Текст книги "Fifty Shades of Grey"

Автор книги: Erika Leonard James

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Текущая страница: 5 (всего у книги 28 страниц) [доступный отрывок для чтения: 11 страниц]

he’s so antagonizing too; he’s difficult, complicated, and confusing. One minute he rebuffs

me, the next he sends me fourteen-thousand-dollar books, then he tracks me like a stalker.

And for all that, I have spent the night in his hotel suite, and I feel safe. Protected. He cares

enough to come and rescue me from some mistakenly perceived danger. He’s not a dark

knight at all, but a white knight in shining, dazzling armor – a classic romantic hero – Sir

Gawain or Lancelot.

I scramble out of his bed frantically searching for my jeans. He emerges from the bath-

room wet and glistening from the shower, still unshaven, with just a towel around his waist,

and there am I – all bare legs and awkward gawkiness. He’s surprised to see me out of bed.

“If you’re looking for your jeans, I’ve sent them to the laundry.” His gaze is a dark

obsidian. “They were spattered with your vomit.”

“Oh.” I flush scarlet. Why oh why does he always catch me on the back foot?

“I sent Taylor out for another pair and some shoes. They’re in the bag on the chair.”

Clean clothes.What an unexpected bonus.

“Um… I’ll have a shower,” I mutter. “Thanks.” What else can I say? I grab the bag

and dart into the bathroom away from the unnerving proximity of naked Christian. Michel-

angelo’s David has nothing on him.

In the bathroom, it’s all hot and steamy from where he’s been showering. I strip off

my clothes and quickly clamber into the shower anxious to be under the cleansing stream

of water. It cascades over me, and I hold up my face into the welcoming torrent. I want

Christian Grey. I want him badly. Simple fact. For the first time in my life, I want to go

to bed with a man. I want to feel his hands and his mouth on me.

He said he likes his women sentient. He’s probably not celibate then.But he’s not

made a pass at me, unlike Paul or José. I don’t understand. Does he want me? He

wouldn’t kiss me last week. Am I repellent to him? And yet, I’m here and he brought me

here. I just don’t know what his game is? What he’s thinking? You’ve slept in his bed all

night, and he’s not touched you Ana. You do the math.My subconscious has reared her

ugly, snide head. I ignore her.

The water is warm and soothing. Hmm… I could stay under this shower, in his bath-

room, forever. I reach for the body-wash and it smells of him. It’s a delicious smell. I rub

it all over myself, fantasizing that it’s him – him rubbing this heavenly scented soap into

my body, across my breasts, over my stomach, between my thighs with his long fingered

hands. Oh my.My heartbeat picks up again, this feels so… so good.

“Breakfast is here.” He knocks on the door, startling me.

“Okay,” I stutter as I’m yanked cruelly out of my erotic daydream.

I climb out of the shower and grab two towels. I put my hair in one and wrap it Carmen

Miranda style on my head. Hastily, I dry myself, ignoring the pleasurable feel of the towel

rubbing against my over-sensitized skin.

I inspect the bag of jeans. Not only has Taylor brought me jeans and new Converse,

but a pale blue shirt, socks, and underwear. Oh my. A clean bra and panties – actually to

describe them in such a mundane, utilitarian way does not do them justice. They are an

exquisite design of some fancy European lingerie. All pale blue lace and finery. Wow. I

am in awe and slightly daunted by this underwear. . What’s more, they fit perfectly. But of

course they do. I flush to think of the Buzz-Cut man in some lingerie store buying this for

me. I wonder what else is in his job description.

I dress quickly. The rest of the clothing is a perfect fit. I brusquely towel-dry my hair

and try desperately to bring it under control. But, as usual, it refuses to cooperate, and my

only option is to restrain it with a hair tie. I shall search in my purse, when I find it. I take

a deep breath. Time to face Mr. Confusing.

I’m relieved to find the bedroom empty. I hunt quickly for my purse – but it’s not in

here. Taking another deep breath, I enter the living area of the suite. It’s huge. There’s an

opulent, plush seating area, all overstuffed couches and soft cushions, an elaborate coffee

table with a stack of large glossy books, a study area with a top-of-the-range Mac, an enor-

mous plasma screen TV on the wall, and Christian is sitting at a dining table on the other

side of the room reading a newspaper. It’s the size of a tennis court or something, not that

I play tennis, though I have watched Kate a few times. Kate!

“Crap, Kate,” I croak. Christian peers up at me.

“She knows you’re here and still alive. I texted Elliot,” he says with just a trace of

humor.

Oh no.I remember her fervent dancing of the night before. All her patented moves

used with maximum effect to seduce Christian’s brother no less! What’s she going to think

about me being here? I’ve never stayed out before. She’s still with Elliot. She’s only done

this twice before, and both times I’ve had to endure the hideous pink PJs for a week from

the fallout. She’s going to think I’ve had a one-night stand too.

Christian stares at me imperiously. He’s wearing a white linen shirt, collar and cuffs

undone.

“Sit,” he commands, pointing to a place at the table. I make my way across the room

and sit down opposite him as I’ve been directed. The table is laden with food.

“I didn’t know what you liked, so I ordered a selection from the breakfast menu.” He

gives me a crooked, apologetic smile.

“That’s very profligate of you,” I murmur, bewildered by the choice, though I am hun-

gry. “Yes, it is.” He sounds guilty.

I opt for pancakes, maple syrup, scrambled eggs, and bacon. Christian tries to hide a

smile as he returns to his egg white omelet. The food is delicious.

“Tea?” he asks.

“Yes, please.”

He passes me a small teapot of hot water and on the saucer is a Twining’s English

Breakfast teabag. Jeez, he remembers how I like my tea.

“Your hair’s very damp,” he scolds.

“I couldn’t find the hairdryer,” I mutter, embarrassed. Not that I looked.

Christian’s mouth presses into a hard line, but he doesn’t say anything.

“Thank you for organizing the clothes.”

“It’s a pleasure, Anastasia. That color suits you.”

I blush and stare down at my fingers.

“You know, you really should learn to take a compliment.” His tone is castigating.

“I should give you some money for these clothes.”

He glares at me as if I have offended him on some level. I hurry on.

“You’ve already given me the books, which, of course, I can’t accept. But these

clothes, please let me pay you back.” I smile tentatively at him.

“Anastasia, trust me, I can afford it.”

“That’s not the point. Why should you buy these for me?”

“Because I can,” his eyes flash with a wicked gleam.

“Just because you can doesn’t mean that you should,” I reply quietly as he arches an

eyebrow at me, his eyes twinkling, and suddenly I feel that we’re talking about something

else, but I don’t know what it is. Which reminds me…

“Why did you send me the books, Christian?” My voice is soft. He puts down his

cutlery and regards me intently, his gray eyes burning with some unfathomable emotion.

Holy crap – my mouth dries.

“Well, when you were nearly run over by the cyclist – and I was holding you and you

were looking up at me – all kiss me, kiss me, Christian,” he pauses and shrugs slightly, “I

felt I owed you an apology and a warning.” He runs his hand through his hair. “Anastasia,

I’m not a hearts and flowers kind of man, I don’t do romance. My tastes are very singular.

You should steer clear from me.” He closes his eyes as if in defeat. “There’s something

about you, though, and I’m finding it impossible to stay away. But I think you’ve figured

that out already.”

My appetite vanishes. He can’t stay away!

“Then don’t,” I whisper.

He gasps, his eyes wide.

“You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“Enlighten me, then.”

We sit gazing at each other, neither of us touching our food.

“You’re not celibate then?” I breathe.

Amusement lights up his gray eyes.

“No, Anastasia, I’m not celibate.” He pauses for this information to sink in, and I flush

scarlet. The mouth-to-brain filter is broken again. I can’t believe I’ve just said that out

loud.“What are your plans for the next few days?” he asks, his voice low.

“I’m working today, from midday. What is the time?” I panic suddenly.

“It’s just after ten, you’ve plenty of time. What about tomorrow?” He has his elbows

on the table, and his chin is resting on his long steepled fingers.

“Kate and I are going to start packing. We’re moving to Seattle next weekend, and I’m

working at Clayton’s all this week.”

“You have a place in Seattle already?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

“I can’t remember the address. It’s in the Pike Market District.”

“Not far from me,” his lips twitch up in a half smile. “So what are you going to do for

work in Seattle?”

Where is he going with all these questions? The Christian Grey Inquisition is almost

as irritating as the Katherine Kavanagh Inquisition.

“I’ve applied for some internships. I’m waiting to hear.”

“Have you applied to my company as I suggested?”

I flush… of course not.

“Um… no.”

“And what’s wrong with my company?”

“Your company or your Company?” I smirk.

He smiles slightly.

“Are you smirking at me, Miss Steele?” He cocks his head to one side, and I think he

looks amused, but it’s hard to tell. I flush and glance down at my unfinished breakfast. I

can’t look him in the eye when he uses that tone of voice.

“I’d like to bite that lip,” he whispers darkly.

Oh my.I am completely unaware that I am chewing my bottom lip. My mouth pops

open as I gasp and swallow at the same time. That has to be the sexiest thing anybody has

ever said to me. My heart beat spikes, and I think I’m panting. Jeez, I’m a quivering, moist

mess, and he hasn’t even touched me. I squirm in my seat and meet his dark glare.

“Why don’t you?” I challenge quietly.

“Because I’m not going to touch you Anastasia – not until I have your written consent

to do so.” His lips hint at a smile.

What?

“What does that mean?”

“Exactly what I say.” He sighs and shakes his head at me, amused, but exasperated too.

“I need to show you, Anastasia. What time do you finish work this evening?”

“About eight.”

“Well, we could go to Seattle this evening or next Saturday for dinner at my place, and

I’ll acquaint you with the facts then. The choice is yours.”

“Why can’t you tell me now?” I sound petulant.

“Because I’m enjoying my breakfast and your company. Once you’re enlightened, you

probably won’t want to see me again.”

Holy shit.What does that mean? Does he white-slave small children to some God-

forsaken part of the planet? Is he part of some underworld crime syndicate? It would ex-

plain why he’s so rich. Is he deeply religious? Is he impotent? Surely not, he could prove

that to me right now. Oh my.I flush scarlet thinking about the possibilities. This is getting me nowhere. I’d like to solve the riddle that is Christian Grey sooner rather than later. If it

means that whatever secret he has is so gross that I don’t want to know him any more then,

quite frankly, it will be a relief. Don’t lie to yourself – my subconscious yells at me– it’ll

have to be pretty bloody bad to have you running for the hills.

“Tonight.”

He raises an eyebrow.

“Like Eve, you’re so quick to eat from the tree of knowledge,” he smirks.

“Are you smirking at me, Mr. Grey?” I ask sweetly. Pompous ass.

He narrows his eyes at me and picks up his BlackBerry. He presses one number.

“Taylor. I’m going to need Charlie Tango.”

Charlie Tango! Who’s he?

“From Portland at say twenty-thirty... No, standby at Escala… All night.”

All night!

“Yes. On call tomorrow morning. I’ll pilot from Portland to Seattle.”

Pilot?

“Standby pilot from twenty-two-thirty.” He puts the phone down. No please or thank

you.“Do people always do what you tell them?”

“Usually, if they want to keep their jobs,” he says, deadpan.

“And if they don’t work for you?”

“Oh, I can be very persuasive, Anastasia. You should finish your breakfast. And then

I’ll drop you home. I’ll pick you up at Clayton’s at eight when you finish. We’ll fly up to

Seattle.”

I blink at him rapidly.

“Fly?”

“Yes. I have a helicopter.”

I gape at him. I have my second date with Christian oh-so-mysterious Grey. From

coffee to helicopter rides. Wow.

“We’ll go by helicopter to Seattle?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

He grins wickedly.

“Because I can. Finish your breakfast.”

How can I eat now? I’m going to Seattle by helicopter with Christian Grey. And he

wants to bite my lip… I squirm at the thought

“Eat,” he says more sharply. “Anastasia, I have an issue with wasted food… eat.”

“I can’t eat all this.” I gape at what’s left on the table.

“Eat what’s on your plate. If you’d eaten properly yesterday, you wouldn’t be here, and

I wouldn’t be declaring my hand so soon.” His mouth sets in a grim line. He looks angry.

I frown and return to my now cold food. I’m too excited to eat, Christian. Don’t you

understand?My subconscious explains. But I’m too much of a coward to voice these

thoughts aloud, especially when he looks so sullen. Hmm,like a small boy. I find the

thought amusing.

“What’s so funny?” he asks. I shake my head, not daring tell him and keep my eyes

on my food. Swallowing my last piece of pancake, I peek up at him. He’s eyeing me

speculatively.

“Good girl,” he says. “I’ll take you home when you’ve dried your hair. I don’t want

you getting ill.” There’s some kind of unspoken promise in his words. What does he

mean?I leave the table, wondering for a moment if I should ask permission but dismissing

the idea. Sounds like a dangerous precedent to set. I head back to his bedroom. A thought

stops me.

“Where did you sleep last night?” I turn to gaze at him still sitting in the dining room

chair. I can’t see any blankets or sheets out here – perhaps he’s had them tidied away.

“In my bed,” he says simply, his gaze impassive again.

“Oh.”

“Yes, it was quite a novelty for me too.” He smiles.

“Not having… sex.” There – I said the word. I blush – of course.

“No,” he shakes his head and frowns as if recalling something uncomfortable. “Sleep-

ing with someone.” He picks up his newspaper and continues to read.

What in heaven’s name does that mean? He’s never slept with anyone? He’s a vir-

gin? Somehow I doubt that. I stand staring at him in disbelief. He is the most mystifying

person I’ve ever met. And it dawns on me that I have slept with Christian Grey, and I kick

myself – what would I have given to be conscious to watch him sleep. See him vulnerable.

Somehow, I find that hard to imagine. Well, allegedly all will be revealed tonight.

In his bedroom, I hunt through a chest of drawers and find the hair dryer. Using my

fingers, I dry my hair the best I can. When I’ve finished, I head into the bathroom. I want

to clean my teeth. I eye Christian’s toothbrush. It would be like having him in my mouth.

Hmm… Glancing guiltily over my shoulder at the door, I feel the bristles on the toothbrush.

They are damp. He must have used it already. Grabbing it quickly, I squirt toothpaste on

it and brush my teeth in double quick time. I feel so naughty. It’s such a thrill.

Grabbing my t-shirt, bra, and panties from yesterday, I put them in the shopping bag

that Taylor brought and head back to the living area to hunt for my bag and jacket. Deep

joy, there is a hair tie in my bag. Christian is watching me as I tie my hair into a ponytail,

his expression unreadable. I feel his eyes follow me as I sit down and wait for him to finish.

He’s on his BlackBerry talking to someone.

“They want two?… How much will that cost?... Okay, and what safety measures do we

have in place?… And they’ll go via Suez?… How safe is Ben Sudan?... And when do they

arrive in Darfur?... Okay, let’s do it. Keep me abreast of progress.” He hangs up.

“Ready to go?”

I nod. I wonder what his conversation was about. He slips on a navy pinstriped jacket,

picks up his car keys, and heads for the door.

“After you, Miss Steele,” he murmurs, opening the door for me. He looks so casually

elegant.

I pause, fractionally too long, drinking in the sight of him. And to think I slept with

him last night and, after all the tequila and the throwing up, he’s still here. What’s more, he

wants to take me to Seattle. Why me? I don’t understand it. I head out the door recalling

his words – There’s something about you– Well the feeling is entirely mutual Mr. Grey,

and I aim to find out what it is.

We walk in silence down the corridor toward the elevator. As we wait, I peek up at

him through my lashes, and he looks out of the corner of his eyes down at me. I smile, and

his lips twitch.

The elevator arrives, and we step in. We’re alone. Suddenly, for some inexplica-

ble reason, possibly our proximity in such an enclosed space, the atmosphere between us

changes, charging with an electric, exhilarating anticipation. My breathing alters as my

heart races. His head turns fractionally toward me, his eyes darkest slate. I bite my lip.

“Oh, fuck the paperwork,” he growls. He lunges at me, pushing me against the wall

of the elevator. Before I know it, he’s got both of my hands in one of his in a vice-like grip

above my head, and he’s pinning me to the wall using his hips. Holy shit. His other hand

grabs my ponytail and yanks down, bringing my face up, and his lips are on mine. It’s

only just not painful. I moan into his mouth, giving his tongue an opening. He takes full

advantage, his tongue expertly exploring my mouth. I have never been kissed like this.

My tongue tentatively strokes his and joins his in a slow erotic dance that’s all about touch

and sensation, all bump and grind. He brings his hand up to grasp my chin and holds me

in place. I am helpless, my hands pinned, my face held, and his hips restraining me. . I feel

his erection against my belly. Oh my… He wants me. Christian Grey, Greek god, wants

me, and I want him,here… now, in the elevator.

“You. Are. So. Sweet,” he murmurs, each word a staccato.

The elevator stops, the doors open, and he pushes away from me in the blink of an eye,

leaving me hanging. Three men in business suits look at both of us and smirk as they climb

on board. My heart rate is through the roof, I feel like I’ve run an uphill race. I want to

lean over and grasp my knees… but that’s just too obvious.

I glance up at him. He looks so cool and calm, like he’s been doing the Seattle Times

crossword. How unfair.Is he totally unaffected by my presence? He glances at me out

of the corner of his eye, and he gently blows out a deep breath. Oh, he’s affected all right

– and my very small inner goddess sways in a gentle victorious samba. The businessmen

exit on the second floor. We have one more floor to travel.

“You’ve brushed your teeth,” he says, staring at me.

“I used your toothbrush,” I breathe.

His lips quirk up in a half smile.

“Oh, Anastasia Steele, what am I going to do with you?”

The doors open at the first floor, and he takes my hand and pulls me out.

“What is it about elevators?” he mutters, more to himself than to me as he strides

across the lobby. I struggle to keep pace with him because my wits have been thoroughly,

royally, scattered all over the floor and walls of elevator three in the Heathman Hotel.

Christian opens the passenger door to the black Audi SUV, and I clamber in. It’s a beast of

a car. He hasn’t mentioned the outburst of passion that exploded in the elevator. Should

I? Should we talk about it or pretend that it didn’t happen? It hardly seems real, my first

proper no-holds-barred kiss. As time ticks on, I assign it mythical, Arthurian legend, Lost

City of Atlantis status. It never happened, it never existed. Perhaps I imagined it all.No.

I touch my lips, swollen from his kiss. It definitely happened. I am a changed woman. I

want this man, desperately, and he wanted me.

I glance at him. Christian is his usual polite, slightly distant self.

How confusing.

He starts the engine and reverses out of his space in the parking lot. He switches on the

MP3 player. The car interior is filled with the sweetest, most magical music of two women

singing. Oh wow… all my senses are in disarray, so this is doubly affecting. It sends deli-

cious shivers up my spine. Christian pulls out on to SW Park Avenue, and he drives with

easy, lazy confidence.

“What are we listening to?”

“It’s the Flower Duet by Delibes, from the opera Lakmé. Do you like it?”

“Christian, it’s wonderful.”

“It is, isn’t it?” he grins, glancing at me. And for a fleeting moment, he seems his age;

young, carefree, and heart-stoppingly beautiful. Is this the key to him? Music? I sit and

listen to the angelic voices, teasing and seducing me.

“Can I hear that again?”

“Of course.” Christian pushes a button, and the music is caressing me once more. It’s

a gentle, slow, sweet, and sure assault on my aural senses.

“You like classical music?” I ask, hoping for a rare insight into his personal prefer-

ences.

“My taste is eclectic, Anastasia, everything from Thomas Tallis to the Kings of Leon.

It depends on my mood. You?”

“Me too. Though I don’t know who Thomas Tallis is.”

He turns and gazes at me briefly before his eyes are back on the road.

“I’ll play it for you sometime. He’s a sixteenth century British composer. Tudor,

church choral music.” Christian grins at me. “Sounds very esoteric, I know, but it’s also

magical, Anastasia.”

He presses a button, and the Kings of Leon start singing. Hmm… this I know. Sex on

Fire.How appropriate. The music is interrupted by the sound of a cell phone ringing over

the MP3 speakers. Christian hits a button on the steering wheel.

“Grey,” he snaps. He’s so brusque.

“Mr. Grey, it’s Welch here. I have the information you require.” A rasping, disembod-

ied voice comes over the speakers.

“Good. Email it to me. Anything to add?”

“No sir.”

He presses the button, then the call ceases and the music is back. No goodbye or

thanks. I’m so glad that I never seriously entertained the thought of working for him. I

shudder at the very idea. He’s just too controlling and cold with his employees. The music

cuts off again for the phone.

“Grey.”

“The NDA has been emailed to you, Mr. Grey.” A woman’s voice.

“Good. That’s all, Andrea.”

“Good day, sir.”

Christian hangs up by pressing a button on the steering wheel. The music is on very

briefly when the phone rings again. Holy hell, is this his life, constant nagging phone calls?

“Grey,” he snaps.

“Hi, Christian, d’you get laid?”

“Hello, Elliot – I’m on speaker phone, and I’m not alone in the car,” Christian sighs.

“Who’s with you?”

Christian rolls his eyes.

“Anastasia Steele.”

“Hi, Ana!”

Ana!

“Hello, Elliot.”

“Heard a lot about you,” Elliot murmurs huskily. Christian frowns.

“Don’t believe a word Kate says.”

Elliot laughs.

“I’m dropping Anastasia off now.” Christian emphasizes my name. “Shall I pick you

up?”“Sure.”

“See you shortly.” Christian hangs up, and the music is back.

“Why do you insist on calling me Anastasia?”

“Because it’s your name.”

“I prefer Ana.”

“Do you now?” he murmurs.

We are almost at my apartment. It’s not taken long.

“Anastasia,” he muses. I scowl at him, but he ignores my expression. “What happened

in the elevator – it won’t happen again, well, not unless it’s premeditated.”

He pulls up outside my duplex. I belatedly realize he’s not asked me where I live – yet

he knows. But then he sent the books, of course he knows where I live. What able, cell-

phone-tracking, helicopter owning, stalker wouldn’t.

Why won’t he kiss me again? I pout at the thought. I don’t understand. Honestly,

his surname should be Cryptic, not Grey. He climbs out of the car, walking with easy,

long-legged grace round to my side to open the door, ever the gentleman – except perhaps

in rare, precious moments in elevators. I flush at the memory of his mouth on mine, and

the thought that I’d been unable to touch him enters my mind. I wanted to run my fingers

through his decadent, untidy hair, but I’d been unable to move my hands. I am retrospec-

tively frustrated.

“I liked what happened in the elevator,” I murmur as I climb out of the car. I’m not sure

if I hear an audible gasp, but I choose to ignore it and head up the steps to the front door.

Kate and Elliot are sitting at our dining table. The fourteen-thousand-dollar books

have disappeared. Thank heavens. I have plans for them. She has the most un-Kate ridicu-

lous grin on her face, and she looks mussed up in a sexy kind of way. Christian follows me

into the living area, and in spite of her I’ve-been-having-a-good-time-all-night grin, Kate

eyes him suspiciously.

“Hi Ana.” She leaps up to hug me, then holds me at arm’s length so she can examine

me. She frowns and turns to Christian.

“Good morning, Christian,” she says, and her tone is a little hostile.

“Miss Kavanagh,” he says in his stiff formal way.

“Christian, her name is Kate,” Elliot grumbles.

“Kate.” Christian gives her a polite nod and glares at Elliot who grins and rises to hug

me too.

“Hi, Ana,” he smiles, his blue eyes twinkling, and I like him immediately. He’s obvi-

ously nothing like Christian, but then they’re adopted brothers.

“Hi, Elliot,” I smile at him, and I’m aware that I’m biting my lip.

“Elliot, we’d better go.” Christian says mildly.

“Sure.” He turns to Kate and pulls her into his arms and gives her a long lingering kiss.

Jeez… get a room.I stare at my feet, embarrassed. I glance up at Christian, and he’s

watching me intently. I narrow my eyes at him. Why can’t you kiss me like that? Elliot

continues to kiss Kate, sweeping her off her feet and dipping her in a dramatic hold so that

her hair touches the ground as he kisses her hard.

“Laters, baby,” he grins.

Kate just melts. I’ve never seen her melt before – the words comely and compliant

come to mind. Compliant Kate, boy, Elliot must be good. Christian rolls his eyes and

stares down at me, his expression unreadable, although maybe he’s mildly amused. He

tucks a stray strand of my hair that has worked its way free from my ponytail behind my

ear. My breath hitches at the contact, and I lean my head slightly into his fingers. His eyes

soften, and he runs his thumb across my lower lip. My blood sears in my veins. And all

too quickly, his touch is gone.

“Laters, baby,” he murmurs, and I have to laugh because it’s so unlike him. But even

though I know he’s being irreverent, the endearment tugs at something deep inside me.

“I’ll pick you up at eight.” He turns to leave, opening the front door and stepping out

on to the porch. Elliot follows him to the car but turns and blows Kate another kiss, and I

feel an unwelcome pang of jealousy.

“So, did you?” Kate asks as we watch them climb into the car and drive off, the burning

curiosity evident in her voice.

“No,” I snap irritably, hoping that will halt the questions. We head back into the apart-

ment. “You obviously did, though.” I can’t contain my envy. Kate always manages to

ensnare men. She is irresistible, beautiful, sexy, funny, forward… all the things that I’m

not. But her answering grin is infectious.

“And I’m seeing him again this evening.” She claps her hands and jumps up and down

like a small child. She cannot contain her excitement and happiness, and I can’t help but

feel happy for her. A happy Kate… this is going to be interesting.

“Christian is taking me to Seattle this evening.”

“Seattle?”

“Yes.”

“Maybe you will then?”

“Oh, I hope so.”

“You like him then?”

“Yes.”

“Like him enough to… ?”

“Yes.”

She raises her eyebrows.

“Wow. Ana Steele, finally falling for a man, and it’s Christian Grey – hot, sexy bil-

lionaire.”

“Oh yeah – it’s all about the money.” I smirk, and we both fall into a fit of giggles.

“Is that a new blouse?” she asks, and I let her have all the unexciting details about my

night.

“Has he kissed you yet?” she asks as she makes coffee.

I blush.

“Once.”

“Once!” she scoffs.

I nod, rather shame faced.

“He’s very reserved.”

She frowns.

“That’s odd.”

“I don’t think odd covers it really,” I murmur.

“We need to make sure you’re simply irresistible for this evening,” she says with de-

termination.

Oh no… this sounds like it will be time consuming, humiliating, and painful.

“I have to be at work in an hour.”

“I can work with that timeframe. Come on.” Kate grabs my hand and takes me into

her bedroom.

The day drags at Clayton’s even though we’re busy. We’ve hit the summer season, so I

have to spend two hours restocking the shelves once the shop is closed. It’s mindless work,

and it gives me too much time to think. I’ve not really had a chance all day.

Under Kate’s tireless and frankly intrusive instruction, my legs and underarms are

shaved to perfection, my eyebrows plucked, and I am buffed all over. It has been a most

unpleasant experience. But she assures me that this is what men expect these days. What

else will he expect? I have to convince Kate that this is what I want to do. For some

strange reason, she doesn’t trust him, maybe because he’s so stiff and formal. She says she

can’t put her finger on it, but I have promised to text her when I arrive in Seattle. I haven’t

told her about the helicopter, she’d freak.

I also have the José issue. He’s left three messages and seven missed calls on my cell.

He’s also called home twice. Kate has been very vague as to where I am. He’ll know she’s

covering for me. Kate doesn’t do vague. But I have decided to let him stew. I’m still too

angry with him.

Christian mentioned some kind of written paperwork, and I don’t know if he was jok-

ing or if I’m going to have to sign something. It’s so frustrating trying to guess. And on

top of all the angst, I can barely contain my excitement or my nerves. Tonight’s the night!

After all this time, am I ready for this? My inner goddess glares at me, tapping her small

foot impatiently. She’s been ready for this for years, and she’s ready for anything with

Christian Grey, but I still don’t understand what he sees in me… mousey Ana Steele – it

makes no sense.

He is punctual, of course, and waiting for me when I leave Clayton’s. He climbs out

of the back of the Audi to open the door and smiles warmly at me.

“Good evening, Miss Steele,” he says.

“Mr. Grey.” I nod politely to him as I climb into the backseat of the car. Taylor is sit-