Текст книги "Grey"
Автор книги: Erika Leonard James
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Текущая страница: 12 (всего у книги 30 страниц) [доступный отрывок для чтения: 13 страниц]
“Don’t forget the home market,” she interjects.
“As if.”
“Christian, just how long are you going to be in Portland?” Ros sounds exasperated. “What’s going on down there?” Eyeing the webcam, she then peers hard at her screen, looking for clues in my expression.
“A merger.” I try to hide my smile.
“Does Marco know?”
I snort. Marco Inglis is the head of my mergers and acquisitions division. “No. It’s not that kind of merger.”
“Oh.” Ros is silenced momentarily and, from her look, surprised.
Yeah. It’s private.
“Well, I hope you’re successful,” she says, smirking.
“Me, too,” I acknowledge with a smirk of my own. “Now, can we talk about Woods?”
Over the past year, we’ve acquired three tech companies. Two are booming, surpassing all targets, and one is struggling despite Marco’s initial optimism. Lucas Woods heads it up; he’s turned out to be an idiot—all show, no substance. The money has gone to his head and he’s lost focus and squandered the lead his company once had in fiber optics. My gut says asset-strip the company, fire Woods, and merge their technology division into GEH.
But Ros thinks Lucas needs more time—and that we need time to plan if we’re going to liquidate and rebrand his company. If we do, it will involve expensive redundancies.
“I think Woods has had enough time to turn this around. He just won’t accept reality,” I say emphatically. “We need him gone, and I’d like Marco to estimate the costs of liquidating.”
“Marco wants to join us for this part of the call. I’ll get him to log in.”
AT 12:30 IN THE afternoon Taylor drives me out to WSU in Vancouver for lunch with the president, the head of the environmental sciences department, and the vice president of economic development. As we approach the long driveway I can’t help looking out at all the students to see if I can spy Miss Steele. Alas, I don’t see her; she’s probably holed up in the library reading a classic. The thought of her curled up somewhere with a book is comforting. There has been no reply to my last e-mail, but then she’s been working. Perhaps there’ll be something after lunch.
As we pull up outside the administration building my phone buzzes. It’s Grace. She never calls during the week.
“Mom?”
“Hello, darling. How are you?”
“Fine. I’m about to go into a meeting.”
“Your PA said you were in Portland.” Her voice is full of hope.
Damn. She thinks I’m with Ana.
“Yeah, on business.”
“How’s Anastasia?” There it is!
“Fine as far as I know, Grace. What do you want?”
Oh, Good Lord. My mother is someone else whose expectations I have to manage.
“Mia’s coming home a week early, on Saturday. I’m on call that day and your father is away at a legal conference presenting a panel on philanthropy and aid,” she says.
“You want me to meet her?”
“Will you?”
“Sure. Ask her to send me her flight details.”
“Thank you, darling. Say hi to Anastasia for me.”
“I have to go. Good-bye, Mom.” I hang up before she can ask any more awkward questions. Taylor opens the car door.
“I should be out of here by three.”
“Yes, Mr. Grey.”
“Will you be able to see your daughter tomorrow, Taylor?”
“Yes, sir.” His expression is warm and full of paternal pride.
“Great.”
“I’ll be here at three,” he confirms.
I head into the university’s administration building…This is going to be a long lunch.
I HAVE MANAGED TO keep Anastasia Steele out of every waking thought today. Almost. During lunch there were times when I found myself imagining us in my playroom…What did she call it? The Red Room of Pain. I shake my head, smiling, and check my e-mail. That woman has a way with words, but so far there are no words from her today.
I change from my suit to my sweats to get ready for the hotel gym. As I’m about to leave my room, I hear a ping. It’s her.
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: My Issues…What about Your Issues?
Date: May 24 2011 18:29
To: Christian Grey
Sir,
Please note the date of origin: 1580–90. I would respectfully remind Sir that the year is 2011. We have come a long way since then.
May I offer a definition for you to consider for our meeting:
compromise [kom-pruh-mahyz]—noun
1. a settlement of differences by mutual concessions; an agreement reached by adjustment of conflicting or opposing claims, principles, etc., by reciprocal modification of demands. 2. the result of such a settlement. 3. something intermediate between different things: The split-level is a compromise between a ranch house and a multistoried house. 4. an endangering, esp. of reputation; exposure to danger, suspicion, etc.: a compromise of one’s integrity.
Ana
What a surprise, a provocative e-mail from Miss Steele, but our meeting is still happening. Well, that’s a relief.
From: Christian Grey
Subject: What about My Issues?
Date: May 24 2011 18:32
To: Anastasia Steele
Good point, well made, as ever, Miss Steele. I will collect you from your apartment at 7:00 tomorrow.
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
My phone buzzes. It’s Elliot.
“Hey, hotshot. Kate’s asked me to hassle you about the move.”
“The move?”
“Kate and Ana, help moving, you dipshit.”
I give him an exaggerated sigh. He really is a crude asshole. “I can’t help. I’m meeting Mia at the airport.”
“What? Can’t Mom do that, or Dad?”
“No. Mom called me this morning.”
“Then I guess that settles it. You never told me how you got on with Ana? Did you f—”
“Good-bye, Elliot.” I hang up. It’s none of his business and there’s an e-mail waiting for me.
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: 2011—Women Can Drive
Date: May 24 2011 18:40
To: Christian Grey
Sir,
I have a car. I can drive.
I would prefer to meet you somewhere.
Where shall I meet you?
At your hotel at 7:00?
Ana
How irritating. I write back immediately.
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Stubborn Young Women
Date: May 24 2011 18:43
To: Anastasia Steele
Dear Miss Steele,
I refer to my e-mail dated May 24, 2011, sent at 1:27, and the definition contained therein.
Do you ever think you’ll be able to do what you’re told?
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
Her response is slow, which does nothing for my mood.
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Intractable Men
Date: May 24 2011 18:49
To: Christian Grey
Mr. Grey,
I would like to drive.
Please.
Ana
Intractable? Me? Fuck. If our meeting goes as planned, her contrary behavior will be a thing of the past. With that in mind, I agree.
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Exasperated Men
Date: May 24 2011 18:52
To: Anastasia Steele
Fine.
My hotel at 7:00.
I’ll meet you in the Marble Bar.
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Not So Intractable Men
Date: May 24 2011 18:55
To: Christian Grey
Thank you.
Ana x
And I’m rewarded with a kiss. Ignoring how that makes me feel, I let her know that she’s welcome. My mood has lifted as I head to the hotel gym.
She sent me a kiss…
WEDNESDAY, MAY 25, 2011
I order a glass of Sancerre and stand at the bar. I’ve been waiting for this moment all day and look repeatedly at my watch. This feels like a first date, and in a way it is. I’ve never taken a prospect out to dinner. I’ve sat through interminable meetings today, bought a business, and fired three people. Nothing I’ve done today, including running—twice—and a quick circuit in the gym, has dispelled the anxiety I’ve wrestled with all day. That power is in the hands of Anastasia Steele. I want her submission.
I hope she’s not going to be late. I glance toward the entrance of the bar…and my mouth dries. She’s standing on the threshold, and for a second I don’t realize it’s her. She looks exquisite: her hair falls in soft waves to her breast on one side, and on the other it’s pinned back so it’s easier to see her delicate jawline and the gentle curve of her slender neck. She’s wearing high heels and a tight dark purple dress that accentuates her lithe, alluring figure.
Wow.
I step forward to meet her. “You look stunning,” I whisper, and kiss her cheek. Closing my eyes, I savor her scent; she smells heavenly. “A dress, Miss Steele. I approve.” Diamonds in her ears would complete the ensemble; I must buy her a pair.
Taking her hand, I lead her to a booth. “What would you like to drink?”
I’m rewarded with a knowing smile as she sits down. “I’ll have what you’re having, please.”
Ah, she’s learning. “Another glass of the Sancerre,” I tell the waiter, and I slide into the booth, opposite her. “They have an excellent wine cellar here,” I add, and take a moment to look at her. She’s wearing a little makeup. Not too much. And I remember when she first fell into my office how ordinary I thought she looked. She is anything but ordinary. With a little makeup and the right clothes, she’s a goddess.
She shifts in her seat and her eyelashes flutter.
“Are you nervous?” I ask.
“Yes.”
This is it, Grey.
Leaning forward, in a candid whisper, I tell her that I’m nervous, too. She looks at me as if I’ve grown three heads.
Yeah, I’m human, too, baby…just.
The waiter places Ana’s wine and two small plates of mixed nuts and olives between us.
Ana squares her shoulders, an indication that she means business, like she did when she first interviewed me. “So, how are we going to do this? Run through my points one by one?” she asks.
“Impatient as ever, Miss Steele.”
“Well, I could ask you what you thought of the weather today,” she retorts.
Oh, that smart mouth.
Let her stew for a moment, Grey.
Keeping my eyes on hers, I pop an olive into my mouth and lick my index finger. Her eyes grow wider and darker.
“I thought the weather was particularly unexceptional today.” I try for nonchalance.
“Are you smirking at me, Mr. Grey?”
“I am, Miss Steele.”
She purses her lips to stifle her smile. “You know this contract is legally unenforceable.”
“I am fully aware of that, Miss Steele.”
“Were you going to tell me that at any point?”
What? I didn’t think I’d have to…and you’ve worked it out for yourself. “You’d think I’d coerce you into something you don’t want to do, and then pretend that I have a legal hold over you?”
“Well, yes.”
Whoa. “You don’t think very highly of me, do you?”
“You haven’t answered my question.”
“Anastasia, it doesn’t matter if it’s legal or not. It represents an arrangement that I would like to make with you—what I would like from you and what you can expect from me. If you don’t like it, then don’t sign. If you do sign and then decide you don’t like it, there are enough get-out clauses so you can walk away. Even if it were legally binding, do you think I’d drag you through the courts if you did decide to run?”
What does she take me for?
She considers me with her unfathomable blue eyes.
What I need her to understand is that this contract isn’t about the law, it’s about trust.
I want you to trust me, Ana.
As she takes a sip of her wine I rush on, endeavoring to explain. “Relationships like this are built on honesty and trust. If you don’t trust me—trust me to know how I’m affecting you, how far I can go with you, how far I can take you—if you can’t be honest with me, then we really can’t do this.”
She rubs her chin as she considers what I’ve said.
“So it’s quite simple, Anastasia. Do you trust me or not?”
And if she thinks so little of me, then we shouldn’t do this at all.
My gut is knotting with tension.
“Did you have similar discussions with, um…the fifteen?”
“No.” Why is she going off on this tangent?
“Why not?” she asks.
“Because they were all established submissives. They knew what they wanted out of a relationship with me and generally what I expected. With them, it was just a question of fine-tuning the soft limits, details like that.”
“Is there a store you go to? Submissives ’R’ Us?” She arches an eyebrow and I laugh out loud. And like a magician’s rabbit the tension in my body disappears. “Not exactly.” My tone is wry.
“Then how?” She’s ever-curious, but I don’t want to talk about Elena again. Last time I mentioned her Ana turned frosty. “Is that what you want to discuss? Or shall we get down to the nitty-gritty? Your issues, as you say.”
She frowns.
“Are you hungry?” I ask.
She looks suspiciously at the olives. “No.”
“Have you eaten today?”
She hesitates.
Shit.
“No,” she says. I try not to let her admission anger me.
“You have to eat, Anastasia. We can eat down here or in my suite. Which would you prefer?”
She’ll never go for this.
“I think we should stay in public, on neutral ground.”
As predicted—sensible, Miss Steele.
“Do you think that would stop me?” My voice is husky.
She swallows. “I hope so.”
Put the girl out of her misery, Grey.
“Come, I have a private dining room booked. No public.” Rising, I hold out my hand to her.
Will she take it?
She looks from my face to my hand.
“Bring your wine,” I order. And she picks up her glass and places her hand in mine.
As we leave the bar, I notice admiring glances from other guests, and in the case of one handsome, athletic guy, overt appreciation of my date. It’s not something I’ve dealt with before…and I don’t think I like it.
Upstairs on the mezzanine, the liveried young host dispatched by the maître d’ leads us to the room I’ve booked. He only has eyes for Miss Steele, and I give him a withering look that sends him in retreat from the opulent dining room. An older waiter seats Ana and drapes a napkin on her lap.
“I’ve ordered already. I hope you don’t mind.”
“No, that’s fine,” she says with a gracious nod.
“It’s good to know that you can be amenable.” I smirk. “Now, where were we?”
“The nitty-gritty,” she says, focused on the task at hand, but then she takes a large gulp of wine and her cheeks color. She must be looking for courage. I’ll have to watch how much she’s drinking, because she’s driving.
She could always spend the night here…then I could peel her out of that enticing dress.
Regaining my focus, I return to business—Ana’s issues. From the inside pocket of my jacket I retrieve her e-mail. She squares her shoulders once more and gives me an expectant look, and I have to hide my amusement. “Clause two. Agreed. This is for the benefit of us both. I shall redraft.”
She takes another sip.
“My sexual health? Well, all of my previous partners have had blood tests, and I have regular tests every six months for all the health risks you mention. All my recent tests are clear. I have never taken drugs. In fact, I’m vehemently antidrug. I have a strict no-tolerance policy with regards to drugs for all my employees, and I insist on random drug testing.”
In fact, one of the people I fired today failed his drug test.
She’s shocked, but I plow on. “I’ve never had any blood transfusions. Does that answer your question?”
She nods.
“Your next point I mentioned earlier. You can walk away anytime, Anastasia. I won’t stop you. If you go, however—that’s it. Just so you know.”
No. Second. Chances. Ever.
“Okay,” she replies, though she doesn’t sound certain.
We both fall silent as the waiter enters with our appetizers. For a moment I wonder if I should have held this meeting at my office, then dismiss the thought as ridiculous. Only fools mix business with pleasure. I’ve kept my work and private life separate; it’s one of my golden rules, and the only exception to that is my relationship with Elena…but then she helped me start my business.
“I hope you like oysters,” I remark to Ana as the waiter leaves.
“I’ve never had one.”
“Really? Well. All you do is tip and swallow. I think you can manage that.” I stare pointedly at her mouth, remembering how well she can swallow. On cue she blushes and I squeeze lemon juice on the shellfish and tip it into my mouth. “Hmm, delicious. Tastes of the sea.” I grin as she watches me, fascinated. “Go on,” I encourage her, knowing that she’s not one to back down from a challenge.
“So, I don’t chew it?”
“No, Anastasia, you don’t.” And I try not to think about her teeth toying with my favorite part of my anatomy.
She presses them into her bottom lip, leaving little indentation marks.
Damn. The sight stirs my body and I shift in my chair. She reaches for an oyster, squeezes the lemon, holds back her head, and opens wide. As she tips the oyster into her mouth my body hardens.
“Well?” I ask, and I sound a little hoarse.
“I’ll have another,” she says with wry humor.
“Good girl.”
She asks me if I’ve chosen oysters deliberately, knowing their reputed aphrodisiac qualities. I surprise her when I tell her they were simply at the top of the menu. “I don’t need an aphrodisiac near you.”
Yeah, I could fuck you right now.
Behave, Grey. Get this negotiation back on track.
“So where were we?” I return to her e-mail and concentrate on her outstanding issues. Clause nine. “Obey me in all things. Yes, I want you to do that.” This is important to me. I need to know she’s safe and will do anything for me. “I need you to do that. Think of it as role-play, Anastasia.”
“But I’m worried you’ll hurt me.”
“Hurt you how?”
“Physically.”
“Do you really think I would do that? Go beyond any limit you can’t take?”
“You’ve said you’ve hurt someone before.”
“Yes, I have. It was a long time ago.”
“How did you hurt her?”
“I suspended her from my playroom ceiling. In fact, that’s one of your questions. Suspension—that’s what the karabiners are for in the playroom. Rope play. One of the ropes was tied too tightly.”
Appalled, she holds up her hand in a plea for me to stop.
Too much information.
“I don’t need to know any more. So you won’t suspend me, then?” she asks.
“Not if you really don’t want to. You can make that a hard limit.”
“Okay.” She exhales, relieved.
Move on, Grey. “So, obeying, do you think you can manage that?”
She stares at me with those eyes that see through to my dark soul, and I don’t know what she’s going to say.
Shit. This could be the end.
“I could try,” she says, her voice low.
It’s my turn to exhale. I’m still in the game. “Good.”
“Now term.” Clause eleven. “One month instead of three is no time at all, especially if you want a weekend away from me each month.” We’ll get nowhere in that time. She needs training and I can’t stay away from her for any length of time. I tell her as much. Maybe we can compromise, as she suggested. “How about one day over one weekend per month you get to yourself—but I get a midweek night that week?”
I watch her weighing the possibility. “Okay,” she says eventually, her expression serious.
Good.
“And please, let’s try it for three months. If it’s not for you, then you can walk away anytime.”
“Three months,” she says. Is she agreeing? I’ll take it as a “yes.”
Right. Here goes.
“The ownership thing, that’s just terminology and goes back to the principle of obeying. It’s to get you into the right frame of mind, to understand where I’m coming from. And I want you to know that as soon as you cross my threshold as my submissive, I will do what I like to you. You have to accept that, and willingly. That’s why you have to trust me. I will fuck you, anytime, any way I want—anywhere I want. I will discipline you, because you will screw up. I will train you to please me.
“But I know you’ve not done this before. Initially, we’ll take it slowly, and I will help you. We’ll build up to various scenarios. I want you to trust me, but I know I have to earn your trust, and I will. The ‘or otherwise’—again, it’s to help you get into the mind-set; it means anything goes.”
Some speech, Grey.
She sits back—overwhelmed, I think.
“Still with me?” I ask, gently. The waiter sneaks into the room, and with a nod I give him permission to clear our table.
“Would you like some more wine?” I ask her.
“I have to drive.”
Good answer.
“Some water, then?”
She nods.
“Still or sparkling?”
“Sparkling, please.”
The waiter leaves with our plates.
“You’re very quiet,” I whisper. She’s barely said a word.
“You’re very verbose,” she shoots straight back at me.
Fair point, Miss Steele.
Now for the next item on her list of issues: clause fifteen. I take a deep breath. “Discipline. There’s a very fine line between pleasure and pain, Anastasia. They are two sides of the same coin, one not existing without the other. I can show you how pleasurable pain can be. You don’t believe me now, but this is what I mean about trust. There will be pain, but nothing that you can’t handle.” I cannot emphasize this enough. “Again, it comes down to trust. Do you trust me, Ana?”
“Yes, I do,” she says immediately. Her response knocks me sideways: it’s completely unexpected.
Again.
Have I gained her trust already?
“Well, then, the rest of this stuff is just details.” I feel ten feet tall.
“Important details.”
She’s right. Concentrate, Grey.
“Okay, let’s talk through those.”
The waiter reenters with our entrées.
“I hope you like fish,” I say, as he places our food before us. The black cod looks delicious. Ana takes a bite.
Finally, she’s eating!
“The rules,” I continue. “Let’s talk about them. The food is a deal breaker?”
“Yes.”
“Can I modify to say that you will eat at least three meals a day?”
“No.”
Suppressing an irritated sigh, I persist. “I need to know that you’re not hungry.”
She frowns. “You’ll have to trust me.”
“Oh, touché, Miss Steele,” I mutter to myself. These are battles I’m not going to win. “I concede the food and the sleep.”
She gives me a small, relieved smile. “Why can’t I look at you?” she asks.
“That’s a Dom/sub thing. You’ll get used to it.”
She frowns once more, but looks pained this time. “Why can’t I touch you?” she asks.
“Because you can’t.”
Shut her down, Grey.
“Is it because of Mrs. Robinson?”
What? “Why would you think that? You think she traumatized me?”
She nods.
“No, Anastasia. She’s not the reason. Besides, Mrs. Robinson wouldn’t take any of that shit from me.”
“So nothing to do with her,” she asks, looking confused.
“No.”
I can’t bear to be touched. And, baby, you really don’t want to know why.
“And I don’t want you touching yourself, either,” I add.
“Out of curiosity, why?”
“Because I want all your pleasure.”
In fact, I want it now. I could fuck her here to see if she can be quiet. Real quiet, knowing we’re within earshot of the hotel staff and guests. After all, that’s why I’ve booked this room.
She opens her mouth as if to say something, but closes it again and takes another bite of food from her largely untouched plate. “I’ve given you a great deal to think about, haven’t I?” I say, folding up her e-mail and tucking it into my inside pocket.
“Yes.”
“Do you want to go through the soft limits now, too?”
“Not over dinner.”
“Squeamish?”
“Something like that.”
“You’ve not eaten very much.”
“I’ve had enough.”
This is getting old. “Three oysters, four bites of cod, and one asparagus stalk, no potatoes, no nuts, no olives, and you’ve not eaten all day. You said I could trust you.”
Her eyes widen.
Yeah. I’ve been keeping count, Ana.
“Christian, please, it’s not every day I sit through conversations like this.”
“I need you fit and healthy, Anastasia.” My tone is adamant.
“I know.”
“And right now, I want to peel you out of that dress.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she whispers. “We haven’t had dessert.”
“You want dessert?” When you haven’t eaten your main course?
“Yes.”
“You could be dessert.”
“I’m not sure I’m sweet enough.”
“Anastasia, you’re deliciously sweet. I know.”
“Christian. You use sex as a weapon. It really isn’t fair.” She looks down at her lap, and her voice is low and a little melancholy. She looks up again, pinning me with an intense stare, her powder-blue eyes unnerving…and arousing.
“You’re right. I do,” I admit. “In life you use what you know. Doesn’t change how much I want you. Here. Now.” And we could fuck here, right now. I know you’re interested, Ana. I hear how your breathing has changed. “I’d like to try something.” I really want to know how quiet she can be, and if she can do this with the fear of discovery.
Her brow creases once more; she’s confused.
“If you were my sub, you wouldn’t have to think about this. It would be easy. All those decisions—all the wearying thought processes behind them. The ‘Is this the right thing to do? Should this happen here? Can it happen now?’ You wouldn’t have to worry about any of that detail. That’s what I’d do as your Dom. And right now, I know you want me, Anastasia.”
She tosses her hair over her shoulder, and her frown intensifies as she licks her lips.
Oh yes. She wants me.
“I can tell because your body gives you away. You’re pressing your thighs together, you’re flushed, and your breathing has changed.”
“How do you know about my thighs?” she asks, her voice high-pitched, shocked, I think.
“I felt the tablecloth move, and it’s a calculated guess based on years of experience. I’m right, aren’t I?”
She’s quiet for a moment and looks away. “I haven’t finished my cod,” she says, evasive but still blushing.
“You’d prefer cold cod to me?”
Her eyes meet mine, and they’re wide, pupils dark and large. “I thought you liked me to clear my plate.”
“Right now, Miss Steele, I couldn’t give a fuck about your food.”
“Christian. You just don’t fight fair.”
“I know. I never have.”
We stare at each other in a battle of wills, both aware of the sexual tension stretching between us across the table.
Please, would you just do as you’re told? I implore her with a look. But her eyes glint with sensual disobedience and a smile lifts her lips. Still holding my stare, she picks up an asparagus spear and deliberately bites her lip.
What is she doing?
Very slowly, she places the tip of the spear in her mouth and sucks it.
Fuck.
She’s trifling with me—a dangerous tactic that will have me fucking her over this table.
Oh, bring it on, Miss Steele.
I watch, mesmerized, hardening by the second.
“Anastasia. What are you doing?” I warn.
“Eating my asparagus,” she says with a coy smile.
“I think you’re toying with me, Miss Steele.”
“I’m just finishing my food, Mr. Grey.” Her lips curl wider, slowly, carnal, and the heat between us rises several degrees. She really has no idea how sexy she is…I’m about to pounce when the waiter knocks and enters.
Damn it.
I let him clear the plates, then turn my attention back to Miss Steele. But her frown is back, and she’s fidgeting with her fingers.
Hell.
“Would you like some dessert?” I ask.
“No thank you. I think I should go,” she says, still staring at her hands.
“Go?” She’s leaving?
The waiter exits quickly with our plates.
“Yes,” Ana says, her voice firm with resolve. She gets to her feet to leave. And automatically I stand, too. “We both have the graduation ceremony tomorrow,” she says.
This is not going according to plan at all.
“I don’t want you to go,” I state, because it’s the truth.
“Please, I have to,” she insists.
“Why?”
“Because you’ve given me so much to consider, and I need some distance.” Her eyes are pleading with me to let her go.
But we’ve gotten so far in our negotiation. We’ve made compromises. We can make this work. I have to make this work.
“I could make you stay,” I tell her, knowing that I could seduce her right now, in this room.
“Yes, you could easily, but I don’t want you to.”
This is all going south—I’ve overplayed my hand. This isn’t how I thought the night would end. I rake my hands through my hair in frustration.
“You know, when you fell into my office to interview me, you were all ‘Yes, sir,’ ‘No, sir.’ I thought you were a natural-born submissive. But quite frankly, Anastasia, I’m not sure you have a submissive bone in your delectable body.” I walk the few steps that separate us and look down into eyes that shine with determination.
“You may be right,” she says.
No. No. I don’t want to be right.
“I want the chance to explore the possibility that you do.” I caress her face and her lower lip with my thumb. “I don’t know any other way, Anastasia. This is who I am.”
“I know,” she says.
Lowering my head so my lips hover over hers, I wait until she raises her mouth to mine and closes her eyes. I want to give her a brief, chaste kiss, but as our lips touch, she leans in to me, her hands suddenly fisting in my hair, her mouth opening to me, her tongue insistent. I press my hand to the base of her spine, holding her against me, and deepen the kiss, mirroring her fervor.
Christ, I want her.
“I can’t persuade you to stay?” I whisper against the corner of her mouth, as my body responds, hardening with desire.
“No.”
“Spend the night with me.”
“And not touch you? No.”
Damn. The darkness uncoils in my guts, but I ignore it.
“You impossible girl,” I mutter, and pull back, examining her face and her tense, brooding expression.
“Why do I think you’re telling me good-bye?”
“Because I’m leaving now.”
“That’s not what I mean, and you know it.”
“Christian, I have to think about this. I don’t know if I can have the kind of relationship you want.”
I close my eyes and rest my forehead against hers.
What did you expect, Grey? She’s not cut out for this.
I take a deep breath and kiss her forehead, then bury my nose in her hair, inhaling her sweet, autumnal scent and committing it to memory.
That’s it. Enough.
Stepping back, I release her. “As you wish, Miss Steele. I’ll escort you to the lobby.” I hold out my hand for what could be the last time, and I’m surprised how painful this thought is. She places her hand in mine, and in silence we head down to reception.
“Do you have your valet ticket?” I ask as we reach the lobby. I sound calm and collected, but inside I’m in knots.
From her purse she retrieves the ticket, which I hand to the doorman.
“Thank you for dinner,” she says.
“It’s a pleasure as always, Miss Steele.”
This cannot be the end. I have to show her—demonstrate what this all means, what we can do together. Show her what we can do in the playroom. Then she’ll know. This might be the only way to save this deal. Quickly I turn to her. “You’re moving this weekend to Seattle. If you make the right decision, can I see you on Sunday?” I ask.
“We’ll see. Maybe,” she says.
That’s not a “no.”
I notice the goose bumps on her arms. “It’s cooler now, don’t you have a jacket?” I ask.
“No.”
This woman needs looking after. I take off my jacket. “Here. I don’t want you catching cold.” I slip it over her shoulders and she hugs it around herself, closes her eyes, and inhales deeply.
Is she drawn to my scent? Like I am to hers?
Perhaps all is not lost?
The valet pulls up in an ancient VW Beetle.
