Текст книги "Fifty shades darker"

Автор книги: Erika Leonard James

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Текущая страница: 16 (всего у книги 29 страниц)

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 have 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 thou-

sand miles to see.”

Oh my.I don’t understand. He still wanted me as a sub then. My frown deepens.

“The feelings I have 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 Savannah. 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 unsavory 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.”

“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 under-

stand 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

have 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.

“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 leave 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 have told me Sawyer was watch-

ing 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 petu-

lantly.

He closes his eyes briefly as he struggles to contain his temper. I swallow and watch

anxiously. Jeez, this could go either way.

“I have to work,” he says quietly, and with that, he leaves the room.

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 have 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 have 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 heavy sigh and a last glance at Seattle spread like cloths of gold at my feet, I

decide to call Ray. I haven’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 informa-

tion but doesn’t really want to know.

“Yeah. We’re cool.” Sort of, and I’m moving in with him. Though we haven’t dis-

cussed 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 luxu-

rious—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 leave

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 for a good read.

Most of the books are first editions. How can he have amassed a collection like this

in such a short time? Perhaps Taylor’s job description includes book buying. I settle on

Rebeccaby Daphne Du Maurier. I haven’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. Sleep-

ily, 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 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, giv-

ing 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 have 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 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 ear-

lobe and I moan. “Is it always like this?” he sighs.

“I have 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 night-

dress 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.

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 traveling up my

thighs, stroking, kneading, tantalizing. His tongue circles my navel 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, agoniz-

ingly, circling round and round. My back arches off the piano as I writhe beneath 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 sud-

denly, 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 heavy 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 dis-

turbing 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.

“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 have any happy memories of your childhood?” I ask quickly, mainly to dis-

tract 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 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 saved 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 have 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 bone-meltingly

seductive.

“Don’t you have 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 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 travels 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, savoring 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, mak-

ing me flush guiltily.

“For later, Ana. Tuna okay?”

“Oh yes. Thank you, Mrs. Jones.” I give her a shy smile, which she reciprocates warm-

ly before leaving 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 have 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 endeavor to be.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “That sounds like a very evasive answer.”

“I am always honest with you, Ana. I don’t want to play games. Well, not those sorts of

games,” he qualifies, as his eyes heat.

“What sort of games do you want to play?”

He inclines his head to one side and smirks at me. “Miss Steele, you are so easily dis-

tracted.”

I giggle. He’s right. “Mr. Grey, you are distracting on so many levels.” I gaze at his

dancing gray eyes alight with humor.

“My favorite sound in the whole world is your giggle, Anastasia. Now—what was

your original question?” he asks smoothly, and I think he’s laughing at me. I try to twist my

mouth to show my displeasure, but I like playful Fifty—he’s fun. I love some early morn-

ing banter. I frown, trying to recall my question.

“Oh yes. You only saw your subs on the weekends?”

“Yes, that’s correct,” he says regarding me nervously.

I grin at him. “So, no sex during the week.”

He laughs. “Oh, that’s where we’re going with this.” He looks vaguely relieved. “Why

do you think I work out every weekday?” Now he really is laughing at me, but I don’t care.

I want to hug myself with glee. Another first—well, several firsts.

“You look very pleased with yourself, Miss Steele.”

“I am, Mr. Grey.”

“You should be.” He grins. “Now eat your breakfast.”

Oh, bossy Fifty . . . he’s never far away.

We are in the back of the Audi. Taylor is driving with the intention of dropping me off at

work, then Christian. Sawyer is riding shotgun.

“Didn’t you say your roommate’s brother was arriving today?” Christian asks, almost

casually, his voice and expression giving nothing away.

“Oh, Ethan,” I gasp. “I forgot. Oh Christian, thank you for reminding me. I’ll have to

go back to the apartment.”

His face falls. “What time?”

“I’m not sure what time he’s arriving.”

“I don’t want you going anywhere on your own,” he says sharply.

“I know,” I mutter and resist rolling my eyes at Mr. Over-Reaction. “Will Sawyer be

spying—um . . . patrolling today?” I glance slyly in Sawyer’s direction to see the backs of

his ears turn red.

“Yes,” Christian snaps, his eyes glacial.

“If I was driving the Saab it would be easier,” I mutter petulantly.

“Sawyer will have a car, and he can drive you to your apartment, depending on what

time.”

“Okay. I think Ethan will probably contact me during the day. I’ll let you know what

the plans are then.”

He gazes at me, saying nothing. Oh, what is he thinking?

“Okay,” he acquiesces. “Nowhere on your own. Do you understand?” He waves a long

finger at me.

“Yes, dear,” I mutter.

There’s a trace of a smile on his face. “And maybe you should just use your Blackber-

ry—I’ll e-mail you on it. That should prevent my IT guy having a thoroughly interesting

morning, okay?” His voice is sardonic.

“Yes, Christian.” I can’t resist. I roll my eyes at him, and he smirks at me.

“Why Miss Steele, I do believe you’re making my palm twitch.”

“Ah, Mr. Grey, your perpetually twitching palm. What are we going to do with that?”

He laughs and then is distracted by his Blackberry, which must be on vibrate because

it doesn’t ring. He frowns when he sees the caller ID.

“What is it?” he snaps into the phone, then listens intently. I use the opportunity to

study his lovely features—his straight nose, his hair hanging scruffily over his forehead. I

am distracted from my surreptitious ogling by his expression, which turns from incredulity

to amusement. I pay attention.

“You’re kidding . . . For a scene . . . When did he tell you this?” Christian chuckles,

almost reluctantly. “No, don’t worry. You don’t have to apologize. I’m glad there’s a logical

explanation. It did seem a ridiculously low amount of money . . . I have no doubt you’ve

something evil and creative planned for your revenge. Poor Isaac.” He smiles. “Good . . .

Good-bye.” He snaps the phone shut and glances at me. His eyes are suddenly wary, but

oddly, he looks relieved, too.

“Who was that?” I ask.

“You really want to know?” he asks quietly.

And, I know. I shake my head and stare out my window at the gray Seattle day, feeling

forlorn. Why can’t she leave him alone?

“Hey.” He reaches for my hand and kisses each of my knuckles in turn, and suddenly

he’s sucking my little finger, hard. Then biting it softly.

Whoa!He has a hotline to my groin, I gasp and glance nervously at Taylor and Sawyer,

then at Christian, and his eyes are darker. He gives me a slow carnal smile.

“Don’t sweat it, Anastasia,” he murmurs. “She’s in the past.” And he plants a kiss in

the center of my palm, sending tingles everywhere, and my momentary pique is forgotten.

“Morning, Ana,” Jack mutters as I make my way to my desk. “Nice dress.”

I flush. The dress is part of my new wardrobe, courtesy of my incredibly rich boy-

friend. It’s a sleeveless shift dress of pale blue linen, quite fitted, and I’m wearing cream

high-heeled sandals. Christian likes heels, I think. I smile secretly at the thought but quick-

ly recover my bland professional smile for my boss.

“Good morning, Jack.”

I set about ordering a messenger to take his brochure to the printers. He pops his head

around his office door.

“Could I have a coffee, please, Ana?”

“Sure.” I wander into the kitchen and bump into Claire from reception, who is also

fixing coffee.

“Hey, Ana,” she says cheerfully.

“Hi, Claire.”

We chat briefly about her extended-family gathering over the weekend, which she en-

joyed immensely, and I tell her about sailing with Christian.

“Your boyfriend is so dreamy, Ana,” she says, her eyes glazing over.

I am tempted to roll my eyes at her.

“He’s not bad-looking,” I smile and we both start laughing.

“You took your time!” Jack snaps when I bring in his coffee.

Oh!“I’m sorry.” I flush then frown. I took the usual amount of time. What’s his prob-

lem? Perhaps he’s nervous about something.

He shakes his head. “Sorry, Ana. I didn’t mean to bark at you, honey.”

Honey?

“There’s something going on at senior management level, and I don’t know what it is.

Keep your ear to the ground, okay? If you hear anything—I know how you girls talk.” He

grins at me, and I feel slightly sick. He has no idea how we “girls” talk. Besides, I know

what’s happening.

“You’ll let me know, right?”

“Sure,” I mutter. “I’ve sent the brochure to the printers. It will be back by two o’clock.”

“Great. Here.” He hands me a pile of manuscripts. “All these need synopses of the first

chapter, then filing.”

“I’ll get on it.”

I am relieved to step out of his office and sit down at my desk. Oh, it’s hard being in

the know. What will he do when he finds out? My blood runs cold. Something tells me Jack

will be annoyed. I glance at my Blackberry and smile. There’s an e-mail from Christian.

From:Christian Grey

Subject:Sunrise

Date:June 14, 2011 09:23

To:Anastasia Steele

I love waking up to you in the morning.

Christian Grey

Completely & Utterly Smitten CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

I think my face splits in two with my grin, and my inner goddess back-flips over her chaise

longue.

From:Anastasia Steele

Subject:Sundown

Date:June 14, 2011 09:35

To:Christian Grey

Dear Completely & Utterly Smitten

I love waking up to you, too. But I love being in bed with you and in elevators and on

pianos and billiard tables and boats and desks and showers and bathtubs and strange

wooden crosses with shackles and four-poster beds with red satin sheets and boathous-

es and childhood bedrooms.

Yours

Sex Mad and Insatiable xx

From:Christian Grey

Subject:Wet Hardware

Date:June 14, 2011 09:37

To:Anastasia Steele

Dear Sex Mad and Insatiable

I’ve just spat coffee all over my keyboard.

I don’t think that’s ever happened to me before.

I do admire a woman who concentrates on geography.

Am I to infer you just want me for my body?

Christian Grey

Completely & Utterly Shocked CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

From:Anastasia Steele

Subject:Giggling—and wet too

Date:June 14, 2011: 09:42

To:Christian Grey

Dear Completely & Utterly Shocked

Always.

I have work to do.

Stop bothering me.

SM&I xx

From:Christian Grey

Subject:Do I have to?

Date:June 14, 2011 09:50

To:Anastasia Steele

Dear SM&I

As ever, your wish is my command.

Love that you are giggling and wet.

Laters, baby.

x

Christian Grey,

Completely & Utterly Smitten, Shocked and Spellbound CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings

Inc.

I put the Blackberry down and get on with my work.

At lunchtime, Jack asks me to go down to the deli for his lunch. I call Christian as soon as

I leave Jack’s office.

“Anastasia.” He answers immediately, his voice warm and caressing. How is it that this

man can make me melt over the phone?

“Christian, Jack has asked me to get his lunch.”

“Lazy bastard,” Christian gripes.

I ignore him and continue. “So I’m going to get it. It might be handy if you gave me

Sawyer’s number, so I don’t have to bother you.”

“It’s no bother, baby.”

“Are you on your own?”

“No. There are six people staring at me at the moment wondering who the hell I’m

talking to.”

Shit . . .“Really?” I gasp, panicked.

“Yes. Really. My girlfriend,” he announces away from the phone.

Holy cow!“They probably all thought you were gay, you know.”

He laughs. “Yeah, probably.” I hear his grin.

“Er—I’d better go.” I am sure he can tell how embarrassed I am to be interrupting him.

“I’ll let Sawyer know.” He laughs again. “Have you heard from your friend?”

“Not yet. You’ll be the first to know, Mr. Grey.”

“Good. Laters, baby.”

“Bye, Christian.” I grin. Every time he says that, it makes me smile . . . so un-Fifty, but

somehow so him, too.

When I exit moments later, Sawyer is waiting on the doorstep of the building.

“Miss Steele,” he greets me formally.

“Sawyer.” I nod in response and together we head down to the deli.

I don’t feel as comfortable with Sawyer as I do with Taylor. He continually scans the

street as we make our way along the block. It actually makes me more nervous, and I find

myself mirroring his actions.

Is Leila out there? Or are we all infected by Christian’s paranoia? Is this part of his fifty

shades? What I’d give for half an hour of candid discussion with Dr. Flynn, to find out.

There’s nothing amiss, just lunchtime Seattle—people rushing for lunch, shopping,