Текст книги "Fifty shades darker"

Автор книги: Erika Leonard James

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ing into a healing orgasm that goes on and on and wrings me out and leaves me spent and

breathless.

Christian bends and kisses my shoulder then pulls out of me. Placing his arms around

me, he rests his head in the middle of my back, and we lie like this, both kneeling at the

bedside, for what? Seconds? Minutes even as our breathing calms. My bellyache has disap-

peared, and all I feel is a soothing, satisfying serenity.

Christian stirs and kisses my back. “I believe you owe me a dance, Miss Steele,” he

murmurs.

“Hmm,” I respond, savoring the absence of achiness and basking in the afterglow.

He sits back on his heels and pulls me off the bed onto his lap. “We don’t have long.

Come on.” He kisses my hair and forces me to stand.

I grumble but sit back down on the bed and collect my panties from the floor and scoop

them on. Lazily I walk to the chair to retrieve my dress. I note with dispassionate interest

that I did not remove my shoes during our illicit tryst. Christian is tying his bow tie, having

finished straightening himself and the bed.

As I slip my dress back on, I check out the photographs on the pin board. Christian as

a sullen teen was gorgeous even then: with Elliot and Mia on the ski slopes; on his own in

Paris, the Arc de Triompheserving as a giveaway background; in London; New York; the

Grand Canyon; Sydney Opera House; even the Great Wall of China. Master Grey was well

traveled at a young age.

There are ticket stubs to various concerts: U2, Metallica, The Verve, Sheryl Crow, the

New York Philharmonic performing Prokofiev’s Romeo and Juliet—what an eclectic mix!

And in the corner, there’s a passport-size photograph of a young woman. It’s in black and

white. She looks familiar, but for the life of me, I can’t place her. Not Mrs. Robinson, thank

heavens.

“Who’s this?” I ask.

“No one of consequence,” he mutters as he slips on his jacket and straightens his bow

tie. “Shall I zip you up?”

“Please. Then why is she on your pin board?”

“An oversight on my part. How’s my tie?” He raises his chin like a small boy, and I

grin and straighten it for him.

“Now it’s perfect.”

“Like you,” he murmurs and grabs me, kissing me passionately. “Feeling better?”

“Much, thank you, Mr. Grey.”

“The pleasure was all mine, Miss Steele.”

The guests are assembling on the dance floor. Christian grins at me—we’ve made it just in

time—and he leads me onto the checkered floor.

“And now, ladies and gentlemen, it’s time for the first dance. Mr. and Dr. Grey, are you

ready?” Carrick nods in agreement, his arms around Grace.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the First Dance Auction, are you ready?” We all nod in

agreement. Mia is with someone I don’t recognize. I wonder what happened to Sean?

“Then we shall begin. Take it away, Sam!”

A young man strolls onto the stage amid warm applause, turns to the band behind him

and snaps his fingers. The familiar strains of “I’ve Got You Under My Skin” fill the air.

Christian smiles down at me, takes me in his arms, and starts to move. Oh, he dances

so well, making it easy to follow. We grin at each other like idiots as he whirls me around

the dance floor.

“I love this song,” Christian murmurs, gazing down at me. “Seems very fitting.” He’s

no longer grinning, but serious.

“You’re under my skin, too,” I respond. “Or you were in your bedroom.”

He purses his lips but he’s unable to hide his amusement.

“Miss Steele,” he admonishes me teasingly, “I had no idea you could be so crude.”

“Mr. Grey, neither did I. I think it’s all my recent experiences. They’ve been an educa-

tion.”

“For both of us.” Christian is serious again, and it could just be the two of us and the

band. We are in our own private bubble.

As the song finishes we both applaud. Sam the singer bows graciously and introduces

his band.

“May I cut in?”

I recognize the man who bid on me at the auction. Christian grudgingly lets me go, but

he’s amused, too.

“Be my guest. Anastasia, this is John Flynn. John, Anastasia.”

Shit!

Christian smirks at me and wanders off to one side of the dance floor.

“How do you do, Anastasia?” Dr. Flynn says smoothly, and I realize he’s British.

“Hello,” I stutter.

The band strikes up another song, and Dr. Flynn pulls me into his arms. He’s much

younger than I imagined, though I can’t see his face. He’s wearing a mask similar to Chris-

tian’s. He’s tall, but not as tall as Christian, and he doesn’t move with Christian’s easy

grace.

What do I say to him? Why is Christian so fucked-up? Why did he bid on me? It’s the

only thing I want to ask him, but somehow that seems rude.

“I’m glad to finally meet you, Anastasia. Are you enjoying yourself?” he asks.

“I was,” I whisper.

“Oh. I hope I’m not responsible for your change of heart.” He gives me a brief, warm

smile that puts me a little more at ease.

“Doctor Flynn, you’re the shrink. You tell me.”

He grins. “That’s the problem, isn’t it? The shrink bit?”

I giggle. “I’m worried what I might reveal, so I’m a little self-conscious and intimi-

dated. And really I only want to ask you about Christian.”

He smiles. “First, this is a party so I’m not on duty,” he whispers conspiratorially. “And

second, I really can’t talk to you about Christian. Besides,” he teases, “we’d need until

Christmas.”

I gasp in shock.

“That’s a doctor’s joke, Anastasia.”

I flush, embarrassed, and then feel slightly resentful. He’s making a joke at Christian’s

expense. “You’ve just confirmed what I’ve been saying to Christian . . . that you’re an ex-

pensive charlatan,” I admonish him.

Dr. Flynn snorts with laughter. “You could be onto something there.”

“You’re British?”

“Yes. Originally from London.”

“How did you find yourself here?”

“Happy circumstance.”

“You don’t give much away, do you?”

“There’s not much to give away. I’m really a very dull person.”

“That’s very self-deprecating.”

“It’s a British trait. Part of our national character.”

“Oh.”

“And I could accuse you of the same, Anastasia.”

“That I’m a dull person, too, Dr. Flynn?”

He snorts. “No, Anastasia, that you don’t give much away.”

“There’s not much to give away.” I smile.

“I sincerely doubt that.” He unexpectedly frowns.

I flush, but the music finishes and Christian is once more by my side. Dr. Flynn releases

me. “It’s been a pleasure to meet you, Anastasia.” He gives me his warm smile again, and

I feel that I’ve passed some kind of hidden test.

“John.” Christian nods at him.

“Christian.” Dr. Flynn returns his nod, turns on his heel, and disappears through the

crowd.

Christian pulls me into his arms for the next dance.

“He’s much younger than I expected,” I murmur to him. “And terribly indiscreet.”

Christian cocks his head to one side. “Indiscreet?”

“Oh yes, he told me everything,” I tease.

Christian tenses. “Well, in that case, I’ll get your bag. I’m sure you want nothing more

to do with me,” he says softly.

I stop. “He didn’t tell me anything!” My voice fills with panic.

Christian blinks before relief floods his face. He pulls me into his arms again. “Then

let’s enjoy this dance.” He beams down, reassuring me, then spins me round.

Why would he think that I’d want to leave? It makes no sense.

We dance for two more numbers, and I realize I need the restroom.

“I won’t be long.”

As I make my way to the powder room, I remember I have left my purse on the dinner

table, so I head down to the marquee. When I enter, it’s still lit but quite deserted, except

for a couple at the other end, who really ought to get a room! I reach for my bag.

“Anastasia?”

A soft voice startles me, and I turn to see a woman dressed in a long, tight, black velvet

gown. Her mask is unique. It covers her face to her nose but also covers her hair. It’s stun-

ning with elaborate gold filigree.

“I’m so glad you’re on your own,” she says softly. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you

all evening.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know who you are.”

She pulls the mask from her face and releases her hair.

Shit! It’s Mrs. Robinson.

“I’m sorry, I startled you.”

I gape at her. Holy cow—what the fuck does this woman want?

I don’t know what the social conventions are for meeting known molesters of children.

She’s smiling sweetly and gesturing for me to sit at the table. And because I am lacking

any sphere of reference, I do as she asks out of stunned politeness, grateful that I am still

wearing my mask.

“I’ll be brief, Anastasia. I know what you think of me . . . Christian’s told me.”

I gaze at her impassively, giving nothing away, but I’m pleased that she knows. It saves

me telling her, and she’s cutting to the chase. Part of me is beyond intrigued as to what she

could have to say.

She pauses, glancing over my shoulder. “Taylor’s watching us.”

I peek around to see him scanning the tent by the doorway. Sawyer is with him. They

are looking anywhere but at us.

“Look, we don’t have long,” she says hurriedly. “It must be obvious to you that Chris-

tian is in love with you. I have never seen him like this, ever.” She emphasizes the last

word.

What? Loves me?No. Why is she telling me? To reassure me? I don’t understand.

“He won’t tell you because he probably doesn’t realize it himself, notwithstanding

what I’ve said to him, but that’s Christian. He’s not very attuned to any positive feelings

and emotions he may have. He dwells far too much on the negative. But then you’ve prob-

ably worked that out for yourself. He doesn’t think he’s worthy.”

I am reeling. Christian loves me?He hasn’t said it, and this woman has told him that’s

how he feels? How bizarre.

A hundred images dance through my head: the iPad, the gliding, flying to see me, all

his actions, his possessiveness, one hundred thousand dollars for a dance. Is this love?

And hearing it from this woman, having her confirm it for me is, frankly, unwelcome.

I’d rather hear it from him.

My heart constricts. He feels unworthy? Why?

“I’ve never seen him so happy, and it’s obvious that you have feelings for him, too.” A

brief smile flits across her lips. “That’s great, and I wish you both the best of everything.

But what I wanted to say is if you hurt him again, I will find you, lady, and it won’t be

pleasant when I do.”

She stares at me, ice-cold blue eyes boring into my skull, trying to get under my mask.

Her threat is so astonishing, so off the wall that an involuntary, disbelieving giggle escapes

me. Of all the things she could say to me, this is the least expected.

“You think this is funny, Anastasia?” she splutters in dismay. “You didn’t see him last

Saturday.”

My face falls and darkens. The thought of Christian unhappy is not a palatable one, and

last Saturday I left him. He must have gone to her. The idea makes me queasy. Why am I

sitting here listening to this shit from her of all people? I slowly rise, gazing at her intently.

“I’m laughing at your audacity, Mrs. Lincoln. Christian and I have nothing to do with

you. And if I do leave him and you come looking for me, I’ll be waiting—don’t doubt it.

And maybe I’ll give you a taste of your own medicine on behalf of the fifteen-year-old

child you molested and probably fucked-up even more than he already was.”

Her mouth falls open.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I have better things to do than waste my time with you.”

I turn on my heel, adrenaline and anger coursing through my body, and stalk toward the

entrance of the tent where Taylor is standing just as Christian arrives, looking flustered and

worried.

“There you are,” he mutters, then frowns when he sees Elena.

I stride past him, saying nothing, giving him the opportunity to choose—her or me. He

makes the right choice.

“Ana,” he calls. I stop and face him as he catches up with me. “What’s wrong?” He

gazes down at me, concern etched on his face.

“Why don’t you ask your ex?” I hiss acidly.

His mouth twists and his eyes frost. “I’m asking you,” he says, his voice soft but with

an undertone of something far more menacing.

We glare at each other.

Okay, I can see this will end in a fight if I don’t tell him. “She’s threatening to come

after me if I hurt you again—probably with a whip,” I snap at him.

Relief flashes across his face, his mouth softening with humor. “Surely the irony of that

isn’t lost on you?” he says, and I can tell he’s trying hard to stifle his amusement.

“This isn’t funny, Christian!”

“No, you’re right. I’ll talk to her.” He adopts his serious face, though he’s still sup-

pressing his amusement.

“You will do no such thing.” I fold my arms, my anger spiking again.

He blinks at me, surprised by my outburst.

“Look, I know you’re tied up with her financially, forgive the pun, but—” I stop. What

am I asking him to do? Give her up? Stop seeing her? Can I do that? “I need the restroom.”

I glare up at him, my mouth set in a grim line.

He sighs and cocks his head to one side. Could he look any hotter? Is it the mask or

just him?

“Please don’t be mad. I didn’t know she was here. She said she wasn’t coming.” His

tone is placating as if he’s talking to a child. Reaching up he runs his thumb along my pout-

ing bottom lip. “Don’t let Elena ruin our evening, please, Anastasia. She’s really old news.”

Old being the operative word, I think uncharitably, as he tips my chin up and gently

grazes his lips against mine. I sigh in agreement, blinking up at him. He straightens and

takes my elbow.

“I’ll accompany you to the powder room so you don’t get interrupted again.”

He leads me across the lawn toward the luxurious temporary restrooms. Mia said they

had been delivered for the occasion, but I had no idea they came in deluxe versions.

“I’ll wait here for you, baby,” he murmurs.

When I come out, my mood has moderated. I have decided not to let Mrs. Robinson

blight my evening because that’s probably what she wants. Christian is on the phone some

distance away and out of earshot of the few people laughing and chatting nearby. As I get

closer, I can hear him. He’s very terse.

“Why did you change your mind? I thought we’d agreed. Well, leave her alone . . . This

is the first regular relationship I’ve ever had, and I don’t want you jeopardizing it through

some misplaced concern for me. Leave. Her. Alone. I mean it, Elena.” He pauses, listening.

“No, of course not.” He frowns deeply as he says this. Glancing up, he sees me regarding

him. “I have to go. Goodnight.” He presses the off button.

I cock my head to one side and raise an eyebrow at him. Why is he phoning her?

“How’s the old news?”

“Cranky,” he replies sardonically. “Do you want to dance some more? Or would you

like to go?” He glances at his watch. “The fireworks start in five minutes.”

“I love fireworks.”

“We’ll stay and watch them, then.” He puts his arms around me and pulls me close.

“Don’t let her come between us, please.”

“She cares about you,” I mutter.

“Yes, and I her . . . as a friend.”

“I think it’s more than a friendship to her.”

His brow furrows. “Anastasia, Elena and I . . . it’s complicated. We have a shared his-

tory. But it is just that, history. As I’ve said to you time and time again, she’s a good friend.

That’s all. Please, forget about her.” He kisses my hair, and in the interest of not ruining our

evening, I let it go. I am just trying to understand.

We wander hand in hand back to the dance floor. The band is still in full swing.

“Anastasia.”

I turn to find Carrick standing behind us.

“I wondered if you’d do me the honor of the next dance.” Carrick holds his hand out

to me. Christian shrugs and smiles, releasing my hand, and I let Carrick lead me onto the

dance floor. Sam the bandleader launches into “Come Fly with Me,” and Carrick puts his

arm around my waist and gently whirls me into the throng.

“I wanted to thank you for the generous contribution to our charity, Anastasia.”

From his tone, I suspect this is his roundabout way of asking whether I can afford it.

“Mr. Grey—”

“Call me Carrick, please, Ana.”

“I’m delighted to be able to contribute. I unexpectedly came into some money. I don’t

need it. And it’s such a worthy cause.”

He smiles down at me, and I seize the opportunity for some innocent inquiries. Carpe

diem, my subconscious hisses from behind her hand.

“Christian told me a little about his past, so I think it’s appropriate to support your

work,” I add, hoping that this might encourage Carrick to give me a small insight into the

mystery that is his son.

Carrick is surprised. “Did he? That’s unusual. You certainly have had a very positive

effect on him, Anastasia. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so, so . . . buoyant.”

I flush.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

“Well, in my limited experience, he’s a very unusual man,” I murmur.

“He is,” Carrick agrees quietly.

“Christian’s early childhood sounds hideously traumatic, from what he’s told me.”

Carrick frowns, and I worry if I’ve overstepped the mark.

“My wife was the doctor on duty when the police brought him in. He was skin and

bones, and badly dehydrated. He wouldn’t speak.” Carrick frowns again, lost in the awful

memory, despite the up-tempo music surrounding us. “In fact, he didn’t speak for nearly

two years. It was playing the piano that eventually brought him out of himself. Oh, and

Mia’s arrival, of course.” He smiles down at me fondly.

“He plays beautifully. And he’s accomplished so much, you must be very proud of

him.” I sound distracted. Holy Shit. Didn’t speak for two years.

“Immensely so. He’s a very determined, very capable, very bright young man. But

between you and me, Anastasia, it’s seeing him like he is this evening—carefree, acting his

age—that’s the real thrill for his mother and me. We were both commenting on it today. I

believe we have you to thank for that.”

I think I blush to my roots. What am I supposed to say to this?

“He’s always been such a loner. We never thought we’d see him with anyone. What-

ever you’re doing, please don’t stop. We’d like to see him happy.” He stops suddenly as if

he’soverstepped the mark. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

I shake my head. “I’d like to see him happy, too,” I mutter, unsure of what else to say.

“Well, I’m very glad you came this evening. It’s been a real pleasure seeing the two of

you together.”

As the final strains of “Come Fly with Me” fade away, Carrick releases me and bows,

and I curtsey, mirroring his civility.

“That’s enough dancing with old men.” Christian is at my side again. Carrick laughs.

“Less of the ‘old,’ son. I’ve been known to have my moments.” Carrick winks at me

playfully and saunters into the crowd.

“I think my dad likes you,” Christian mutters as he watches his father mingle with the

crowd..

“What’s not to like?” I peek coquettishly up at him through my lashes.

“Good point well made, Miss Steele.” He pulls me into an embrace as the band starts

to play “It Had to Be You.”

“Dance with me,” he whispers seductively.

“With pleasure, Mr. Grey.” I smile in response, and he sweeps me across the dance

floor once more.

At midnight, we stroll down toward the shore between the marquee and the boathouse

where the other partygoers are gathered to watch the fireworks. The MC, back in charge,

has permitted the removal of masks, the better to see the display. Christian has his arm

around me, but I’m aware that Taylor and Sawyer are close by, probably because we’re in

the crowd now. They are looking anywhere but at the dockside where two pyrotechnicians

dressed in black are making their final preparations. Seeing Taylor reminds me of Leila.

Perhaps she’s here. Shit.The thought chills my blood, and I huddle closer to Christian. He

gazes down at me as he pulls me closer.

“You okay, baby? Cold?”

“I’m fine.” I glance quickly behind us and see the other two security guys, whose

names I forget, standing close by. Moving me in front of him, Christian puts both his arms

around me over my shoulders.

Suddenly, a stirring classical soundtrack booms over the dock and two rockets soar into

the air, exploding with a deafening bang over the bay, lighting it all in a dazzling canopy of

sparkling orange and white that’s reflected in a glittering shower over the still calm water

of the bay. My jaw drops as several more rockets fire into the air and explode in a kaleido-

scope of color.

I can’t recall ever seeing a display this impressive, except perhaps on television, and

it never looks this good on TV. They’re all in time to the music. Volley after volley, bang

after bang, and light after light as the crowd answers with gasps and ooohs and ahhs. It is

out of this world.

On the pontoon in the bay several silver fountains of light shoot up twenty feet in the

air, changing color through blue, red, orange, and back to silver—and yet more rockets

explode as the music reaches its crescendo.

My face is beginning to ache from the ridiculous grin of wonder plastered across it. I

glance at Fifty, and he’s the same, marveling like a child at the sensational show. For the

finale a volley of six rockets shoot into the dark and explode simultaneously, bathing us in

a glorious golden light as the crowd erupts into frantic, enthusiastic applause.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the MC calls out as the cheers and whistles fade. “Just one

note to add at the end of this wonderful evening; your generosity has raised a total of one

million, eight hundred and fifty three thousand dollars!”

Spontaneous applause erupts again, and out on the pontoon, a message lights up in sil-

ver streams of sparks forming the words Thank You From Coping Together,sparkling and

shimmering over the water.

“Oh, Christian . . . that was wonderful.” I grin up at him and he bends down to kiss me.

“Time to go,” he murmurs, a broad smile on his beautiful face, and his words hold so

much promise.

Suddenly, I feel very tired.

He glances up again, and Taylor is close, the crowd dispersing around us. They don’t

speak but something passes between them.

“Stay with me a moment. Taylor wants us to wait while the crowd disperses.”

Oh.

“I think that firework display probably aged him a hundred years,” he adds.

“Doesn’t he like fireworks?”

Christian gazes down at me fondly and shakes his head but doesn’t elaborate.

“So, Aspen,” he says, and I know he’s trying to distract me from something. It works.

“Oh . . . I haven’t paid for my bid,” I gasp.

“You can send a check. I have the address.”

“You were really mad.”

“Yes, I was.”

I grin. “I blame you and your toys.”

“You were quite overcome, Miss Steele. A most satisfactory outcome if I recall.” He

smiles salaciously. “Incidentally, where are they?”

“The silver balls? In my bag.”

“I’d like them back.” He smirks down at me. “They are far too potent a device to be

left in your innocent hands.”

“Worried I might be quite overcome again, maybe with somebody else?”

His eyes glitter dangerously. “I hope that’s not going to happen,” he says, a cool edge

to his voice. “But no, Ana. I want all your pleasure.”

Whoa. “Don’t you trust me?”

“Implicitly. Now, can I have them back?”

“I’ll think about it.”

He narrows his eyes at me.

There’s music once more from the dance floor but it’s a DJ playing a thumping dance

number, the bass pounding out a relentless beat.

“Do you want to dance?”

“I’m really tired, Christian. I’d like to go, if that’s okay.”

Christian glances at Taylor, who nods, and we set off toward the house, following a

couple of drunken guests. I’m grateful when Christian takes my hand—my feet are aching

from the dizzying height and tight confinement of my shoes.

Mia comes bounding up to us. “You’re not going, are you? The real music’s just begin-

ning. Come on, Ana.” She grabs my hand.

“Mia,” Christian admonishes her. “Anastasia’s tired. We’re going home. Besides, we

have a big day tomorrow.”

We do?

Mia pouts but surprisingly doesn’t push Christian.

“You must come by sometime next week. Maybe we can hit the mall?”

“Sure, Mia.” I grin, though in the back of my mind I’m wondering how since I have to

work for a living.

She gives me a quick kiss then hugs Christian fiercely, taking us both by surprise. More

astoundingly still, she places her hands directly on the lapels of his jacket, and he just gazes

down at her, indulgently.

“I like seeing you this happy,” she says sweetly and kisses him on the cheek. “Bye. You

guys have fun.” She skips off toward her waiting friends—among them Lily, who looks

even more sour-faced without her mask.

I wonder idly where Sean is.

“We’ll say goodnight to my parents before we leave. Come.” Christian leads me

through a gaggle of guests to Grace and Carrick, who wish us fond and warm farewells.

“Please do come again, Anastasia, it’s been lovely having you here,” says Grace kindly.

I am a little overwhelmed by both her and Carrick’s reaction. Fortunately, Grace’s par-

ents have retired for the evening, so at least I am spared their enthusiasm.

Quietly, Christian and I walk hand in hand to the front of the house where countless

cars are lined up and waiting to collect guests. I glance up at Fifty. He looks happy and

relaxed. It’s a real pleasure to see him this way, though I suspect it’s unusual after such an

extraordinary day.

“Are you warm enough?” he asks.

“Yes, thank you.” I clasp my satin wrap.

“I really enjoyed this evening, Anastasia. Thank you.”

“Me too, some parts more than others.” I grin.

He grins and nods, then his brow creases. “Don’t bite your lip,” he warns in a way that

makes my blood sing.

“What did you mean about a big day tomorrow?” I ask to distract myself.

“Dr. Greene is coming to sort you out. Plus, I have a surprise for you.”

“Dr. Greene!” I halt.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I hate condoms,” he says quietly. His eyes glint in the soft light from the

paper lanterns, gauging my reaction.

“It’s my body,” I mutter, annoyed that he hasn’t asked me.

“It’s mine, too,” he whispers.

I gaze up at him as various guests pass by, ignoring us. He looks so earnest. Yes, my

body is his . . . he knows it better than I do.

I reach up, and he flinches ever so slightly but stays still. Grasping the corner of his

bow tie, I pull so it unravels, revealing the top button of his shirt. Gently I undo it.

“You look hot like this,” I whisper. Actually he looks hot all the time, but really hot

like this.

He smirks at me. “I need to get you home. Come.”

At the car, Sawyer hands Christian an envelope. He frowns at it and glances at me as

Taylor ushers me into the car. Taylor looks relieved for some reason. Christian climbs in

and hands me the envelope, unopened, as Taylor and Sawyer take their seats in the front.

“It’s addressed to you. One of the staff gave it to Sawyer. No doubt from yet another

ensnared heart.” Christian’s mouth twists. It’s obvious this is an unpleasant concept to him.

I stare at the note. Who is this from? Ripping it open, I read it quickly in the dim light.

Holy shit, it’s from her!Why won’t she leave me alone?

Fuck, she’s signed it Mrs. Robinson! He told her. The bastard.

“You told her?”

“Told who, what?”

“That I call her Mrs. Robinson,” I snap.

“It’s from Elena?” Christian is shocked. “This is ridiculous,” he grumbles, running a

hand through his hair, and I can tell he’s irritated. “I’ll deal with her tomorrow. Or Mon-

day,” he mutters bitterly.

And though I’m ashamed to admit it, a very small part of me is pleased. My subcon-

scious nods sagely. Elena is pissing him off, and this can only be good—surely. I decide to

say nothing for now but stash her note in my bag, and in a gesture guaranteed to lighten his

mood, I hand him back the balls.

“Until next time,” I murmur.

He glances at me, and it’s hard to see his face in the dark, but I think he’s smirking. He

reaches for my hand and squeezes it.

I gaze out of the window into the darkness, reflecting on this long day. I’ve learned so

much about him, gleaned so many missing details—the salons, the road map, his child-

hood—but there’s still so much more to discover. And what about Mrs. R? Yes, she cares

for him, and deeply, it would appear. I can see that, and he cares for her—but not in the

same way. I don’t know what to think anymore. All this information is making my head

hurt.

Christian wakes me just as we pull up outside Escala. “Do I need to carry you in?” he asks

gently.

I shake my head sleepily. No way.

As we stand in the elevator, I lean against him, putting my head against his shoulder.

Sawyer stands in front of us, shifting uncomfortably.

“It’s been a long day, eh, Anastasia?”

I nod.

“Tired?”

I nod.

“You’re not very talkative.”

I nod and he grins.

“Come. I’ll put you to bed.” He takes my hand as we exit the elevator, but we stop in

the foyer when Sawyer holds up his hand. In that split second, I am instantly wide awake.

Sawyer talks into his sleeve. I had no idea that he was wearing a radio.

“Will do, T,” he says and turns to face us. “Mr. Grey, the tires on Ms. Steele’s Audi

have been slashed and paint thrown all over it.”

Holy shit. My car!Who would do that? And I know the answer as soon as the question

materializes in my mind. Leila. I glance up at Christian, and he blanches.

“Taylor is concerned that the perp may have entered the apartment and may still be

there. He wants to make sure.”

“I see,” Christian whispers. “What’s Taylor’s plan?”

“He’s coming up in the service elevator with Ryan and Reynolds. They’ll do a sweep

then give us the all clear. I’m to wait with you, sir.”

“Thank you, Sawyer.” Christian tightens his arm around me. “This day just gets better

and better,” he sighs bitterly, nuzzling my hair. “Listen, I can’t stand here and wait. Sawyer,

take care of Miss Steele. Don’t let her in until you have the all clear. I am sure Taylor is

overreacting. She can’t get into the apartment.”

What?“No, Christian—you have to stay with me,” I plead.

Christian releases me. “Do as you’re told, Anastasia. Wait here.”

No!

“Sawyer?” Christian says.

Sawyer opens the foyer door to let Christian enter the apartment then shuts the door

behind him and stands in front of it, staring impassively down at me.

Holy shit. Christian!All manner of horrific outcomes run through my mind, but all I

can do is stand and wait.

Sawyer talks into his sleeve again.

“Taylor, Mr. Grey has entered the apartment.” He flinches and grabs the earpiece, pull-

ing it out of his ear, presumably receiving some powerful invective from Taylor.

Oh no—if Taylor is worried . . .