Текст книги "Fifty shades darker"

Автор книги: Erika Leonard James

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Текущая страница: 24 (всего у книги 29 страниц)

“Still like oysters?” he asks as I swallow the final one.

I nod, flushed, craving his touch.

“Good.”

I squirm in my seat. Why is this so hot?

He puts his hand casually on his own thigh again, and I melt. Now. Please. Touch me.

My inner goddess is on her knees, naked except for her panties—begging. He runs his hand

up and down his thigh, lifts it, then places it back where it was.

The waiter tops up our champagne glasses and whisks away our plates. Moments later

he’s back with our entrée, sea bass– I don’t believe it—served with asparagus, sautéed

potatoes, and a hollandaise sauce.

“A favorite of yours, Mr. Grey?”

“Most definitely, Miss Steele. Though I believe it was cod at the Heathman.” His hand

moves up and down his thigh. My breathing spikes, but still he doesn’t touch me. It’s so

frustrating. I try to concentrate on our conversation.

“I seem to remember we were in a private dining room then, discussing contracts.”

“Happy days,” he says, smirking. “This time I hope to get to fuck you.” He moves his

hand to pick up his knife.

Gah!

He takes a bite out of his sea bass. He’s doing this on purpose.

“Don’t count on it,” I mutter with a pout and he glances at me, amused. “Speaking of

contracts,” I add. “The NDA.”

“Tear it up,” he says simply.

Whoa.

“What? Really?”

“Yes.”

“You’re sure I’m not going to run to the Seattle Times with an exposé?” I tease.

He laughs and it’s a wonderful sound. He looks so young.

“No. I trust you. I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt.”

Oh. I grin shyly at him. “Ditto,” I breathe.

His eyes light up. “I’m very glad you’re wearing a dress,” he murmurs. And bam—de-

sire courses through my already overheated blood.

“Why haven’t you touched me, then?” I hiss.

“Missing my touch?” he asks grinning. He’s amused . . . the bastard.

“Yes,” I seethe.

“Eat,” he orders.

“You’re not going to touch me, are you?”

“No.” He shakes his head.

What? I gasp out loud.

“Just imagine how you’ll feel when we’re home,” he whispers. “I can’t wait to get you

home.”

“It will be your fault if I combust here on the seventy-sixth floor,” I mutter through

gritted teeth.

“Oh, Anastasia. We’d find a way to put the fire out,” he says, grinning salaciously at

me. Fuming, I dig into my sea bass, and my inner goddess narrows her eyes in quiet, devi-

ous contemplation. We can play this game, too. I learned the basics during our meal at the

Heathman. I take a bite out of my sea bass. It is melt-in-the-mouth delicious. I close my

eyes, savoring the taste. When I open them, I begin my seduction of Christian Grey, very

slowly hitching my skirt up, exposing more of my thighs.

Christian pauses momentarily, a forkful of fish suspended midair.

Touch me.

After a beat, he resumes eating. I take another bite of sea bass, ignoring him. Then,

putting down my knife, I run my fingers up the inside of my lower thigh, lightly tapping

my skin with my fingertips. It’s distracting even to me, especially as I am craving his touch.

Christian pauses once more.

“I know what you’re doing.” His voice is low and husky.

“I know that you know, Mr. Grey,” I reply softly. “That’s the point.” I pick up an as-

paragus stalk, gaze sideways at him from beneath my lashes, then dip the asparagus into

the hollandaise sauce, swirling the tip round and round.

“You’re not turning the tables on me, Miss Steele.” Smirking he reaches over and takes

the spear from me—amazingly and annoyingly managing not to touch me again. No, this

isn’t right—this is not going according to plan. Gah!

“Open your mouth,” he commands.

I am losing this battle of wills. I glance up at him again, and his eyes blaze bright gray.

Parting my lips a fraction I run my tongue across my lower lip. Christian smiles and his

eyes darken further.

“Wider,” he breathes, his lips parting so that I can see his tongue. I groan inwardly and

bite my bottom lip, then do as he asks.

I hear his sharp intake of breath—he’s not so immune. Good, I am finally getting to

him. My inner goddess fist-pumps the air above her chaise longue.

Keeping my eyes locked on his, I take the spear in my mouth, and suck, gently . . .

delicately . . . on the end. The hollandaise sauce is mouthwatering. I bite down, moaning

quietly in appreciation.

Christian closes his eyes. Yes!When he opens them again, his pupils have dilated. The

effect on me is immediate. I groan and reach out to touch his thigh. To my surprise, he uses

his other hand to grab my wrist.

“Oh, no you don’t, Miss Steele,” he murmurs softly. Raising my hand to his mouth, he

gently brushes my knuckles with his lips, and I squirm. Finally! More, please.

“Don’t touch,” he scolds me quietly, and places my hand back on my knee. It’s so frus-

trating—this brief unsatisfactory contact.

“You don’t play fair.” I pout.

“I know.” He picks up his champagne glass to propose a toast, and I mirror his actions.

“Congratulations on your promotion, Miss Steele.” We clink glasses and I blush.

“Yes, kind of unexpected,” I mutter. He frowns as if some unpleasant thought has

crossed his mind.

“Eat,” he orders. “I am not taking you home until you’ve finished your meal, and then

we can really celebrate.” His expression is so heated, so raw, so commanding. I am melting.

“I’m not hungry. Not for food.”

He shakes his head, thoroughly enjoying himself, but narrows his eyes at me just the

same.

“Eat, or I’ll put you across my knee, right here, and we’ll entertain the other diners.”

His words make me squirm. He wouldn’t dare! He and his twitchy palm. I press my

mouth into a hard line and stare at him. Picking up an asparagus stalk, he dips the head into

the hollandaise.

“Eat this,” he murmurs, his voice low and seductive.

I willingly comply.

“You really don’t eat enough. You’ve lost weight since I’ve known you.” His tone is

gentle.

I don’t want to think about my weight; truth is, I like being this slim. I swallow the

asparagus.

“I just want to go home and make love,” I mutter disconsolately. Christian grins.

“So do I, and we will. Eat up.”

Reluctantly, I turn back to my food and start to eat. Honestly, I’ve taken my panties off

and everything. I feel like a child who has been denied candy. He is such a tease, a deli-

cious, hot, naughty tease, and all mine.

He quizzes me about Ethan. As it turns out, Christian does business with Kate and

Ethan’s father. Hmm . . . it’s small world. I’m relieved he doesn’t mention Dr. Flynn or

the house as I’m finding it difficult to concentrate on our conversation. I want to go home.

The carnal anticipation is unfurling between us. He’s so good at this. Making me wait.

Setting the scene. Between bites, he places his hand on his thigh, so close to mine, but still

doesn’t touch me just to tease me further.

Bastard! Finally I finish my food, and place my knife and fork on the plate.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, and those two words hold so much promise.

I frown at him. “What now?” I ask, desire clawing at my belly. Oh, I want this man.

“Now? We leave. I believe you have certain expectations, Miss Steele. Which I intend

to fulfill to the best of my ability.”

Whoa!

“The best . . . of your a . . . bil . . . ity?” I stutter. Holy shit.

He grins and stands.

“Don’t we have to pay?” I ask, breathless.

He cocks his head to one side. “I am a member here. They’ll bill me. Come, Anastasia,

after you.” He steps aside, and I stand to leave, conscious that I am not wearing my panties.

He gazes at me darkly, like he’s undressing me, and I glory in his carnal appraisal. It

just makes me feel so sexy—this beautiful man desires me. Will I always get a kick out of

this? Deliberately stopping in front of him, I smooth my dress over my hips.

Christian whispers in my ear, “I can’t wait to get you home.” But he still doesn’t touch

me. On the way out he murmurs something about the car to the maître d’, but I’m not listen-

ing, my inner goddess is incandescent with anticipation. Jeez, she could light up Seattle.

Waiting by the elevators, we are joined by two middle-aged couples. When the doors

open, Christian takes my elbow and steers me to the back. I glance around, and we’re sur-

rounded by dark smoked-glass mirrors. As the other couples enter, one man in a rather

unflattering brown suit greets Christian.

“Grey,” he nods politely. Christian nods in return but is silent.

The couples stand in front of us, facing the elevator doors. They are obviously friends—

the women chat loudly, excited and animated after their meal. I think they’re all a little

tipsy.As the doors close, Christian briefly stoops down beside me to tie his shoelace. Odd,

his shoelaces aren’t undone. Discreetly he places his hand on my ankle, startling me, and

as he stands his hand travels swiftly up my leg, skating deliciously over my skin—whoa—

right up. I have to stifle my gasp of surprise as his hand reaches my backside. Christian

moves behind me.

Oh my.I gape at the people in front of us, staring at the backs of their heads. They have

no idea what we’re up to. Wrapping his free arm around my waist, Christian pulls me to

him, holding me in place as his fingers explore. Holy fucking shit . . . in here?The eleva-

tor travels smoothly down, stopping at the fifty-third floor to let some more people on, but

I am not paying attention. I am focused on every little move his fingers make. Circling

around . . . now moving forward, questing, as we shuffle back.

Again I stifle a groan when his fingers find their goal.

“Always so ready, Miss Steele,” he whispers as he slips a long finger inside me. I

squirm and gasp. How can he do this with all these people here?

“Keep still and quiet,” he warns, murmuring in my ear.

I’m flushed, warm, wanting, trapped in an elevator with seven people, six of them

oblivious to what’s occurring in the corner. His finger slides in and out of me, again and

again. My breathing. Jeez, it’s embarrassing. I want to tell him to stop . . . and continue . . .

and stop. I sag against him, and he tightens his arm around me, his erection against my hip.

We halt again at the forty-fourth floor. Oh . . . how long is this torture going to con-

tinue? In . . . out . . . in . . . out . . .Subtly I grind myself against his persistent finger. After all this time of not touching me, he chooses now! Here! And it makes me feel so—wanton.

“Hush,” he breathes, seemingly unaffected as yet two more people come aboard. The

elevator is getting crowded. Christian moves us both farther back so that we’re now pressed

into the corner, holding me in place and torturing me further. He nuzzles my hair. I’m sure

we look like a young couple in love, canoodling in the corner, if anyone could be bothered

to turn round and see what we’re doing . . . And he eases a second finger inside me.

Fuck!I groan, and I’m thankful that the gaggle of people in front of us are still chatting

away, totally oblivious.

Oh, Christian, what you do to me.I lean my head against his chest, closing my eyes and

surrendering to his unrelenting fingers.

“Don’t come,” he whispers. “I want that later.” He splays his hand out on my belly,

pressing down slightly, as he continues his sweet persecution. The feeling is exquisite.

Finally the elevator reaches the first floor. With a loud ping the doors open, and almost

instantly the passengers start exiting. Christian slowly slips his fingers out of me and kisses

the back of my head. I glance round at him, and he smiles, then nods again at Mr. Badly-

fitted-brown-suit who returns his nod of acknowledgment as he shuffles out of the elevator

with his wife. I barely notice, concentrating instead on staying upright and trying to man-

age my panting. Jeez, I feel aching and bereft. Christian releases me, leaving me to stand

on my own two feet without leaning on him.

Turning, I gaze up at him. He looks cool and unruffled, his usual composed self.

Hmm . . . This is so not fair.

“Ready?” he asks. His eyes gleam wickedly as he slips first his index, then his middle

finger into his mouth and sucks on them. “Mighty fine, Miss Steele,” he whispers. I nearly

convulse on the spot.

“I can’t believe you just did that,” I murmur, and I’m practically coming apart at the

seams.

“You’d be surprised what I can do, Miss Steele,” he says. Reaching out, he tucks a lock

of hair behind my ear, a slight smile betraying his amusement.

“I want to get you home, but maybe we’ll only make it as far as the car.” He grins down

at me as he takes my hand and leads me out of the elevator.

What! Sex in the car?Can’t we just do it here on the cool marble of the lobby floor . . .

please?

“Come.”

“Yes, I want to.”

“Miss Steele!” he admonishes me with mock-amused horror.

“I’ve never had sex in a car,” I mumble. Christian halts and places those same fingers

under my chin, tipping my head back and glaring down at me.

“I’m very pleased to hear that. I have to say I’d be very surprised, not to say mad, if

you had.”

I flush, blinking up at him. Of course, I’ve only had sex with him. I frown at him.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“What did you mean?” His tone is unexpectedly harsh.

“Christian, it was just an expression.”

“The famous expression, ‘I’ve never had sex in a car.’ Yes, it just trips off the tongue.”

Jeez . . . what’s his problem?

“Christian, I wasn’t thinking. For heaven’s sake, you’ve just . . . um, done that to me in

an elevator full of people. My wits are scattered.”

He raises his eyebrows. “What did I do to you?” he challenges.

I scowl at him. He wants me to say it.

“You turned me on, big time. Now take me home and fuck me.”

His mouth drops open then he laughs, surprised. Now he looks young and carefree. Oh,

to hear him laugh. I love it because it’s so rare.

“You’re a born romantic, Miss Steele.” He takes my hand, and we head out of the

building to where the valet stands by my Saab.

“So you want sex in a car,” Christian murmurs as he switches on the ignition.

“Quite frankly, I would have been happy with the lobby floor.”

“Trust me, Ana, so would I. But I don’t fancy being arrested at this time of night, and

I didn’t want to fuck you in a restroom. Well, not today.”

What!“You mean there was a possibility?”

“Oh yes.”

“Let’s go back.”

He turns to gaze at me and laughs. His laughter is infectious; soon we’re both laugh-

ing—wonderful, cathartic, head-held-back laughter. Reaching over, he places his hand on

my knee, caressing it gently with long skilled fingers. I stop laughing.

“Patience, Anastasia,” he murmurs and pulls into the Seattle traffic.

He parks the Saab in the Escala garage and turns off the engine. Suddenly, in the confines

of the car, the atmosphere between us changes. With wanton anticipation, I glance at him,

trying to contain my palpitating heart. He’s turned toward me, leaning against the door, his

elbow propped on the steering wheel.

He pulls his lower lip with his thumb and index finger. His mouth is so distracting.

I want it on me. He’s watching me intently, his eyes dark gray. My mouth goes dry. He

smiles a slow sexy smile.

“We will fuck in the car at a time and place of my choosing. Right now, I want to take

you on every available surface of my apartment.”

It’s like he’s addressing me below the waist . . . my inner goddess performs four ara-

besquesand a pas de Basque.

“Yes.” Jeez, I sound so breathy, desperate.

He leans forward a fraction. I close my eyes, waiting for his kiss, thinking—finally. But

nothing happens. After a moment, I open my eyes to find him gazing at me. I can’t figure

out what he’s thinking, but before I can say anything, he distracts me once more.

“If I kiss you now we won’t make it into the apartment. Come.”

Gah! Could this man be any more frustrating? He climbs out of the car.

Once again, we wait for the elevator, my body thrumming with anticipation. Christian

holds my hand, running his thumb rhythmically across my knuckles, each stroke echoing

through me. Oh, I want his hands on all of me. He’s tortured me long enough.

“So, what happened to instant gratification?” I murmur while we wait.

Christian smirks down at me.

“It’s not appropriate in every situation, Anastasia.”

“Since when?”

“Since this evening.”

“Why are you torturing me so?”

“Tit for tat, Miss Steele.”

“How am I torturing you?”

“I think you know.”

I gaze up at him and his expression is difficult to read. He wants my answer . . . that’s it.

“I’m into delayed gratification, too,” I whisper, smiling shyly.

He tugs my hand unexpectedly, and suddenly I am in his arms. He grabs the hair at the

nape of my neck, pulling gently so my head tips back.

“What can I do to make you say yes?” he asks fervently, throwing me off balance once

more. I blink at him—at his lovely, serious, desperate expression.

“Give me some time? Please,” I murmur. He groans and finally he kisses me, long and

hard. Then we’re in the elevator, and we’re all hands and mouths and tongues and lips and

fingers and hair. Desire, thick and strong, lances through my blood, clouding all my reason.

He pushes me against the wall, pinning me with his hips, one hand in my hair, the other at

my chin, holding me in place.

“You own me,” he whispers. “My fate is in your hands, Ana.”

His words are intoxicating, and in my overheated state, I want to rip off his clothes.

I push off his jacket, and as the elevator arrives at the apartment, we tumble out into the

foyer.

Christian pins me to the wall by the elevator, his jacket falling to the floor, and his hand

travels up my leg, his lips never leaving mine. He hoists up my dress.

“First surface here,” he breathes and abruptly he lifts me. “Wrap your legs around me.”

I do as I’m told, and he turns and lays me down on the foyer table, so he’s standing

between my legs. I’m aware that the usual vase of flowers is missing. Huh?Reaching into

his jeans pocket, he fishes out a foil packet and hands it to me, undoing his fly.

“Do you know how much you turn me on?”

“What?” I pant. “No . . . I . . .”

“Well, you do,” he mutters, “all the time.” He grabs the foil packet from my hands. Oh,

this is so quick, but after all his tantalizing teasing, I want him badly—right now. He gazes

down at me as he rolls on the condom, then puts his hands under my thighs, spreading my

legs wider.

Positioning himself, he pauses. “Keep your eyes open. I want to see you,” he whispers

and clasping both my hands with his, he sinks slowly into me.

I try, I really do, but the feeling is so exquisite. What I’ve been waiting for after all his

teasing. Oh, the fullness, this feeling . . .I groan and arch my back off the table.

“Open!” he growls, tightening his hands on mine and thrusting sharply into me so that

I cry out.

I blink my eyes open, and he stares down at me wide-eyed. Slowly he withdraws then

sinks into me once more, his mouth slackening and then forming an Ah . . ., but he says

nothing. Seeing his arousal, his reaction to me—I light up inside, my blood scorching

through my veins. His gray eyes burn into mine. He picks up the rhythm, and I revel in it,

glory in it, watching him, watching me—his passion, his love—as we come apart, together.

I call out as I explode around him, and Christian follows.

“Yes, Ana!” he cries. He collapses on me, releasing my hands and resting his head on

my chest. My legs are still wrapped around him, and under the patient, maternal eyes of the

Madonna paintings, I cradle his head against me and struggle to catch my breath.

He raises his head to look at me. “I’m not finished with you yet,” he murmurs and lean-

ing up, he kisses me.

I lie naked in Christian’s bed, sprawled over his chest, panting. Holy cow—does his energy

ever wane? Christian trails his fingers up and down my back.

“Satisfied, Miss Steele?”

I murmur my assent. I have no energy left for talking. Raising my head, I turn unfo-

cused eyes to him and bask in his warm, fond gaze. Very deliberately, I angle my head

down so he knows I am going to kiss his chest.

He tenses momentarily, and I plant a soft kiss in his chest hair, breathing in his unique

Christian smell, mixed with sweat and sex. It’s heady. He rolls onto his side so I’m lying

beside him and gazes down at me.

“Is sex like this for everyone? I’m surprised anyone ever goes out,” I murmur, feeling

suddenly shy.

He grins. “I can’t speak for everyone, but it’s pretty damned special with you, Anasta-

sia.” He bends and kisses me.

“That’s because you’re pretty damned special, Mr. Grey,” I agree, smiling up at him

and caressing his face. He blinks down at me at a loss.

“It’s late. Go to sleep,” he says. He kisses me, then lies down and pulls me to him so

we’re spooning in bed.

“You don’t like compliments.”

“Go to sleep, Anastasia.”

Hmm . . . But he is pretty damned special. Jeez . . . why doesn’t he realize this?

“I loved the house,” I murmur.

He says nothing for a moment, but I sense his grin.

“I love you. Go to sleep.” He nuzzles my hair, and I drift into sleep, safe in his arms,

dreaming of sunsets and French doors and wide staircases . . . and a small copper-haired

boy running through a meadow, laughing and giggling as I chase him.

“Gotta go, baby.” Christian kisses me just below my ear.

I open my eyes and it’s morning. I turn to face him, but he’s up and dressed and fresh

and delicious, leaning over me.

“What time is it?” Oh no . . . I don’t want to be late.

“Don’t panic. I have a breakfast meeting.” He rubs his nose against mine.

“You smell good,” I murmur, stretching out beneath him, my limbs pleasurably tight

and creaky from all our exploits yesterday. I wrap my arms around his neck.

“Don’t go.”

He cocks his head to one side and raises his eyebrow. “Miss Steele—are you trying to

keep a man from an honest day’s work?”

I nod sleepily at him, and he smiles his new shy smile.

“As tempting as you are, I have to go.” He kisses me and stands. He’s wearing a really

sharp dark navy suit, white shirt and navy tie, and he looks every inch the CEO . . . the hot

CEO.“Laters, baby,” he murmurs and he’s off.

Glancing at the clock I note it’s already seven—I must have slept through the alarm.

Well, time to get up.

In the shower, inspiration hits me. I’ve thought of another birthday present for Christian.

It’s so difficult to buy something for the man who has everything. I’ve already given him

my main present, and I still have the other item I bought at the tourist shop, but this is one

present that will really be for me. I hug myself in anticipation as I switch off the shower. I

just have to prepare it.

In the walk-in closet, I put on a dark red fitted dress with a square neckline, cut quite

low. Yes, this will do for work.

Now for Christian’s present.I start rummaging through his drawers, looking for his

ties. In the bottom drawer I find those faded, ripped jeans, the ones he wears in the play-

room—the ones he looks so hot in. I stroke them gently, using my whole hand. Oh my, the

material is so soft.

Beneath them, I find a large, black, flat cardboard box. It piques my interest immedi-

ately. What’s in here? I stare at it, feeling like I’m trespassing again. Taking it out, I shake

it. It’s heavy as if it holds papers or manuscripts. I cannot resist, I open the lid—and quickly

shut it again. Holy fuck—photographs from the Red Room. The shock makes me sit back

on my heels as I try to wipe the image from my brain. Why did I open the box? Why has

he kept them?

I shudder. My subconscious scowls at me—this is before you. Forget them.

She’s right. Standing up I notice his ties are hanging at the end of his clothes rail. I find

my favorite and exit quickly.

I try to tell myself those photos are BA—Before Ana. My subconscious nods with ap-

proval, but it’s with a heavier heart that I head into the main room for breakfast. Mrs. Jones

smiles at me warmly and then frowns.

“Everything all right, Ana?” she asks kindly.

“Yes,” I murmur, distracted. “Do you have a key to the . . . um, playroom?”

She pauses momentarily, surprised.

“Yes, of course.” She unclips a small bunch of keys from her belt. “What would you

like for breakfast, dear?” she asks as she hands me the keys.

“Just granola. I won’t be long.”

I feel more ambivalent about this gift now but only since the discovery of those pho-

tographs. Nothing’s changed,my subconscious barks at me again, glaring at me over her

half-moon winged glasses. That picture was hot, my inner goddess chips in, and mentally

I scowl at her. Yes it was—too hot for me.

What else does he have hidden away? Quickly I ferret through the museum chest, take

what I need, and lock the playroom door behind me. Wouldn’t do for José to discover this!

I hand the keys back to Mrs. Jones and sit down to devour my breakfast, feeling odd

that Christian is absent. The photograph image dances unwelcome around my mind. I won-

der who it was? Leila perhaps?

On my drive in to work, I debate whether or not to tell Christian I found his photographs.

No,screams my subconscious, her Edvard Munch face on. I decide she’s probably right.

As I sit down at my desk, my Blackberry buzzes.

From:Christian Grey

Subject:Surfaces

Date:June 17, 2011 08:59

To:Anastasia Steele

I calculate that there are at least 30 surfaces to go. I am looking forward to each and

every one of them. Then there’s the floors, the walls—and let’s not forget the balcony.

After that there’s my office . . .

Miss you. x

Christian Grey

Priapic CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

His e-mail makes me smile, and all my earlier reservations evaporate. It’s me he wants

now, and memories of last night’s sexcapades flood my mind . . . the elevator, the foyer, the

bed.Priapic is right. I wonder idly what the female equivalent might be?

From:Anastasia Steele

Subject:Romance?

Date:June 17, 2011 09:03

To:Christian Grey

Mr. GreyYou have a one-track mind.

I missed you at breakfast

But Mrs. Jones was very accommodating.

Ax

From:Christian Grey

Subject:Intrigued

Date:June 17, 2011 09:07

To:Anastasia Steele

What was Mrs. Jones accommodating about?

What are you up to Miss Steele?

Christian Grey

Curious CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

How does he know?

From:Anastasia Steele

Subject:Tapping Nose

Date:June 17, 2011 09:10

To:Christian Grey

Wait and see—it’s a surprise.

I need to work . . . let me be.

Love you.

A x

From:Christian Grey

Subject:Frustrated

Date:June 17, 2011 09:12

To:Anastasia Steele

I hate it when you keep things from me.

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

I stare at the small screen of my Blackberry. The vehemence implicit in his e-mail takes

me by surprise. Why does he feel like this? It’s not like I’m hiding erotic photographs of

my exes.

From:Anastasia Steele

Subject:Indulging you

Date:June 17, 2011 09:14

To:Christian Grey

It’s for your birthday.

Another surprise.

Don’t be so petulant.

A x

He doesn’t reply immediately, and I’m called into a meeting so I can’t dwell on it for too

long.

When I next glance at my Blackberry, to my horror I realize it’s four in the afternoon.

Where has the day gone? Still no message from Christian. I decide to e-mail him again.

From:Anastasia Steele

Subject:Hello

Date:June 17, 2011 16:03

To:Christian Grey

Are you not talking to me?

Don’t forget I am going for a drink with José, and that he’s staying with us tonight.

Please rethink about joining us.

A x

He doesn’t reply, and I feel a frisson of unease. I hope he’s okay. Calling his mobile, I get

his voicemail. The announcement simply says Grey, leave a messagein his most clipped

tone.“Hi . . . um . . . it’s me. Ana. Are you okay? Call me,” I stutter through my message.

I’ve never had to leave one for him before. I flush as I hang up. Of course he’ll know it’s

you, idiot!My subconscious rolls her eyes at me. I am tempted to ring his PA Andrea but

decide that’s a step too far. Reluctantly I continue my work.

My phone rings unexpectedly and my heart jumps. Christian!But no—it’s Kate, my best

friend finally!

“Ana!” she shouts from wherever she is.

“Kate! Are you back? I’ve missed you.”

“Me, too. I have so much to tell you. We’re at Sea-Tac—me and my man.” She giggles

in a most un-Kate-like way.

“Cool. I have so much to tell you, too.”

“See you back at the apartment?”

“I’m having drinks with José. Join us.”

“José’s in town? Sure! Text me where.”

“Okay.” I beam. My best friend is home. After all this time!

“You good, Ana?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Still with Christian?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Laters!”

Oh, not her as well. Elliot’s influence knows no bounds.

“Yeah—laters, baby.” I grin and she hangs up.

Wow. Kate is home. How am I going to tell her all that has happened? I should write it

down so I don’t forget anything.

An hour later my office phone rings– Christian?No, it’s Claire.

“You should see the guy asking for you in reception. How come you know all these

hot guys, Ana?”

José must be here. I glance at the clock—it’s five fifty-five, and a small thrill of excite-

ment pulses through me. I haven’t seen him in ages.

“Ana, wow! You look great. So grown up.” He grins at me.

Just because I’m wearing a smart dress . . . jeez!

He hugs me hard. “And tall,” he mutters in amazement.

“It’s just the shoes, José. You don’t look so bad yourself.”

He’s wearing jeans, a black T-shirt, and a black and white check flannel shirt.

“I’ll grab my things and we can go.”

“Cool. I’ll wait here.”

I pick up two Rolling Rocks from the crowded bar and head over to the table where José

is seated.

“You found Christian’s place okay?”

“Yeah. I haven’t been inside. I just delivered the photos to the service elevator. Some

guy named Taylor took them up. Looks like quite a place.”

“It is. You should see inside.”

“Can’t wait. Salud, Ana. Seattle agrees with you.”

I flush as we clink bottles. It’s Christian that agrees with me. “Salud. Tell me about

your show and how it went.”

He beams and launches into the story. He sold all but three of his photos, which has

taken care of his student loans and left him some cash to spare.

“And I’ve been commissioned to do some landscapes for the Portland Tourist Author-

ity. Pretty cool, huh?” he finishes proudly.

“Oh José—that’s wonderful. Not interfering with your studies though?” I frown at him.

“Nah. Now that you guys have gone and three of the guys I used to hang out with, I

have more time.”

“No hot babe to keep you busy? Last time I saw you, you had half a dozen women