monday,” she says as if this explains why she’s here. “Girlfriend,” he says by way of explanation and tilts his head to one side and smirks. She smiles, a slow, beaming smile directed entirely at him. It’s unnerving. “Of course. Hello, Anastasia. I didn’t know you’d be here. I know you don’t want to talk to me. I accept that.” “Do you?” I assert quietly, gazing at her and taking all of us by surprise. With a slight frown, she moves farther into the room. “Yes, I get the message. I’m not here to see you. Like I said, Christian rarely has company during the week.” She pauses. “I ha一ve a problem, and I need to talk to Christian about it.” “Oh?” Christian straightens up. “Do you want a drink?” “Yes, please,” she murmurs gratefully. Christian fetches a glass while Elena and I stand awkwardly gazing at each other. She fidgets with a large silver ring on her middle finger, while I don’t know where to look. Finally, she gives me a small tight smile and approaches the kitchen island and sits on the bar stool at the end. She obviously knows the place well and feels comfortable moving around here. Do I stay? Do I go? Oh, this is so difficult. My subconscious scowls at the woman with her most hostile subconscious scowls at the woman with her most hostile harpy face. There’s so much I want to say to this woman, and none of it complimentary. But she’s Christian’s friend—his only friend—and for all my loathing of this woman, I am innately polite. Deciding to stay, I sit as gracefully as I can manage on the stool Christian’s vacated. Christian pours wine into each of our glasses and sits between us at the breakfast bar. Can’t he feel how weird this is? “What’s up?” he asks her. Elena looks nervously at me, and Christian reaches over and clasps my hand. “Anastasia’s with me now,” he says to her silent query and squeezes my hand. I flush, and my subconscious beams at him, harpy face forgotten. Elena’s face softens as if she’s pleased for him. Really pleased for him. Oh, I don’t understand this woman at all, and I’m uncomfortable and edgy in her presence. She takes a deep breath and shifts, perching on the edge of her bar stool and looking agitated. She glances nervously down at her hands and starts manically twisting the large silver ring around and around on her middle finger. Jeez, what’s wrong with her? Is it my presence? Do I ha一ve that effect on her? Because I feel the same way—I don’t want her here. She raises her head and looks Christian squarely in the eye. “I’m being blackmailed.” Holy shit. Not what I expected out of her mouth. Christian stiffens. Has someone found out about her Christian stiffens. Has someone found out about her penchant for beating and fucking underage boys? I suppress my revulsion, and a fleeting thought about chickens coming home to roost crosses my mind. My subconscious rubs her hands together with ill-disguised glee. Good. “How?” Christian asks, his horror clear in his voice. She reaches into her oversized, patent-leather, designer purse, pulls out a note, and hands it to him. “Put it down, lay it out.” Christian points to the breakfast bar counter with his chin. “You don’t want to touch it?’ “No. Fingerprints.” “Christian, you know I can’t go to the police with this.” Why am I listening to this? Is she fucking some other poor boy? She lays the note out for him, and he bends to read it. “They’re only asking for five thousand dollars,” he says almost absentmindedly. “Any idea who it might be? Someone in the community?” “No,” she says in her soft sweet voice. “Linc?” Linc? Who’s that? “What—after all this time? I don’t think so,” she grumbles. “Does Isaac know?” “I ha一ven’t told him.” Who’s Isaac? “I think he needs to know,” Christian says. She shakes her head, and now I feel I’m intruding. I want none of this. her head, and now I feel I’m intruding. I want none of this. I try to retrieve my hand from Christian’s grasp, but he just tightens his hold and turns to gaze at me. “What?” he asks. “I’m tired. I think I’ll go to bed.” His eyes search mine, looking for what? Censure? Acceptance? Hostility? I keep my expression as bland as possible. “Okay,” he says. “I won’t be long.” He releases me and I stand. Elena watches me warily. I stay tightlipped and return her gaze, giving nothing away. “Goodnight, Anastasia.” She gives me a small smile. “Goodnight,” I mutter, my voice sounds cold. I turn to lea一ve. The tension is too much for me to bear. As I exit the room they continue their conversation. “I don’t think there’s a great deal I can do, Elena,” Christian says to her. “If it’s a question of money.” His voice trails off. “I could ask Welch to investigate.” “No, Christian, I just wanted to share,” she says. When I am out of the room, I hear her say, “You look very happy.” “I am,” Christian responds. “You deserve to be.” “I wish that were true.” “Christian,” she scolds. I freeze, listening intently. I can’t help it. “Does she know how negative you are about yourself? About all your issues.” “She knows me better than anyone.” “Ouch! That hurts.” “Ouch! That hurts.” “It’s the truth, Elena. I don’t ha一ve to play games with her. And I mean it, lea一ve her alone.” “What is her problem?” “You . . . What we were. What we did. She doesn’t understand.” “Make her understand.” “It’s in the past, Elena, and why would I want to taint her with our fucked-up relationship? She’s good and sweet and innocent, and by some miracle she loves me.” “It’s no miracle, Christian,” Elena scoffs goodnaturedly. “Ha一ve a little faith in yourself. You really are quite a catch. I’ve told you often enough. And she seems lovely, too. Strong. Someone to stand up to you.” I can’t hear Christian’s response. So I’m strong, am I? I certainly don’t feel that way. “Don’t you miss it?” Elena continues. “What?” “Your playroom.” I stop breathing. “That really is none of your fucking business,” Christian snaps. Oh. “I’m sorry.” Elena snorts insincerely. “I think you’d better go. And please, call before you come again.” “Christian, I am sorry,” she says, and from her tone, this time she means it. “Since when are you so sensitive?” She’s scolding him again. “Elena, we ha一ve a business relationship which has “Elena, we ha一ve a business relationship which has profited us both immensely. Let’s keep it that way. What was between us is part of the past. Anastasia is my future, and I won’t jeopardize it in any way, so cut the fucking crap.” His future! “I see.” “Look, I’m sorry for your trouble. Perhaps you should ride it out and call their bluff.” His tone is softer. “I don’t want to lose you, Christian.” “I’m not yours to lose, Elena,” he snaps again. “That’s not what I meant.” “What did you mean?” He’s brusque, angry. “Look, I don’t want to argue with you. Your friendship means a lot to me. I’ll back off from Anastasia. But I’m here if you need me. I always will be.” “Anastasia thinks that you saw me last Saturday. You called, that’s all. Why did you tell her otherwise?” “I wanted her to know how upset you were when she left. I don’t want her to hurt you.” “She knows. I’ve told her. Stop interfering. Honestly, you’re like a mother hen.” Christian sounds more resigned, and Elena laughs, but there’s a sad tone to her laugh. “I know. I’m sorry. You know I care about you. I never thought you’d end up falling in love, Christian. It’s very gratifying to see. But I couldn’t bear it if she hurt you.” “I’ll take my chances,” he says dryly. “Now are you sure you don’t want Welch to sniff around?” She sighs hea一vily. “I suppose it wouldn’t do any harm.” She sighs hea一vily. “I suppose it wouldn’t do any harm.” “Okay. I’ll call him in the morning.” I listen to them bickering, trying to figure this out. They do sound like old friends, as Christian says. Just friends. And she cares about him—maybe too much. Well, who wouldn’t, if they knew him? “Thank you, Christian. And I am sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude. I’ll go. Next time I’ll call.” “Good.” She’s going! Shit! I scamper up the hallway to Christian’s bedroom and sit down on the bed. Christian enters a few moments later. “She’s gone,” he says warily, gauging my reaction. I gaze up at him, trying to frame my question. “Will you tell me all about her? I am trying to understand why you think she helped you.” I pause, thinking carefully about my next sentence. “I loathe her, Christian. I think she did you untold damage. You ha一ve no friends. Did she keep them away from you?” He sighs and runs his hand through his hair. “Why the fuck do you want to know about her? We had a very long-standing affair, she beat the shit out of me often, and I fucked her in all sorts of ways you can’t even imagine, end of story.” I pale. Shit, he’s angry—with me. I blink at him. “Why are you so angry?” “Because all of that shit is OVER!” he shouts, glowering at me. He sighs in exasperation and shakes his head. I blanch. Shit. I look down at my hands, knotted in my lap. I just want to understand. He sits down beside me. “What do you want to know?” he asks wearily. “You don’t ha一ve to tell me. I don’t mean to intrude.” “Anastasia, it’s not that. I don’t like talking about this shit. I’ve lived in a bubble for years with nothing affecting me and not ha一ving to justify myself to anyone. She’s always been there as a confidante. And now my past and my future are colliding in a way I never thought possible.” I glance at him and he’s staring at me, his eyes wide. “I never thought I had a future with anyone, Anastasia. You give me hope and ha一ve me thinking about all sorts of possibilities.” He drifts off. “I was listening,” I whisper and stare back down at my hands. “What? To our conversation?” “Yes.” “Well?” He sounds resigned. “She cares for you.” “Yes, she does. And I for her in my own way, but it doesn’t come close to how I feel about you. If that’s what this is about.” “I’m not jealous.” I’m wounded that he would think that—or am I? Shit. Maybe that’s what this is. “You don’t love her,” I murmur. He sighs again. He really is pissed. “A long time ago, I thought I loved her,” he says through gritted teeth. Oh. “When we were in Georgia . . . you said you didn’t love her.” “That’s right.” I frown. “I loved you then, Anastasia,” he whispers. “You’re the only person I’d fly three thousand miles to see.” Oh my. I don’t understand. He still wanted me as a sub then. My frown deepens. “The feelings I ha一ve for you are very different from any I ever had for Elena,” he says by way of explanation. “When did you know?” He shrugs. “Ironically, it was Elena who pointed it out to me. She encouraged me to go to Georgia.” I knew it! I knew it in Sa一vannah. I gaze at him, blankly. What do I make of this? Maybe she is on my side and just worried that I’ll hurt him. The thought is painful. I would never want to hurt him. She’s right—he’s been hurt enough. Perhaps she’s not so bad. I shake my head. I don’t want to accept his relationship with her. I disapprove. Yes, that’s what this is. She’s an unsa一vory character who preyed on a vulnerable adolescent, robbing him of his teenage years, no matter what he says. “So you desired her? When you were younger.” “Yes.” Oh. “She taught me a great deal. She taught me to believe in myself.” Oh. “But she also beat the shit out of you.” He smiles fondly. “Yes, she did.” He smiles fondly. “Yes, she did.” “And you liked that?” “At the time I did.” “So much that you wanted to do it to others?” His eyes grow wide and serious. “Yes.” “Did she help you with that?” “Yes.” “Did she sub for you?” “Yes.” Holy fuck. “Do you expect me to like her?” My voice sounds brittle and bitter. “No. Though it would make my life a hell of a lot easier,” he says wearily. “I do understand your reticence.” “Reticence! Jeez, Christian—if that were your son, how would you feel?” He blinks at me as though he doesn’t comprehend the question. He frowns. “I didn’t ha一ve to stay with her. It was my choice, too, Anastasia,” he murmurs. This is getting me nowhere. “Who’s Linc?” “Her ex-husband.” “Lincoln Timber?” “The very same,” he smirks. “And Isaac?” “Her current submissive.” Oh no. “He’s in his mid-twenties, Anastasia. You know—a consenting adult,” he adds quickly, correctly deciphering my look of disgust. I flush. “Your age,” I mutter. I flush. “Your age,” I mutter. “Look, Anastasia, as I said to her, she’s part of my past. You are my future. Don’t let her come between us, please. And quite frankly, I’m really bored of this subject. I’m going to do some work.” He stands and gazes down at me. “Let it go. Please.” I stare mulishly up at him. “Oh, I almost forgot,” he adds. “Your car arrived a day early. It’s in the garage. Taylor has the key.” Whoa . . . the Saab? “Can I drive it tomorrow?” “No.” “Why not?” “You know why not. And that reminds me. If you are going to lea一ve your office, let me know. Sawyer was there, watching you. It seems I can’t trust you to look after yourself at all.” He scowls down at me, making me feel like an errant child—again. And I would argue with him, but he’s pretty worked up over Elena, and I don’t want to push him any further, but I can’t resist one comment. “Seems I can’t trust you either,” I mutter. “You could ha一ve told me Sawyer was watching me.” “Do you want to fight about that, too?” he snaps. “I wasn’t aware we were fighting. I thought we were communicating,” I mumble petulantly. He closes his eyes briefly as he struggles to contain his temper. I swallow and watch anxiously. Jeez, this could go either way. “I ha一ve to work,” he says quietly, and with that, he lea一ves the room. I exhale. I hadn’t realized I’d been holding my breath. I I exhale. I hadn’t realized I’d been holding my breath. I flop back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. Can we ever ha一ve a normal conversation without it disintegrating into an argument? It’s exhausting. We just don’t know each other that well. Do I really want to move in with him? I don’t even know if I should make him a cup of tea or coffee while he’s working. Should I disturb him at all? I ha一ve no idea of his likes and dislikes. Evidently he’s bored with the whole Elena thing—he’s right, I need to move on. Let it go. Well, at least he’s not expecting me to be friends with her, and I hope that she’ll now stop hassling me for a meeting. I get off the bed and wander to the window. Unlocking the balcony door, I open it and stroll over to the glass railing. Its transparency is unnerving. The air’s chilly and fresh, as I’m up so high. I gaze out over the twinkling lights of Seattle. He’s so far removed from everything up here in his fortress. Answerable to no one. He’d just told me he loves me, then all this crap comes up because of that dreadful woman. I roll my eyes. His life is so complicated. He’s so complicated. With a hea一vy sigh and a last glance at Seattle spread like cloths of gold at my feet, I decide to call Ray. I ha一ven’t spoken to him for a while. It’s a brief conversation as per usual, but I ascertain he’s fine and that I’m interrupting an important soccer match. “Hope all is well with Christian,” he says casually, and I know he’s fishing for information but doesn’t really want I know he’s fishing for information but doesn’t really want to know. “Yeah. We’re cool.” Sort of, and I’m moving in with him. Though we ha一ven’t discussed a timetable. “Love you, Dad.” “Love you, too, Annie.” I hang up and check my watch. It’s only ten. Because of our discussion, I am feeling strangely innervated and restless. I shower quickly, and back in the bedroom, decide to wear one of the nightdresses that Caroline Acton procured for me from Neiman Marcus. Christian’s always moaning about my T-shirts. There are three. I choose the pale pink and put it on over my head. The fabric skims across my skin, caressing and clinging to me as it falls around my body. It feels luxurious—the finest, thinnest satin. Holy crap. In the mirror, I look like a 1930s movie star. It’s long, elegant—and very un-me. I grab the matching robe and decide to hunt out a book in the library. I could read on my iPad—but right now, I want the comfort and reassurance of a physical book. I’ll lea一ve Christian alone. Perhaps he’ll recover his good humor once he’s finished working. There are so many books in Christian’s library. Scanning every title will take forever. I glance occasionally at the billiard table and flush as I recall our previous evening. I smile when I see that the ruler is still on the floor. Picking it up, I swat my palm. Ow! It stings. Why can’t I take a little more pain for my man? Disconsolately, I place it on the desk and continue my hunt Disconsolately, I place it on the desk and continue my hunt for a good read. Most of the books are first editions. How can he ha一ve amassed a collection like this in such a short time? Perhaps Taylor’s job description includes book buying. I settle on Rebecca by Daphne Du Maurier. I ha一ven’t read this for a long time. I smile as I curl up in one of the overstuffed armchairs and read the first line: Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again . . . I am jostled awake as Christian lifts me in his arms. “Hey,” he murmurs, “you fell asleep. I couldn’t find you.” He nuzzles my hair. Sleepily, I put my arms around his neck and breathe in his scent—oh, he smells so good —as he carries me back to the bedroom. He lays me down on the bed and covers me. “Sleep, baby,” he whispers and he presses his lips against my forehead. I wake suddenly from a disturbing dream and am momentarily disorientated. I find myself anxiously checking the end of the bed, but there’s no one there. Drifting from the great room, I hear the faint strains of a complex melody from the piano. What time is it? I check the alarm clock—two in the morning. Has Christian come to sleep at all? I disentangle my legs from my robe, which I’m still wearing, and my legs from my robe, which I’m still wearing, and clamber out of bed. In the great room, I stand in the shadows, listening. Christian is lost to the music. He looks safe and secure in his bubble of light. And the tune he plays has a lilting melody, parts of which sound familiar, but so elaborate. Jeez, he’s good. Why does this always take me by surprise? The whole scene looks different somehow, and I realize that the piano lid is down, giving me an unhindered view. He glances up and our eyes lock, his gray and softly luminous in the diffuse glow of the lamp. He continues to play, not faltering at all, as I make my way over to him. His eyes follow me, drinking me in, burning brighter. As I reach him, he stops. “Why did you stop? That was lovely.” “Do you ha一ve any idea how desirable you look at the moment?” he says, his voice soft. Oh. “Come to bed,” I whisper and his eyes heat as he holds out his hand. When I take it, he tugs unexpectedly so I fall into his lap. He wraps his arms around me and nuzzles my neck behind my ear, sending shivers down my spine. “Why do we fight?” he whispers, as his teeth graze my earlobe. Holy cow. My heart skips a beat, then starts pounding, coursing heat throughout my body. “Because we’re getting to know each other, and you’re stubborn and cantankerous and moody and difficult,” I murmur breathlessly, shifting my head to give difficult,” I murmur breathlessly, shifting my head to give him better access to my throat. He runs his nose down my neck, and I feel his smile. “I’m all those things, Miss Steele. It’s a wonder you put up with me.” He nips my earlobe and I moan. “Is it always like this?” he sighs. “I ha一ve no idea.” “Me neither.” He yanks the sash of my robe so it falls open, and his hand skims down my body, over my breast. My nipples harden beneath his gentle touch and strain against the satin. He continues down to my waist, down to my hip. “You feel so fine under this material, and I can see everything—even this.” He tugs gently on my pubic hair through the fabric, making me gasp, while his other hand fists in my hair at my nape. Pulling my head back, he kisses me, his tongue urgent, relentless, needy. I moan in response and caress his dear, dear face. His hand gently pulls my nightdress up, slowly, tantalizingly until he’s fondling my naked behind and then running his thumbnail down the inside of my thigh. Suddenly he rises, startling me, and he lifts me bodily onto the piano. My feet rest on the keys, sounding discordant, disjointed notes, and his hands skim up my legs and part my knees. He grabs my hands. “Lie back,” he orders, holding my hands while I sink back on top of the piano. The lid is hard and uncompromising against my back. He lets go and pushes my legs open wider, my feet dancing over the keys, over the lower and higher notes. the lower and higher notes. Oh boy. I know what he’s going to do, and the anticipation . . . I groan loudly as he kisses the inside of my knee, then kisses and sucks and nips his way higher up my leg to my thigh. The soft satin of my nightgown rises higher, skimming over my sensitized skin, as he pushes the fabric. I flex my feet and the chords sound again. Closing my eyes, I surrender myself to him as his mouth reaches the apex of my thighs. He kisses me . . . there . . . Oh boy . . . then gently blows before his tongue circles my clitoris. He pushes my legs wider. I feel so open—so exposed. He holds me in place, his hands just above my knees as his tongue tortures me, giving no quarter, no respite . . . no reprieve. Tilting my hips up, meeting and matching his rhythm, I am consumed. “Oh, Christian, please.” I moan. “Oh no, baby, not yet,” he teases, but I feel myself quicken as does he, and he stops. “No,” I whimper. “This is my revenge, Ana,” he growls softly. “Argue with me, and I am going to take it out on your body somehow.” He trails kisses along my belly, his hands tra一veling up my thighs, stroking, kneading, tantalizing. His tongue circles my na一vel as his hands—and his thumbs . . . oh his thumbs—reach the summit of my thighs. “Ah!” I cry out as he pushes one inside me. The other persecutes me, slowly, agonizingly, circling round and round. My back arches off the piano as I writhe beneath his touch. It’s almost unbearable. his touch. It’s almost unbearable. “Christian!” I cry, spiraling out of control with need. He takes pity on me and stops. Lifting my feet off the keys, he pushes me; and suddenly, I’m sliding effortlessly up the piano, gliding on satin, and he’s following me up there, briefly kneeling between my legs to roll on a condom. He hovers over me and I’m panting, gazing up at him with raging need, and I realize he’s naked. When did he take off his clothes? He stares down at me, and there’s wonder in his eyes, wonder and love and passion, and it’s breathtaking. “I want you so badly,” he says and very slowly, exquisitely, he sinks into me. I am sprawled on top of him, wrung out, my limbs hea一vy and languid, as we lie on top of his grand piano. Oh my. He’s much more comfortable to lie on than the piano. Careful not to touch his chest, I rest my cheek against him and keep perfectly still. He doesn’t object, and I listen to his breathing as it slows like mine. Gently he strokes my hair. “Do you drink tea or coffee in the evening?” I ask sleepily. “What a strange question,” he says dreamily. “I thought I could bring you tea in your study, and then I realized I didn’t know what you would like.” “Oh, I see. Water or wine in the evening, Ana. Though maybe I should try tea.” His hand moves rhythmically down my back, stroking me tenderly. “We really know very little about each other,” I murmur. “I know,” he says, and his voice is mournful. I sit up to gaze at him. “What is it?” I ask. He shakes his head as if to rid himself of some unpleasant thought, and raising his hand, he caresses my cheek, his eyes bright and earnest. “I love you, Ana Steele,” he says. The alarm blasts on with the six am traffic news, and I am rudely awakened from my disturbing dream of over-blond and dark-haired women. I can’t grasp what it’s about, and I’m immediately distracted because Christian Grey is wrapped around me like silk, his unruly-haired head on my chest, his hand on my breast, his leg over me, holding me down. He’s still asleep, and I am too warm. But I ignore my discomfort, tentatively reaching up to run my fingers gently through his hair, and he stirs. Raising bright gray eyes, he grins sleepily. Holy cow . . . he’s adorable. “Good morning, beautiful,” he says. “Good morning, beautiful yourself.” I smile back at him. He kisses me, disentangles himself, and leans up on his elbow, staring down at me. his elbow, staring down at me. “Sleep okay?” he asks. “Yes, despite the interruption to my sleep last night.” His grin broadens. “Hmm. You can interrupt me like that anytime.” He kisses me again. “How about you? Did you sleep well?” “I always sleep well with you, Anastasia.” “No more nightmares?” “No.” I frown and chance a question. “What are your nightmares about?” His brow creases and his grin fades. Shit—my stupid curiosity. “They’re flashbacks of my early childhood, or so Dr. Flynn says. Some vivid, some less so.” His voice drops and a distant, harrowed look crosses his face. Absentmindedly, he begins to trace my collarbone with his finger, distracting me. “Do you wake up crying and screaming?” I try in vain to joke. He looks at me, puzzled. “No, Anastasia. I’ve never cried. As far as I can remember.” He frowns, as if reaching into the depths of his memories. Oh no—that’s too dark a place to go at this hour, surely. “Do you ha一ve any happy memories of your childhood?” I ask quickly, mainly to distract him. He looks pensive for a moment, still running his finger along my skin. “I recall the crack whore baking. I remember the smell. A birthday cake I think. For me. And then there’s Mia’s arrival with my mom and dad. My mom was worried arrival with my mom and dad. My mom was worried about my reaction, but I adored baby Mia immediately. My first word was Mia. I remember my first piano lesson. Miss Kathie, my tutor, was awesome. She kept horses, too.” He smiles wistfully. “You said your mom sa一ved you. How?” His reverie is broken, and he gazes at me as if I don’t understand the elementary math of two plus two. “She adopted me,” he says simply. “I thought she was an angel when I first met her. She was dressed in white and so gentle and calm as she examined me. I’ll never forget that. If she’d said no or if Carrick had said no . . .” He shrugs and glances over his shoulder at the alarm clock. “This is all a little deep for so early in the morning,” he mutters. “I ha一ve made a vow to get to know you better.” “Did you now, Miss Steele? I thought you wanted to know if I preferred coffee or tea.” He smirks. “Anyway, I can think of one way you can get to know me.” He pushes his hips suggestively against me. “I think I know you quite well enough that way.” My voice is haughty and scolding, and it makes him smile more broadly. “I don’t think I’ll ever get to know you well enough that way,” he murmurs. “There are definite advantages to waking up beside you.” His voice is soft and bonemeltingly seductive. “Don’t you ha一ve to get up?” My voice is low and husky. Jeez, what he does to me . . . “Not this morning. Only one place I want to be up right “Not this morning. Only one place I want to be up right now, Miss Steele.” And his eyes sparkle salaciously. “Christian!” I gasp, shocked. He shifts suddenly so that he’s on top of me, pressing me into the bed. Grabbing my hands, he pulls them up above my head and begins to kiss my throat. “Oh, Miss Steele.” He smiles against my skin, sending delicious tingles through me, as his hand tra一vels down my body and starts to slowly hitch up my satin nightdress. “Oh, what I’d like to do to you,” he murmurs. And I am lost, interrogation over. Mrs. Jones sets down my breakfast of pancakes and bacon, and for Christian an omelet and bacon. We sit side by side at the bar in a comfortable silence. “When am I going to meet your trainer, Claude, and put him through his paces?” I ask. Christian glances down at me, grinning. “Depends if you want to go to New York this weekend or not—unless you’d like to see him early one morning this week. I’ll ask Andrea to check on his schedule and come back to you.” “Andrea?” “My PA.” Oh yes. “One of your many blondes,” I tease him. “She’s not mine. She works for me. You’re mine.” “I work for you,” I mutter sourly. He grins as if he’s forgotten. “So you do.” His beaming smile is infectious. “Maybe Claude can teach me to kickbox,” I warn. “Oh yeah? Fancy your chances against me?” Christian raises an eyebrow, amused. “Bring it on, Miss Steele.” He is so damned happy compared to yesterday’s foul mood after Elena left. It’s totally disarming. Maybe it’s all the sex . . . perhaps that’s what’s making him so buoyant. I glance behind me at the piano, sa一voring the memory of last night. “You put the lid of the piano back up.” “I closed it last night so as not to disturb you. Guess it didn’t work, but I’m glad it didn’t.” Christian’s lips twitch into a lascivious smile as he takes a bite of omelet. I go crimson and smirk back at him. Oh yes . . . fun times on the piano. Mrs. Jones leans over and places a paper bag containing my lunch in front of me, making me flush guiltily. “For later, Ana. Tuna okay?” “Oh yes. Thank you, Mrs. Jones.” I give her a shy smile, which she reciprocates warmly before lea一ving the great room. I suspect it’s to give us some privacy. “Can I ask you something?” I turn back to Christian. His amused expression slips. “Of course.” “And you won’t be angry?” “Is it about Elena?” “No.” “Then I won’t be angry.” “But I now ha一ve a supplementary question.” “Oh?” “Which is about her.” He rolls his eyes. “What?” he says, and now he’s exasperated. “Why do you get so mad when I ask you about her?” “Honestly?” I scowl at him. “I thought you were always honest with me.” “I endea一vor to be.”