Текст книги "Fifty shades darker"

Автор книги: Erika Leonard James

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Hmm.“I never want to go. Never let me go,” I mutter sleepily, my eyelids refusing to

open.“I need you,” he whispers, but his voice is a distant, ethereal part of my dreams. He

needs me . . . needs me . . . and as I finally slip into the darkness, my last thoughts are of a

small boy with gray eyes and dirty, messy, copper-colored hair smiling shyly at me.

Hmm.

Christian is nuzzling my neck as I slowly wake.

“Morning, baby,” he whispers and nips at my earlobe. My eyes flutter open and close

again quickly. Bright early morning light floods the room, and his hand is softly caressing

my breast, gently teasing me. Moving down he grasps my hip as he lies behind me, holding

me close.

I stretch out beside him, relishing his touch, and feel his erection against my behind .

Oh my.A Christian Grey wake-up call.

“You’re pleased to see me,” I mumble sleepily, squirming suggestively against him. I

feel his grin against my jaw.

“I’m very pleased to see you,” he says as he skates his hand over my stomach and down

to cup my sex and explore with his fingers. “There are definite advantages to waking up

beside you, Miss Steele,” he teases and gently pulls me round so that I’m lying on my back.

“Sleep well?” he asks as his fingers continue their sensual torture. He’s smiling down

at me—his dazzling, all-American-drop-dead-male-model-perfect-teeth smile. He takes

my breath away.

My hips begin to sway to the rhythm of the dance his fingers have begun. He kisses me

chastely on the lips and then moves down my neck, nipping slowly, kissing, and sucking as

he goes. I moan. He’s gentle and his touch is light and heavenly. His intrepid fingers move

down, and slowly he eases one inside me, hissing quietly in awe.

“Oh, Ana,” he murmurs reverentially against my throat. “You’re always ready.” He

moves his finger in time with his kisses as his lips journey leisurely across my clavicle and

then down to my breast. He torments first one, then the other nipple with teeth and lips, but

oh-so-gently, and they tighten and lengthen in sweet response.

I groan.

“Hmm,” he growls softly and raises his head to give me a blazing gray-eyed look. “I

want you now.” He reaches over to the bedside table. He shifts on top of me, taking his

weight on his elbows, and rubs his nose along mine while easing my legs apart with his. He

kneels up and rips open the foil packet.

“I can’t wait until Saturday,” he says, his eyes glowing with salacious delight.

“Your party?” I pant.

“No. I can stop using these fuckers.”

“Aptly named.” I giggle.

He smirks at me as he rolls on the condom. “Are you giggling, Miss Steele?”

“No.” I try and fail to straighten my face.

“Now is not the time for giggling.” He shakes his head in admonishment and his voice

is low, stern, but his expression– holy cow—is glacial and volcanic at once.

My breath catches in my throat. “I thought you liked it when I giggle,” I whisper

hoarsely, gazing into the dark depths of his stormy eyes.

“Not now. There’s a time and a place for giggling. This is neither. I need to stop you,

and I think I know how,” he says ominously, and his body covers mine.

“What would you like for breakfast, Ana?”

“I’ll just have some granola. Thank you, Mrs. Jones.”

I flush as I take my place at the breakfast bar beside Christian. The last time I set eyes

on the very prim and proper Mrs. Jones, I was being unceremoniously dragged into the

bedroom over Christian’s shoulder.

“You look lovely,” Christian says softly. I’m wearing my gray pencil skirt and gray silk

blouse again.

“So do you.” I smile shyly at him. He’s wearing a pale blue shirt and jeans, and he

looks cool and fresh and perfect, as always.

“We should buy you some more skirts,” he says matter-of-factly. “In fact—I’d love to

take you shopping.”

Hmm—shopping. I hate shopping. But with Christian, maybe it won’t be so bad. I

decide on distraction as the best form of defense.

“I wonder what will happen at work today?”

“They’ll have to replace the sleazeball.” Christian frowns, scowling as if he’s just

stepped in something extraordinarily unpleasant.

“I hope they take on a woman as my new boss.”

“Why?”

“Well, you’re less likely to object to me going away with her,” I tease him.

His lips twitch and he starts on his omelet.

“What’s so funny?” I ask.

“You are. Eat your granola, all of it, if that’s all you’re having.”

Bossy as ever. I purse my lips at him, but dig in.

“So, the key goes here.” Christian points out the ignition beneath the gearshift.

“Strange place,” I mutter. But I’m delighted with every little detail, practically bounc-

ing like a small child in the comfortable leather seat. Christian has finally let me drive my

car. He regards me coolly, though his eyes are alight with humor. “You’re quite excited

about this, aren’t you?” he murmurs, amused.

I nod, grinning like a fool. “Just smell that new car smell. This is even better than the

Submissive Special . . . um, the A3,” I add quickly, blushing.

Christian’s mouth twists. “Submissive Special, eh? You have such a way with words,

Miss Steele.” He leans back with a faux look of disapproval, but he can’t fool me. I know

he’s enjoying himself.

“Well, let’s go.” He waves his long-fingered hand toward the entrance of the garage.

I clap my hands, start the car, and the engine purrs to life. Putting the gearshift into

drive, I ease my foot off the brake and the Saab moves smoothly forward. Taylor starts up

the Audi behind us and once the garage barrier lifts, follows us out of Escala onto the street.

“Can we have the radio on?” I ask as we wait at the first stop sign.

“I want you to concentrate,” he says sharply.

“Christian, please, I can drive with music on.” I roll my eyes. He scowls for a moment

and then reaches for the radio.

“You can play your iPod and mp3 discs as well as CDs on this,” he murmurs.

The too-loud dulcet tones of The Police suddenly fill the car. Christian turns the music

down. Hmm . . .“King of Pain.”

“Your anthem,” I tease him, then instantly regret it when his mouth tightens in a thin

line. Oh no.“I have this album, somewhere.” I continue hastily to distract him. Hmm . . .

somewhere in the apartment I have spent very little time in.

I wonder how Ethan is. I should try to call him today. I won’t have much to do at work.

Anxiety blooms in my stomach. What will happen when I get to the office? Will every-

one know about Jack? Will everyone know of Christian’s involvement? Will I still have a

job? Sheesh, if I have no job, what will I do?

Marry the gazillionaire, Ana!My subconscious has her snarky face on. I ignore her—

rapacious bitch.

“Hey, Miss Smart Mouth. Come back.” Christian drags me into the here and now as I

pull up at the next stoplight.

“You’re very distracted. Concentrate, Ana,” he scolds. “Accidents happen when you

don’t concentrate.”

Oh, for heaven’s sake—and suddenly I’m catapulted back in time to when Ray was

teaching me to drive. I don’t need another father. A husband maybe, a kinky husband.

Hmm.

“I’m just thinking about work.”

“Baby, you’ll be fine. Trust me.” Christian smiles.

“Please don’t interfere—I want to do this on my own. Christian, please. It’s important

to me,” I say as gently as I can. I don’t want to argue. His mouth sets once more into a hard

stubborn line, and I think he’s going to berate me again.

Oh no.

“Let’s not argue, Christian. We’ve had such a wonderful morning. And last night

was—” Words fail me, last night was—“Heaven.”

He says nothing. I glance over at him and his eyes are closed.

“Yes. Heaven,” he says softly. “I meant what I said.”

“What?”

“I don’t want to let you go.”

“I don’t want to go.”

He smiles and it’s this new, shy smile that dissolves everything in its path. Boy, it’s

powerful.

“Good,” he says simply, and he visibly relaxes.

I drive into the parking lot half a block from SIP.

“I’ll walk you to work. Taylor will take me from there,” Christian offers. I clamber out

of the car, restricted by my pencil skirt while Christian climbs out gracefully, at ease with

his body or giving the impression of someone at ease with his body. Hmm . . . someone

who can’t bear to be touched can’t be that at ease. I frown at my errant thought.

“Don’t forget we’re seeing Flynn at seven this evening,” he says as he holds his hand

out to me. I press the remote door lock and take his hand.

“I won’t forget. I’ll compile a list of questions for him.”

“Questions? About me?”

I nod.

“I can answer any questions you have about me.” Christian looks affronted.

I smile at him. “Yes, but I want the unbiased, expensive charlatan’s opinion.”

He frowns and suddenly pulls me into his embrace, holding both my hands tightly

behind my back.

“Is this a good idea?” he says, his voice low and husky. I lean back to see the anxiety

looming large and wide in his eyes. It tears at my soul.

“If you don’t want me to, I won’t.” I stare at him, blinking, wanting to caress the con-

cern out of his face. I tug on one of my hands and he frees it. I touch his cheek tenderly—

it’s smooth from shaving this morning.

“What are you worried about?” I ask, my voice soft and soothing.

“That you’ll go.”

“Christian, how many times do I have to tell you—I’m not going anywhere. You’ve

already told me the worst. I’m not leaving you.”

“Then why haven’t you answered me?”

“Answered you?” I murmur disingenuously.

“You know what I’m talking about, Ana.”

I sigh. “I want to know that I’m enough for you, Christian. That’s all.”

“And you won’t take my word for it?” he says exasperated, releasing me.

“Christian, this has all been so quick. And by your own admission, you’re fifty shades

of fucked-up. I can’t give you what you need,” I mutter. “It’s just not for me. But that

makes me feel inadequate, especially seeing you with Leila. Who’s to say that one day

you won’t meet someone who likes doing what you do? And who’s to say you won’t, you

know . . . fall for her? Someone much better suited to your needs.” The thought of Christian

with anyone else sickens me. I stare down at my knotted fingers.

“I knew several women who like doing what I like to do. None of them appealed to me

the way you do. I’ve never had an emotional connection with any of them. It’s only ever

been you, Ana.”

“Because you never gave them a chance. You’ve spent too long locked up in your for-

tress, Christian. Look, let’s discuss this later. I have to go to work. Maybe Dr. Flynn can

offer us his insight.” This is all far too heavy a discussion for a parking lot at eight fifty in

the morning, and Christian, for once, seems to agree. He nods but his eyes are wary.

“Come,” he orders, holding out his hand.

When I reach my desk, I find a note asking me to go straight to Elizabeth’s office. My heart

leaps into my mouth. Oh, this is it. I’m going to get fired.

“Anastasia.” Elizabeth smiles kindly, waving me into a chair before her desk. I sit and

gaze at her expectantly, hoping that she can’t hear my thumping heart. She smoothes her

thick black hair and regards with me with somber, clear blue eyes.

“I have some rather sad news.”

Sad! Oh no.

“I’ve called you in to inform you that Jack has left the company rather suddenly.”

I flush. This isn’t sad for me. Should I tell her that I know?

“His rather hasty departure has left a vacancy, and we’d like you to fill it for now, until

we find a replacement.”

What? I feel the blood rush from my head. Me?

“But, I’ve only been here for a week or so.”

“Yes, Anastasia, I understand but Jack was always a champion of your abilities. He had

high hopes for you.”

I stop breathing. He had high hopes of getting me on my back, sure.

“Here’s a detailed job description. Have a good look through it, and we can discuss it

later today.”

“But—”

“Please, I know this is sudden, but you’ve already made contact with Jack’s key au-

thors. Your chapter notes haven’t gone unnoticed by the other commissioning editors. You

have a shrewd mind, Anastasia. We all think you can do it.”

“Okay.” This is unreal.

“Look, think about it. In the meantime, you can take Jack’s office.”

She stands, effectively dismissing me, and holds out her hand. I shake it in a complete

daze.“I’m glad he’s gone,” she whispers and a haunted look crosses her face. Holy shit.

What did he do to her?

Back at my desk, I grab my Blackberry and call Christian.

He answers on the second ring. “Anastasia. You okay?” he asks concerned.

“They’ve just given me Jack’s job to mind, temporarily,” I blurt out.

“You’re kidding,” he whispers, shocked.

“Did you have anything to do with this?” My voice is sharper than I mean it to be.

“No—no, not at all. I mean, with all due respect, Anastasia, you’ve only been there for

a week or so—and I don’t mean that unkindly.”

“I know.” I frown. “Apparently Jack really rated me.”

“Did he now?” Christian’s tone is frosty and then he sighs.

“Well, baby, if they think you can do it, I’m sure you can. Congratulations. Perhaps we

should celebrate after we’ve seen Flynn.”

“Hmm. Are you sure you had nothing to do with this?”

He is silent for a moment, and then he says in a low menacing voice. “Do you doubt

me? It angers me that you do.”

I swallow. Boy, he gets mad so easily. “I’m sorry,” I breathe, chastened.

“If you need anything, let me know. I’ll be here. And Anastasia?”

“What?”

“Use your Blackberry,” he adds tersely.

“Yes, Christian.”

He doesn’t hang up as I expect him to but takes a deep breath.

“I mean it. If you need me, I’m here.” His words are much softer, conciliatory. Oh, he’s

so mercurial . . . his mood swings are like a metronome set at presto.

“Okay,” I murmur. “I’d better go. I have to move offices.”

“If you need me. I mean it,” he murmurs.

“I know, thank you, Christian. I love you.”

I sense his grin at the other end of the phone. I’ve won him back.

“I love you, too, baby.” Oh, will I ever tire of him saying those words to me?

“I’ll talk to you later.”

“Laters, baby.”

I hang up and glance at Jack’s office. My office. Holy cow—Anastasia Steele, Acting

Commissioning Editor. Who would have thought? I should ask for more money.

What would Jack think if he knew? I shudder at the thought and wonder idly how he’s

spent his morning, not in New York as he expected. I stroll into his—my office—sit down

at the desk, and start reading the job description.

At twelve thirty, Elizabeth buzzes me.

“Ana, we need you in a meeting at one o’clock in the boardroom. Jerry Roach and Kay

Bestie will be there—you know, the company president and vice president? All the com-

missioning editors will be attending.”

Shit!

“Do I need to prepare anything?”

“No, this is just an informal gathering we do once a month. Lunch will be provided.”

“I’ll be there.” I hang up.

Holy shit!I check through the current roster of Jack’s authors. Yes, I’ve pretty much got

those nailed. I have the five manuscripts he’s championing, plus two more, which should

really be considered for publication. I take a deep breath—I cannot believe it’s lunchtime

already. The day has flown by, and I’m loving it. There has been so much to absorb this

morning. A ping from my calendar announces an appointment.

Oh no—Mia! In all the excitement I have forgotten about our lunch. I fish out my

Blackberry and try frantically to find her phone number.

My phone buzzes.

“It’s him, in reception.” Claire’s voice is hushed.

“Who?” For a moment, I think it might be Christian.

“The blond god.”

“Ethan?”

Oh, what does he want? I immediately feel guilty for not having called him.

Ethan, dressed in a checked blue shirt, white T-shirt, and jeans, beams at me when I

appear.

“Wow! You look hot, Steele,” he says, nodding appreciatively. He gives me a quick

hug.“Is everything okay?” I ask.

He frowns. “Everything’s fine, Ana. I just wanted to see you. I’ve not heard from you

in a while, and I wanted to check how Mr. Mogul was treating you.”

I flush and can’t help my smile.

“Okay!” Ethan exclaims, holding up his hands. “I can tell by the secret smile. I don’t

want to know any more. I came by on the off chance you could do lunch. I’m enrolling at

Seattle for psych courses in September. For my master’s.”

“Oh Ethan. So much has happened. I have a ton to tell you, but right now, I can’t. I have

a meeting.” An idea hits me hard. “And I wonder if you can do me a really, really, really big

favor?” I clasp my hands together in supplication.

“Sure,” he says, bemused by my pleading.

“I’m supposed to be having lunch with Christian and Elliot’s sister—but I can’t get

hold of her, and this meeting’s just been sprung on me. Please will you take her for lunch?

Please?”

“Aw, Ana! I don’t want to babysit some brat.”

“Please, Ethan.” I give him the biggest-bluest-longest-eye-lashed look that I can man-

age. He rolls his eyes and I know I’ve got him.

“You’ll cook me something?” he mutters.

“Sure, whatever, whenever.”

“So where is she?”

“She’s due here now.” And as if on cue, I hear her voice.

“Ana!” she calls from the front door.

We both turn, and there she is—all curvaceous and tall with her sleek black bob—

wearing a short mint-green minidress and matching high-heeled pumps with straps around

her slim ankles. She looks stunning.

“The brat?” he whispers, gaping at her.

“Yes. The brat that needs babysitting,” I whisper back. “Hi, Mia.” I give her a quick

hug as she stares rather blatantly at Ethan.

“Mia—this is Ethan, Kate’s brother.”

He nods, his eyebrows raised in surprise. Mia blinks several times as she gives him

her hand.

“Delighted to meet you,” Ethan murmurs smoothly and Mia blinks again—silent for

once. She blushes.

Holy cow. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her blush.

“I can’t make lunch,” I say lamely. “Ethan has agreed to take you, if that’s okay? Can

we have a rain check?”

“Sure,” she says quietly. Mia quiet, this is novel.

“Yeah, I’ll take it from here. Laters, Ana,” Ethan says, offering Mia his arm. She ac-

cepts it with a shy smile.

“Bye, Ana.” Mia turns to me and mouths, “Oh. My. God!” giving me an exaggerated

wink. Jeez . . . she likes him!I wave at them as they leave the building. I wonder what Chris-

tian’s attitude is about his sister dating? The thought makes me uneasy. She’s my age, so

he can’t object, can he?

This is Christian we’re dealing with.My snarky subconscious is back, hatchet-mouthed,

cardigan and purse in the crook of her arm. I shake off the image. Mia is a grown woman

and Christian can be reasonable, can’t he? I dismiss the thought and head back to Jack’s . . .

er . . . my office to prep for the meeting.

It’s three thirty when I return. The meeting went well. I have even secured approval to

progress the two manuscripts I was championing. It’s a heady feeling.

On my desk is an enormous wicker basket crammed with stunning white and pale pink

roses. Wow—the fragrance alone is heavenly. I smile as I pick up the card. I know who

sent them.

Congratulations, Miss Steele

And all on your own!

No help from your overfriendly, neighborhood, megalomaniac CEO

Love

Christian

I pick up my Blackberry to e-mail him.

From:Anastasia Steele

Subject:Megalomaniac . . .

Date:June 16, 2011 15:43

To:Christian Grey

. . . is my favorite type of maniac. Thank you for the beautiful flowers. They’ve arrived in a

huge wicker basket that makes me think of picnics and blankets.

x

From:Christian Grey

Subject:Fresh Air

Date:June 16, 2011 15:55

To:Anastasia Steele

Maniac, eh? Dr. Flynn may have something to say about that.

You want to go on a picnic?

We could have fun in the great outdoors, Anastasia . . .

How is your day going, baby?

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

Oh my. I flush reading his response.

From:Anastasia Steele

Subject:Hectic

Date:June 16, 2011 16:00

To:Christian Grey

The day has flown by. I have hardly had a moment to myself to think about anything other

than work. I think I can do this! I’ll tell you more when I’m home.

Outdoors sounds . . . interesting.

Love you.

A x

PS: Don’t worry about Dr. Flynn.

My phone buzzes. It’s Claire from reception, desperate to know who sent the flowers and

what happened to Jack. Holed up in the office all day, I have missed the gossip. I tell her

quickly that the flowers are from my boyfriend and that I know very little about Jack’s de-

parture. My Blackberry buzzes and I have another e-mail from Christian.

From:Christian Grey

Subject:I’ll try . . .

Date:June 16, 2011 16:09

To:Anastasia Steele

. . . not to worry.

Laters, baby. x

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

At five thirty, I pack up my desk. I can’t believe how quickly the day has gone. I have to get

back to Escala and prepare to meet Dr. Flynn. I haven’t even had time to think of questions.

Perhaps today we can have an initial meeting, and maybe Christian will let me see him

again. I shrug off the thought as I dash out of the office, waving a quick good-bye to Claire.

I’ve also got Christian’s birthday to think about. I know what I’m going to give him.

I’d like him to have it tonight before we meet Flynn, but how? Beside the parking lot is a

small store selling touristy trinkets. Inspiration hits me and I duck inside.

Christian is on his Blackberry, standing and staring out the glass wall as I enter the great

room half an hour later. Turning, he beams at me and wraps up his call.

“Ros, that’s great. Tell Barney and we’ll go from there . . . Good-bye.”

He strides over to me as I stand shyly in the entryway. He’s changed now into a white

T-shirt and jeans, all bad boy and smoldering. Whoa.

“Good evening, Miss Steele,” he murmurs and he bends to kiss me. “Congratulations

on your promotion.” He wraps his arms around me. He smells delicious.

“You’ve showered.”

“I’ve just had a work-out with Claude.”

“Oh.”

“Managed to knock him on his ass twice.” Christian beams, boyish and pleased with

himself. His grin is infectious.

“That doesn’t happen often?”

“No. Very satisfying when it does. Hungry?”

I shake my head.

“What?” He frowns at me.

“I’m nervous. About Dr. Flynn.”

“Me, too. How was your day?” He releases me, and I him give a brief summary. He

listens attentively.

“Oh—there’s one more thing I should tell you,” I add. “I was supposed to have lunch

with Mia.”

He raises his eyebrows, surprised. “You never mentioned that.”

“I know, I forgot. I couldn’t make it because of the meeting, and Ethan took her out to

lunch instead.”

His face darkens. “I see. Stop biting your lip.”

“I’m going to freshen up,” I say changing the subject and turning to leave before he

can react any further.

Dr. Flynn’s office is a short drive from Christian’s apartment. Very handy,I muse, for emer-

gency sessions.

“I usually run here from home,” Christian says as he parks my Saab. “This is a great

car.” He smiles at me.

“I think so, too.” I smile back at him. “Christian . . . I—” I gaze anxiously at him.

“What is it, Ana?”

“Here.” I pull the small black gift box from my purse. “This is for you for your birth-

day. I wanted to give it to you now—but only if you promise not to open it until Saturday,

okay?”

He blinks at me in surprise and swallows. “Okay,” he murmurs cautiously.

Taking a deep breath, I hand it to him, ignoring his bemused expression. He shakes the

box, and it produces a very satisfactory rattle. He frowns. I know he’s desperate to see what

it contains. Then he grins, his eyes alight with youthful, carefree excitement. Oh boy . . .he

looks his age—and so beautiful.

“You can’t open it until Saturday,” I warn him.

“I get it,” he says. “Why are you giving this to me now?” He pops the box into the

inside pocket of his blue pinstriped jacket, close to his heart.

How apt,I muse. I smirk at him.

“Because I can, Mr. Grey.”

His mouth twists with wry amusement.

“Why, Miss Steele, you stole my line.”

We are ushered into Dr. Flynn’s palatial office by a brisk and friendly receptionist. She

greets Christian warmly, a little too warmly for my taste—jeez, she’s old enough to be his

mother—and he knows her name.

The room is understated: pale green with two dark green couches facing two leather

winged chairs, and it has the atmosphere of a gentlemen’s club. Dr. Flynn is seated at a desk

at the far end of the room.

As we enter, he stands and walks over to join us in the seating area. He wears black

pants and a pale-blue open-necked shirt—no tie. His bright blue eyes seem to miss nothing.

“Christian.” He smiles amicably.

“John.” Christian shakes John’s hand. “You remember Anastasia?”

“How could I forget? Anastasia, welcome.”

“Ana, please,” I mumble as he shakes my hand firmly. I do love his English accent.

“Ana,” he says kindly, ushering us toward the couches.

Christian gestures to one of them for me. I sit, trying to look relaxed, resting my hand

on the couch rest, and he sprawls on the other couch beside me so that we’re at right angles

to each other. A small table with a simple lamp is between us. I note with interest a box of

tissues beside the lamp.

This isn’t what I expected. I had in my mind’s eye a stark white room with a black

leather chaise longue; my inner goddess might have felt more at home then.

Looking relaxed and in control, Dr. Flynn takes a seat in one of the winged chairs and

picks up a leather notepad. Christian crosses his legs, his ankle resting on his knee, and

stretches one arm along the back of the couch. Reaching across with his other hand, he

finds my hand on the couch rest and gives it a reassuring squeeze.

“Christian has requested that you accompany him to one of our sessions,” Dr. Flynn

begins gently. “Just so you know, we treat these sessions with absolute confidentiality—”

I raise my eyebrow at Flynn, halting him mid-speech.

“Oh—um . . . I’ve signed an NDA,” I murmur, embarrassed that he’s stopped. Both

Flynn and Christian stare at me, and Christian releases my hand.

“A non-disclosure agreement?” Dr. Flynn’s brow furrows, and he glances quizzically

at Christian.

Christian shrugs.

“You start all your relationships with women with an NDA?” Dr. Flynn asks him.

“The contractual ones, I do.”

Dr. Flynn’s lip twitches. “You’ve had other types of relationships with women?” he

asks, and he looks amused.

“No,” Christian answers after a beat, and he looks amused, too.

“As I thought.” Dr. Flynn turns his attention back to me. “Well, I guess we don’t have

to worry about confidentiality, but may I suggest that the two of you discuss this at some

point? As I understand, you’re no longer entering into that kind of contractual relation-

ship.”

“Different kind of contract, hopefully,” says Christian softly, glancing at me. I flush

and Dr. Flynn narrows his eyes.

“Ana. You’ll have to forgive me, but I probably know a lot more about you than you

think. Christian has been very forthcoming.”

I glance nervously at Christian. What has he said?

“An NDA?” he continues. “That must have shocked you.”

I blink at him. “Oh, I think the shock of that has paled into insignificance, given Chris-

tian’s most recent revelations,” I answer, my voice soft and hesitant. I sound so nervous.

“I’m sure.” Dr. Flynn smiles kindly at me. “So, Christian, what would you like to dis-

cuss?”

Christian shrugs like a surly teen. “Anastasia wanted to see you. Perhaps you should

ask her.”

Dr. Flynn’s face registers his surprise once more, and he gazes shrewdly at me.

Holy shit.This is mortifying. I gaze down at my fingers.

“Would you be more comfortable if Christian left us for a while?”

My eyes dart to Christian and he’s gazing at me expectantly.

“Yes,” I whisper.

Christian frowns and opens his mouth but closes it again quickly and stands in one

swift graceful movement.

“I’ll be in the waiting room,” he says, his mouth a flat, grumpy line.

Oh no.

“Thank you, Christian,” Dr. Flynn says impassively.

Christian gives me one long, searching look then stalks out of the room—but he doesn’t

slam the door. Phew. I immediately relax.

“He intimidates you?”

“Yes. But not as much as he used to.” I feel disloyal but it’s the truth.

“That doesn’t surprise me, Ana. What can I help you with?”

I stare down at my knotted fingers. What can I ask?

“Dr. Flynn, I’ve never been in a relationship before, and Christian is . . . well, he’s

Christian. And over the last week or so, a great deal has happened. I haven’t had a chance

to think things through.”

“What do you need to think through?”

I glance up at him, and his head is cocked to one side as he gazes at me with compas-

sion, I think.

“Well . . . Christian tells me that he’s happy to give up . . . er—” I stumble and pause.

This is so much more difficult to discuss than I’d imagined.

Dr. Flynn sighs. “Ana, in the very limited time that you’ve known him, you’ve made

more progress with my patient than I have in the last two years. You have had a profound

effect on him. You must see that.”

“He’s had a profound effect on me, too. I just don’t know if I’m enough. To fulfill his

needs,” I whisper.

“Is that what you need from me? Reassurance?”

I nod.

“Needs change,” he says simply. “Christian has found himself in a situation where

his methods of coping are no longer effective. Very simply, you’ve forced him to confront

some of his demons and rethink.”

I blink at him. This echoes what Christian has told me.

“Yes, his demons,” I murmur.

“We don’t dwell on them—they’re in the past. Christian knows what his demons are, as

do I—and now I’m sure you do, too. I’m much more concerned with the future and getting

Christian to a place where he wants to be.”

I frown and he raises an eyebrow.

“The technical term is SFBT—sorry.” He smiles. “That stands for Solution-Focused

Brief Therapy. Essentially, it’s goal oriented. We concentrate on where Christian wants to

be and how to get him there. It’s a dialectical approach. There’s no point in breast-beating

about the past—all that’s been picked over by every physician, psychologist, and psychia-

trist Christian’s ever seen. We know why he’s the way he is, but it’s the future that’s impor-

tant. Where Christian envisages himself, where he wants to be. It took you walking out on

him to make him take this form of therapy seriously. He realizes that his goal is a loving

relationship with you. It’s that simple, and that’s what we’re working on now. Of course

there are obstacles—his haphephobia for one.”

Oh jeez . . . his what?I gasp.

“I’m sorry. I mean his fear of being touched,” Dr. Flynn says, shaking his head as if