Part II 9

Slowly, Christian eases The Grace out of her berthand toward the marina entrance. Behind us, a small crowdhas gathered on the dockside to watch our departure.Small children are wa一ving, and I wa一ve back.Christian glances over his shoulder, then pulls mebetween his legs and points out various dials and gadgetsin the cockpit. “Grab the wheel,” he orders, bossy as ever,but I do as I’m told.“Aye, aye, captain!” I giggle.Placing his hands snugly over mine, he continues tosteer our course out of the marina, and within a fewminutes, we are out on the open sea, slap into the coldminutes, we are out on the open sea, slap into the coldblue waters of Puget Sound. Away from the shelter of themarina’s protective wall, the wind is stronger, and the seapitches and rolls beneath us.I can’t help but grin, feeling Christian’s excitement—this is such fun. We make a large curve until we areheading west toward the Olympic Peninsula, the windbehind us.“Sail time,” Christian says, excited. “Here—you takeher. Keep her on this course.”What? He grins, reacting to the horror in my face.“Baby, it’s really easy. Hold the wheel and keep youreye on the horizon over the bow. You’ll do great; youalways do. When the sails go up, you’ll feel the drag. Justhold her steady. I’ll signal like this”—he makes a slashingmotion across his throat—“and you can cut the engines.This button here.” He points to a large black button.“Understand?”“Yes.” I nod frantically, feeling panicky. Jeez—Ihadn’t expected to do anything!He kisses me quickly, then he steps off his captain’schair and bounds up to the front of the boat to join Macwhere he starts unfurling sails, untying ropes, and operatingwinches and pulleys. They work well together in a team,shouting various nautical terms to each other, and it’swarming to see Fifty interacting with someone else in sucha carefree manner.Perhaps Mac is Fifty’s friend. He doesn’t seem toha一ve many, as far as I can tell, but then, I don’t ha一ve manyeither. Well, not here in Seattle. The only friend I ha一ve ison vacation sunning herself in St. James on the west coastof Barbados.I ha一ve a sudden pang for Kate. I miss my roommatemore than I thought I would when she left. I hope shechanges her mind and comes home with her brother Ethan,rather than prolong her stay with Christian’s brother Elliot.Christian and Mac hoist the mainsail. It fills and billowsout as the wind seizes it hungrily, and the boat lurchessuddenly, zipping forward. I feel it through the wheel.Whoa!Whoa!They get to work on the headsail, and I watchfascinated as it flies up the mast. The wind catches it,stretching it taut.“Hold her steady, baby, and cut the engines!” Christiancries out to me over the wind, motioning me to switch offthe engines. I can only just hear his voice, but I nodenthusiastically, gazing at the man I love, all windswept,exhilarated, and bracing himself against the pitch and yawof the boat.I press the button, the roar of the engines ceases, andThe Grace soars toward the Olympic Peninsula, skimmingacross the water as if she’s flying. I want to yell andscream and cheer—this has to be one of the mostexhilarating experiences of my life—except perhaps theglider, and maybe the Red Room of Pain.Holy cow, this boat can move! I stand firm, graspingthe wheel, fighting the rudder, and Christian is behind meonce more, his hands on mine.“What do you think?” he shouts above the sound of“What do you think?” he shouts above the sound ofthe wind and the sea.“Christian! This is fantastic.”He beams, grinning from ear to ear. “You wait until thespinney’s up.” He points with his chin toward Mac, who isunfurling the spinnaker—a sail that’s a dark, rich red. Itreminds me of the walls in the playroom.“Interesting color,” I shout.He gives me a wolfish grin and winks. Oh, it’sdeliberate.The spinney balloons out—a large, odd elliptical shape—putting The Grace in overdrive. Finding her head, shespeeds over the Sound.“Asymmetrical sail. For speed.” Christian answers myunasked question.“It’s amazing.” I can think of nothing better to say. Iha一ve the most ridiculous grin on my face as we whipthrough the water, heading for the majesty of the OlympicMountains and Bainbridge Island. Glancing back, I seeSeattle shrinking behind us, Mount Rainier in the fardistance.I had not really appreciated how beautiful and ruggedSeattle’s surrounding landscape is—verdant, lush, andtemperate, tall evergreens and cliff faces jutting out hereand there. It has a wild but serene beauty on this glorioussunny afternoon that takes my breath away. The stillness isstunning compared to our speed as we whip across thewater.“How fast are we going?”“She’s doing 15 knots.”“I ha一ve no idea what that means.”“It’s about 17 miles an hour.”“Is that all? It feels much faster.”He squeezes my hands, smiling. “You look lovely,Anastasia. It’s good to see some color in your cheeks . . .and not from blushing. You look like you do in José’sphotos.”I turn and kiss him.“You know how to show a girl a good time, Mr.Grey.”Grey.”“We aim to please, Miss Steele.” He scoops my hairout of the way and kisses the back of my neck, sendingdelicious tingles down my spine. “I like seeing you happy,”he murmurs and tightens his arms around me.I gaze out over the wide blue water, wondering what Icould possibly ha一ve done in the past to ha一ve fortune smileand deliver this beautiful man to me.Yes, you’re a lucky bitch, my subconscious snaps.But you ha一ve your work cut out with him. He’s notgoing to want this vanilla crap forever . . . you’regoing to ha一ve to compromise. I glare mentally at hersnarky, insolent face and rest my head against Christian’schest. But deep down I know my subconscious is right,but I banish the thoughts. I don’t want to spoil my day.An hour later, we are anchored in a small, secluded coveoff Bainbridge Island. Mac has gone ashore in theinflatable—for what, I don’t know—but I ha一ve myinflatable—for what, I don’t know—but I ha一ve mysuspicions because as soon as Mac starts the outboardengine, Christian grabs my hand and practically drags meinto his cabin, a man with a mission.Now he stands before me, exuding his intoxicatingsensuality as his deft fingers make quick work of the strapson my lifejacket. He tosses it to one side and gazes intentlydown at me, eyes dark, dilated.I’m already lost and he’s barely touched me. He raiseshis hand to my face, and his fingers move down my chin,the column of my throat, my sternum, searing me with histouch, to the first button of my blue blouse.“I want to see you,” he breathes and dexterouslyundoes the button. Bending, he plants a soft kiss on myparted lips. I am panting and eager, aroused by the potentcombination of his captivating beauty, his raw sexuality inthe confines of this cabin, and the gentle sway of the boat.He stands back.“Strip for me,” he whispers, eyes burning.Oh my. I’m only too happy to comply. Not taking myOh my. I’m only too happy to comply. Not taking myeyes off his, I slowly undo each button, sa一voring hisscorching gaze. Oh, this is heady stuff. I can see his desire—it’s evident on his face . . . and elsewhere.I let my shirt fall to the floor and reach for the buttonon my jeans.“Stop,” he orders. “Sit.”I sit down on the edge of the bed, and in one fluidmovement he’s on his knees in front of me, undoing thelaces of first one and then the other sneaker, pulling eachoff, followed by my socks. He picks up my left foot andraising it, plants a soft kiss on the pad of my big toe, thengrazes his teeth against it.“Ah!” I moan as I feel the effect in my groin. He standsin one smooth move, holds his hand out to me, and pullsme up off the bed.“Continue,” he says and stands back to watch me.I ease the zipper of my jeans down and hook mythumbs in the waistband as I sashay then slide the denimdown my legs. A soft smile plays on his lips, but his eyesremain dark.And I don’t know if it’s because he made love to methis morning, and I mean really made love to me, gently,sweetly, or if it was his impassioned declaration—yes . . . Ido—but I don’t feel embarrassed at all. I want to be sexyfor this man. He deserves sexy—he makes me feel sexy.Okay, it’s new to me, but I’m learning under his experttutelage. And then again, so much is new to him, too. Itbalances the seesaw between us, a little, I think.I am wearing some of my new underwear—a whitelacy thong and matching bra—a designer brand with aprice tag to match. I step out of my jeans and stand therefor him in the lingerie he’s paid for, but I no longer feelcheap. I feel his.Reaching behind I unhook my bra, sliding the strapsdown my arms, and drop it on top of my blouse. Slowly, Islip my panties off, letting them fall to my ankles, and stepout of them, surprised by my grace.Standing before him, I am naked and unashamed, andI know it’s because he loves me. I no longer ha一ve to hide.I know it’s because he loves me. I no longer ha一ve to hide.He says nothing, just gazes at me. All I see is his desire, hisadoration even, and something else, the depth of his need—the depth of his love for me.He reaches down, lifts the hem of his cream-coloredsweater, and pulls it over his head, followed by his T-shirt,revealing his chest, never taking his bold gray eyes offmine. His shoes and socks follow before he grasps thebutton of his jeans.Reaching over, I whisper, “Let me.”His lips purse briefly into an ooh shape, and he smiles.“Be my guest.”I step toward him, slip my fearless fingers inside thewaistband of his jeans, and tug so he’s forced to take astep closer to me. He gasps involuntarily at my unexpectedaudacity then smiles down at me. I undo the button, butbefore I unzip him I let my fingers wander, tracing hiserection through the soft denim. He flexes his hips into mypalm and closes his eyes briefly, relishing my touch.“You’re getting so bold, Ana, so bra一ve,” he whispers“You’re getting so bold, Ana, so bra一ve,” he whispersand clasps my face with both hands, bending to kiss medeeply.I put my hands on his hips—half on his cool skin andhalf on the low-slung waistband of his jeans. “So are you,”I murmur against his lips as my thumbs rub slow circles onhis skin, and he smiles.“Getting there.”I move my hands to the front of his jeans and pulldown the zipper. My intrepid fingers move through hispubic hair to his erection, and I grasp him tightly.He makes a low sound in his throat, his sweet breathwashing over me, and he kisses me again, lovingly. As myhand moves over him, around him, stroking him, squeezinghim tightly, he puts his arms around me, his right hand flatagainst the middle of my back and his fingers spread. Hisleft hand is in my hair, holding me to his mouth.“Oh, I want you so much, baby,” he breathes, andsteps back suddenly to remove his jeans and boxers in oneswift, agile move. He is a fine, fine sight in or out ofclothes, every single inch of him.He is perfect. His beauty desecrated only by his scars,I think sadly. And they run so much deeper than his skin.“What’s wrong, Ana?” he murmurs and gently strokesmy cheek with his knuckles.“Nothing. Love me, now.”He pulls me into his arms, kissing me, twisting hishands into my hair. Our tongues entwined, he walks mebackward to the bed and gently lowers me onto it,following me down so that he’s lying by my side.He runs his nose along my jawline as my hands moveto his hair.“Do you ha一ve any idea how exquisite your scent is,Ana? It’s irresistible.”His words do what they always do—flame my blood,quicken my pulse—and he trails his nose down my throat,across my breasts, kissing me reverentially as he does.“You are so beautiful,” he murmurs, as he takes one ofmy nipples in his mouth and softly suckles.I moan as my body bows off the bed.I moan as my body bows off the bed.“Let me hear you, baby.”His hand trails down to my waist, and I glory in the feelof his touch, skin to skin—his hungry mouth at my breastsand his skilled long fingers caressing and stroking me,cherishing me. Moving over my hips, over my behind, anddown my leg to my knee, and all this time he’s kissing andsucking my breasts—oh my.Grasping my knee, he suddenly hitches my leg up,curling it over his hips, making me gasp, and I feel ratherthan see his responding grin against my skin. He rolls overso that I am astride him and hands me a foil packet.I shift back, taking him in my hands, and I just can’tresist him in all his glory. I bend and kiss him, taking him inmy mouth, swirling my tongue around him, then suckinghard. He groans and flexes his hips so that he’s deeper inmy mouth.Mmm . . . he tastes good. I want him inside me. I situp and gaze at him; he’s breathless, mouth open, watchingme intently.me intently.Hurriedly I tear open the condom and unroll it overhim. He holds out his hands for me. I take one and withmy other hand, position myself over him, then slowly claimhim as mine.He groans low in his throat, closing his eyes.The feel of him in me . . . stretching . . . filling me—I moan softly—it’s divine. He places his hands on my hipsand moves me up, down, and pushes into me. Oh . . . it’sso good.“Oh, baby,” he whispers, and suddenly he sits up sowe’re nose to nose, and the sensation is extraordinary—sofull. I gasp, grabbing his upper arms as he clasps my headin his hands and gazes into my eyes—his intense and gray,burning with desire.“Oh, Ana. What you make me feel,” he murmurs andkisses me passionately with fervent ardor. I kiss him back,dizzy with the delicious feeling of him buried deep insideme.“Oh, I love you,” I murmur. He groans as if pained tohear my whispered words and rolls over, taking me withhim without breaking our precious contact, so that I’mlying beneath him. I wrap my legs around his waist.He stares down at me with adoring wonder, and I amsure I mirror his expression as I reach up to caress hisbeautiful face. Very slowly, he starts to move, closing hiseyes as he does and moaning softly.The gentle sway of the boat and the peace and quiettranquility of the cabin are broken only by our mingledbreaths as he moves slowly in and out of me, so controlledand so good—it’s hea一venly. He puts his arm over myhead, his hand on my hair, and he caresses my face withthe other as he bends to kiss me.I’m cocooned by him, as he loves me, slowly movingin and out, sa一voring me. I touch him—sticking to theboundaries—his arms, his hair, his lower back, hisbeautiful behind—and my breathing accelerates as hissteady rhythm pushes me higher and higher. He’s kissingmy mouth, my chin, my jaw, then nibbling my ear. I canhear his staccato breaths with each gentle thrust of hishear his staccato breaths with each gentle thrust of hisbody.My body starts to quiver. Oh . . . This feeling that Inow know so well . . . I am close . . . Oh . . .“That’s right, baby . . . give it up for me . . . Please . . .Ana,” he murmurs and his words are my undoing.“Christian,” I call out, and he groans as we both cometogether.“Mac will be back soon,” he murmurs.“Hmm.” My eyes flicker open to meet his soft gray gaze.Lord, his eyes are an amazing color—especially here, outon the sea—reflecting the light bouncing off the waterthrough the small portholes into the cabin.“As much as I’d like to lie here with you all afternoon,he’ll need a hand with the dinghy.” Leaning over, Christiankisses me tenderly. “Ana, you look so beautiful right now,all mussed up and sexy. Makes me want you more.” Hesmiles and rises from the bed. I lay on my front admiringsmiles and rises from the bed. I lay on my front admiringthe view.“You ain’t so bad yourself, captain.” I smack my lips inadmiration and he grins.I watch him move gracefully about the cabin as hedresses. He really is divinely beautiful, and what’s more,he’s just made such sweet love to me again. I can hardlybelieve my good fortune. I can’t quite believe that this manis mine. He sits down beside me to put on his shoes.“Captain, eh?” he says dryly. “Well, I am master of thisvessel.”I cock my head to one side. “You are master of myheart, Mr. Grey.” And my body . . . and my soul.He shakes his head incredulously and bends to kissme. “I’ll be on deck. There’s a shower in the bathroom ifyou want one. Do you need anything? A drink?” he askssolicitously, and all I can do is grin at him. Is this the sameman? Is this the same Fifty?“What?” he says, reacting to my stupid grin.“You.”“You.”“What about me?”“Who are you and what ha一ve you done withChristian?”He lips twitch with a sad smile.“He’s not very far away, baby,” he says softly, andthere’s a touch of melancholy in his voice that makes meinstantly regret asking the question. But he shakes it off.“You’ll see him soon enough”—he smirks at me—“especially if you don’t get up.” Reaching over, hesmacks me hard on my behind so I yelp and laugh at thesame time.“You had me worried.”“Did I, now?” Christian’s brow creases. “You do giveoff some mixed signals, Anastasia. How’s a man supposedto keep up?” He leans down and kisses me again. “Laters,baby,” he adds, and with a dazzling smile, he gets up andlea一ves me to my scattered thoughts.When I surface on deck, Mac is back on board, but hedisappears onto the upper deck as I open the saloondoors. Christian is on his Blackberry. Talking to whom? Iwonder. He wanders over and pulls me close, kissing myhair.“Great news . . . good. Yeah . . . Really? The fireescape stairwell? . . . I see . . . Yes, tonight.”He hits the end button, and the sound of the enginesfiring up startles me. Mac must be in the cockpit above.“Time to head back,” Christian says, kissing me oncemore as he straps me into my lifejacket.The sun is low in the sky behind us as we make our wayback to the marina, and I reflect on a wonderful afternoon.Under Christian’s careful, patient tuition, I ha一ve nowstowed a mainsail, a headsail, and a spinnaker and learnedto tie a reef knot, clove hitch, and sheepshank. His lipswere twitching throughout the lesson.“I may tie you up one day,” I mutter crabbily.His mouth twists with humor. “You’ll ha一ve to catch mefirst, Miss Steele.”His words bring to mind him chasing me round theapartment, the thrill, then the hideous aftermath. I frownand shudder. After that, I left him.Would I lea一ve him again now that he’s admitted heloves me? I gaze up into his clear gray eyes. Could I everlea一ve him again—no matter what he did to me? Could Ibetray him like that? No. I don’t think I could.He’s given me a more thorough tour of this beautifulboat, explaining all the innovative designs and techniques,and the high-quality materials used to build it. I rememberthe interview when I first met him. I picked up then on hispassion for ships. I thought his love was only for theocean-going freighters his company builds—not for supersexy,sleek catamarans, too.And, of course, he’s made sweet, unhurried love tome. I shake my head, remembering my body bowed andwanting beneath his expert hands. He is an exceptionalwanting beneath his expert hands. He is an exceptionallover, I’m sure—though, of course, I ha一ve no comparison.But Kate would ha一ve ra一ved more if it was always like this;it’s not like her to hold back on details.But how long will this be enough for him? I just don’tknow, and the thought is unnerving.Now he sits, and I stand in the safe circle of his armsfor hours, it seems, in comfortable, companionable silenceas The Grace glides closer and closer to Seattle. I ha一vethe wheel, Christian advising on adjustments every sooften.“There is poetry in sailing as old as the world,” hemurmurs in my ear.“That sounds like a quote.”I sense his grin. “It is. Antoine de Saint-Exupéry.”“Oh . . . I adore The Little Prince.”“Me, too.”It is early evening as Christian, his hands still on mine,It is early evening as Christian, his hands still on mine,steers us into the marina. There are lights winking from theboats, reflecting off the dark water, but it is still light—abalmy, bright evening, an overture for what is sure to be aspectacular sunset.A crowd gathers on the dockside as Christian slowlyturns the boat around in a relatively small space. He does itwith ease and reverses smoothly into the same berth weleft earlier. Mac jumps on to the dock and ties The Gracesecurely to a bollard.“Back again,” Christian murmurs.“Thank you,” I murmur shyly. “That was a perfectafternoon.”Christian grins. “I thought so, too. Perhaps we canenroll you in sailing school, so we can go out for a fewdays, just the two of us.”“I’d love that. We can christen the bedroom again andagain.”He leans forward and kisses me under my ear.“Hmm . . . I look forward to it, Anastasia,” he whispers,making every single hair follicle on my body stand toattention.How does he do that?“Come, the apartment is clean. We can go back.”“What about our things at the hotel?”“Taylor has collected them already.”Oh! When?“Earlier today, after he did a sweep of The Grace withhis team.” Christian answers my unspoken question.“Does that poor man ever sleep?”“He sleeps.” Christian quirks an eyebrow at me,puzzled. “He’s just doing his job, Anastasia, which he’svery good at. Jason is a real find.”“Jason?”“Jason Taylor.”I remember when I thought Taylor was his first name.Jason. It suits him—solid, reliable. For some reason itmakes me smile.“You’re fond of Taylor,” Christian says, eyeing mewith speculation.with speculation.“I suppose I am.” His question derails me. He frowns.“I’m not attracted to him, if that’s why you’re frowning.Stop.”Christian is almost pouting—sulky.Jeez, he’s such a child sometimes. “I think Taylorlooks after you very well. That’s why I like him. He seemskind, reliable and loyal. He has an a一vuncular appeal tome.”“Avuncular?”“Yes.”“Okay, a一vuncular.” Christian is testing the word andmeaning. I laugh.“Oh, Christian, grow up, for hea一ven’s sake.”His mouth drops open, surprised by my outburst, butthen he frowns as if considering my statement. “I’m trying,”he says eventually.“That you are. Very.” I answer softly but then roll myeyes at him.“What memories you evoke when you roll your eyes at“What memories you evoke when you roll your eyes atme, Anastasia.” He grins.I smirk at him. “Well, if you beha一ve yourself, maybewe can relive some of those memories.”His mouth twists with humor. “Beha一ve myself?” Heraises his eyebrows. “Really, Miss Steele—what makesyou think I want to relive them?”“Probably the way your eyes lit up like Christmaswhen I said that.”“You know me so well already,” he says dryly.“I’d like to know you better.”He smiles softly. “And I you, Anastasia.”“Thanks, Mac.” Christian shakes McConnell’s hand andsteps on the dock.“Always a pleasure, Mr. Grey, and good-bye. Ana,great to meet you.”I shake his hand shyly. He must know what Christianand I were up to on the boat while he went ashore.“Good day, Mac, and thank you.”He grins at me and winks, making me flush. Christiantakes my hand, and we walk up the dock to the marina’spromenade.“Where’s Mac from?” I ask, curious about his accent.“Ireland . . . Northern Ireland,” Christian correctshimself.“Is he your friend?”“Mac? He works for me. Helped build The Grace.”“Do you ha一ve many friends?”He frowns. “Not really. Doing what I do . . . I don’tcultivate friendships. There’s only—” He stops, his frowndeepening, and I know he was going to mention Mrs.Robinson.“Hungry?” he asks, trying to change the subject.I nod. Actually, I’m famished.“We’ll eat where I left the car. Come.”Next to SP’s is a small Italian bistro called Bee’s. Itreminds me of the place in Portland—a few tables andbooths, the décor very crisp and modern with a largeblack and white photograph of a turn-of-the-century fiestaserving as a mural.Christian and I are seated in a booth, poring over themenu and sipping a delicious light Frascati. When I glanceup from the menu, ha一ving made my choice, Christian isgazing at me speculatively.“What?” I ask.“You look lovely, Anastasia. The outdoors agrees withyou.”I flush. “I feel rather wind-burned to tell the truth. But Ihad a lovely afternoon. A perfect afternoon. Thank you.”He smiles, his eyes warm. “My pleasure,” he murmurs.“Can I ask you something?” I decide on a fact-findingmission.“Anything, Anastasia. You know that.” He cocks hishead to one side, looking delicious.“You don’t seem to ha一ve many friends. Why is that?”“You don’t seem to ha一ve many friends. Why is that?”He shrugs and frowns. “I told you, I don’t really ha一vetime. I ha一ve business associates—though that’s verydifferent from friendships, I suppose. I ha一ve my family andthat’s it. Apart from Elena.”I ignore the mention of the bitch-troll. “No male friendsyour own age that you can go out with and let off steam?”“You know how I like to let off steam, Anastasia.”Christian’s mouth twists. “And I’ve been working, buildingup the business.” He looks puzzled. “That’s all I do—except sail and fly occasionally.”“Not even in college?”“Not really.”“Just Elena, then?”He nods, his expression wary.“Must be lonely.”His lips curl in a small wistful smile. “What would youlike to eat?” he asks, changing the subject again.“I’m going for the risotto.”“Good choice.” Christian summons the waiter, putting“Good choice.” Christian summons the waiter, puttingan end to that conversation.After we’ve placed our order, I shift uncomfortably inmy seat, staring at my knotted fingers. If he’s in a talkingmood, I need to take advantage.I ha一ve to talk to him about his expectations, about his,um . . . needs.“Anastasia, what’s wrong? Tell me.”I glance up into his concerned face.“Tell me,” he says more forcefully, and his concernevolves into what? Fear? Anger?I take a deep breath. “I’m just worried that this isn’tenough for you. You know, to let off steam.”His jaw tenses and his eyes harden. “Ha一ve I given youany indication that this isn’t enough?”“No.”“Then why do you think that?”“I know what you’re like. What you . . . um . . . need,”I stutter.He closes his eyes and rubs his forehead with longfingers.“What do I ha一ve to do?” His voice is ominously soft asif he’s angry, and my heart sinks.“No, you misunderstand—you ha一ve been amazing, andI know it’s just been a few days, but I hope I’m notforcing you to be someone you’re not.”“I’m still me, Anastasia—in all my fifty shades offuckedupness. Yes, I ha一ve to fight the urge to becontrolling . . . but that’s my nature, how I’ve dealt withmy life. Yes, I expect you to beha一ve a certain way, andwhen you don’t it’s both challenging and refreshing. Westill do what I like to do. You let me spank you after youroutrageous bid yesterday.” He smiles fondly at thememory. “I enjoy punishing you. I don’t think the urge willever go . . . but I’m trying, and it’s not as hard as I thoughtit would be.”I squirm and flush, remembering our illicit tryst in hischildhood bedroom. “I didn’t mind that,” I whisper, smilingshyly.“I know.” His lips curl in a reluctant smile. “Neither did“I know.” His lips curl in a reluctant smile. “Neither didI. But let me tell you, Anastasia, this is all new to me andthese last few days ha一ve been the best in my life. I don’twant to change anything.”Oh!“They’ve been the best in my life, too, withoutexception,” I murmur and his smile broadens. My innergoddess nods frantically in agreement—and nudges mehard. Okay, okay.“So you don’t want to take me into your playroom?”He swallows and pales, all trace of humor gone. “No, Idon’t.”“Why not?” I whisper. This is not the answer Iexpected.And yes, there it is, that little pinch of disappointment.My inner goddess stomps off pouting, her arms crossedlike an angry toddler.“The last time we were in there you left me,” he saysquietly. “I will shy away from anything that could make youlea一ve me again. I was devastated when you left. Ilea一ve me again. I was devastated when you left. Iexplained that. I never want to feel like that again. I’ve toldyou how I feel about you.” His gray eyes are wide andintense with his sincerity.“But it hardly seems fair. It can’t be very relaxing foryou—to be constantly concerned about how I feel.You’ve made all these changes for me, and I . . . I think Ishould reciprocate in some way. I don’t know—maybe . . . try . . . some role-playing games,” I stutter, myface as crimson as the walls of the playroom.Why is this so hard to talk about? I ha一ve done allmanner of kinky fuckery with this man, things I hadn’t evenheard of a few weeks ago, things that I would never ha一vethought possible, yet the hardest of all is talking to him.“Ana, you do reciprocate, more than you know.Please, please don’t feel like this.”Gone is carefree Christian. His eyes are wider nowwith alarm, and it’s gut-wrenching. “Baby, it’s only beenone weekend,” he continues. “Give us some time. Ithought a great deal about us last week when you left. Weneed time. You need to trust me, and I you. Maybe in timewe can indulge, but I like how you are now. I like seeingyou this happy, this relaxed and carefree, knowing that Ihad something to do with it. I ha一ve never—” He stops andruns his hand through his hair. “We ha一ve to walk beforewe can run.” Suddenly he smirks.“What’s so funny?”“Flynn. He says that all the time. I never thought I’d bequoting him.”“A Flynnism.”Christian laughs. “Exactly.”The waiter arrives with our starters and bruschetta, andour conversation changes tack as Christian relaxes.But when the unfeasibly large plates are placed beforeus, I can’t help think how I ha一ve thought of Christian today—relaxed, happy and carefree. At least he’s laughing now,at ease again.I breathe an inward sigh of relief as he starts quizzingme about places I’ve been. This is a short discussion, sinceI ha一ve never been anywhere except the continental US.I ha一ve never been anywhere except the continental US.Christian, on the other hand, has tra一veled the world. Weslip into an easier, happier conversation, talking about allthe places he’s visited.After our tasty and filling meal, Christian drives back toEscala, Eva Cassidy’s gentle sweet voice singing over thespeakers. It allows me a peaceful interlude in which tothink. I ha一ve had a mind-blowing day. Dr. Greene, ourshower, Christian’s admission, making love at the hoteland on the boat, buying the car. Even Christian himself hasbeen so different. It’s as if he’s letting go of something orrediscovering something—I don’t know.Who knew he could be so sweet? Did he?When I glance at him, he, too, looks lost in thought. Itstrikes me then that he never really had an adolescence—anormal one anyway. I shake my head.My mind drifts back to the ball and dancing with Dr.Flynn and Christian’s fear that Flynn had told me all aboutFlynn and Christian’s fear that Flynn had told me all abouthim. Christian is still hiding something from me. How canwe move on if he feels that way?He thinks I might lea一ve if I know him. He thinks that Imight lea一ve if he’s himself. Oh, this man is socomplicated.As we get closer to his home, he starts radiatingtension until it becomes palpable. As we drive, he scansthe sidewalks and side alleys, his eyes darting everywhere,and I know he’s looking for Leila. I start looking, too.Every young brunette is a suspect, but we don’t see her.When he pulls into the garage, his mouth is set in atense, grim line. I wonder why we’ve come back here ifhe’s going to be so wary and uptight. Sawyer is in thegarage, patrolling. The defiled Audi is gone. He comes toopen my door as Christian pulls in beside the SUV.“Hello, Sawyer,” I murmur my greeting.“Miss Steele.” He nods. “Mr. Grey.”“No sign?” Christian asks.“No, sir.”Christian nods, grasps my hand, and heads for theelevator. I know his brain is working overtime—he’sdistracted. Once we’re inside he turns to me.“You are not allowed out of here alone. Youunderstand?” he snaps.“Okay.” Jeez—keep your hair on. But his attitudemakes me smile. I want to hug myself—now this man, alldomineering and short with me I know. I marvel that Iwould ha一ve found it so threatening only a week or so agowhen he spoke to me this way. But now, I understand himso much better. This is his coping mechanism. He’sstressed about Leila, he loves me, and he wants to protectme.“What’s so funny?” he murmurs, a hint of amusementin his expression.“You are.”“Me? Miss Steele? Why am I funny?” he pouts.Christian pouting is . . . hot.“Don’t pout.”“Why?” He’s even more amused.“Why?” He’s even more amused.“Because it has the same effect on me as I ha一ve on youwhen I do this.” I bite my lip deliberately.He raises his eyebrows, surprised and pleased at thesame time. “Really?” He pouts again and leans down togive me a swift chaste kiss.I raise my lips to meet his, and in the nanosecond whenour lips touch, the nature of the kiss changes—wildfirespreading through my veins from this intimate point ofcontact, driving me to him.Suddenly, my fingers are curling in his hair as he grabsme and pushes me against the elevator wall, his handsframing my face, holding me to his lips as our tonguesthrash against each other. And I don’t know if it’s theconfines of the elevator making everything much more real,but I feel his need, his anxiety, his passion.Holy shit. I want him, here, now.The elevator pings to a halt, the doors slide open, andChristian drags his face from mine, his hips still pinning meto the wall, his erection digging into me.to the wall, his erection digging into me.“Whoa,” he murmurs panting.“Whoa,” I mirror him, dragging a welcome breath intomy lungs.He gazes at me, eyes blazing. “What you do to me,Ana.” He traces my lower lip with his thumb.Out of the corner of my eye, Taylor steps backwardso he’s no longer in my line of sight. I reach up and kissChristian at the corner of his beautifully sculptured mouth.“What you do to me, Christian.”He steps back and takes my hand, his eyes darkernow, hooded. “Come,” he orders.Taylor is still in the foyer, waiting discreetly for us.“Good evening, Taylor,” Christian says cordially.“Mr. Grey, Miss Steele.”“I was Mrs. Taylor yesterday.” I grin at Taylor, whoflushes.“That has a nice ring to it, Miss Steele,” Taylor saysmatter-of-factly.“I thought so, too.”Christian tightens his hold on my hand, scowling. “Ifyou two ha一ve quite finished, I’d like a debrief.” He glaresat Taylor, who now looks uncomfortable, and I cringeinwardly. I ha一ve overstepped the mark.“Sorry,” I mouth at Taylor, who shrugs and smileskindly before I turn to follow Christian.“I’ll be with you shortly. I just want a word with MissSteele,” Christian says to Taylor, and I know I’m introuble.Christian leads me into his bedroom and closes thedoor.“Don’t flirt with the staff, Anastasia,” he scolds.I open my mouth to defend myself—then close it again,then open it. “I wasn’t flirting. I was being friendly—thereis a difference.”“Don’t be friendly with the staff or flirt with them. Idon’t like it.”Oh. Good-bye, carefree Christian. “I’m sorry,” Imutter and stare down at my fingers. He hasn’t made mefeel like a child all day. Reaching down he cups my chin,feel like a child all day. Reaching down he cups my chin,pulling my head up to meet his eyes.“You know how jealous I am,” he whispers.“You ha一ve no reason to be jealous, Christian. Youown me body and soul.”He blinks as if he’s finding this fact hard to process. Heleans down and kisses me quickly, but with none of thepassion we experienced a moment ago in the elevator.“I won’t be long. Make yourself at home,” he sayssulkily and turns, lea一ving me standing in his bedroom,dazed and confused.Why on earth would he be jealous of Taylor? Ishake my head in disbelief.Glancing at the alarm clock, I notice it’s just after eight.I decide to get my clothes ready for work tomorrow. Ihead upstairs to my room and open the walk-in closet. It’sempty. All the clothes ha一ve gone. Oh no! Christian hastaken me at my word and disposed of the clothes. Shit.My subconscious glares at me. Well, that will be youand your big mouth.and your big mouth.Why did he take me at my word? My mother’s advicecomes back to haunt me, “Men are so literal, darling.” Ipout, staring at the empty space. There were some lovelyclothes, too, like the silver dress I wore to the ball.I wander disconsolately into the bedroom, Wait amoment—what is going on? The iPad is gone. Where’smy Mac? Oh no. My first uncharitable thought is that Leilamay ha一ve stolen them.I fly back downstairs and back into Christian’sbedroom. On the bedside table are my Mac, my iPad, andmy satchel. It’s all here.I open the walk-in closet door. My clothes are here—all of them—sharing space with Christian’s clothes. Whendid this happen? Why does he never warn me before hedoes things like this?I turn, and he’s standing in the doorway.“Oh, they managed the move,” he mutters, distracted.“What’s wrong?” I ask. His face is grim.“Taylor thinks Leila was getting in through theemergency stairwell. She must ha一ve had a key. All thelocks ha一ve been changed now. Taylor’s team has done asweep of every room in the apartment. She’s not here.”He stops and runs a hand through his hair. “I wish I knewwhere she was. She’s evading all our attempts to find herwhen she needs help.” He frowns, and my earlier piquevanishes. I put my arms around him. Folding me into hisembrace, he kisses my hair.“What will you do when you find her?” I ask.“Dr. Flynn has a place.”“What about her husband?”“He’s washed his hands of her.” Christian’s tone isbitter. “Her family is in Connecticut. I think she’s verymuch on her own out there.”“That’s sad.”“Are you okay with all your stuff being here? I wantyou to share my room,” he murmurs.Whoa, quick change of direction.“Yes.”“I want you sleeping with me. I don’t ha一ve nightmares“I want you sleeping with me. I don’t ha一ve nightmareswhen you’re with me.”“You ha一ve nightmares?”“Yes.”I tighten my hold around him. Holy cow. Morebaggage. My heart contracts for this man.“I was just getting my clothes ready for worktomorrow,” I mutter.“Work!” Christian exclaims as if it’s a dirty word, andhe releases me, glaring.“Yes, work,” I reply, confused by his reaction.He stares at me with complete incomprehension. “ButLeila—she’s out there,” he pauses. “I don’t want you togo to work.”What? “That’s ridiculous, Christian. I ha一ve to go towork.”“No, you don’t.”“I ha一ve a new job, which I enjoy. Of course I ha一ve togo to work.” What does he mean?“No, you don’t,” he repeats, emphatically.“No, you don’t,” he repeats, emphatically.“Do you think I am going to stay here twiddling mythumbs while you’re off being Master of the Universe?”“Frankly . . . yes.”Oh, Fifty, Fifty, Fifty . . . give me strength.“Christian, I need to go to work.”“No, you don’t.”“Yes. I. Do.” I say it slowly as if he’s a child.He scowls at me. “It’s not safe.”“Christian . . . I need to work for a living, and I’ll befine.”“No, you don’t need to work for a living—and how doyou know you’ll be fine?” He’s almost shouting.What does he mean? He’s going to support me? Oh,this is beyond ridiculous—I’ve known him for what—fiveweeks?He’s angry now, his gray eyes stormy and flashing, butI don’t give a shit.“For hea一ven’s sake, Christian, Leila was standing atthe end of your bed, and she didn’t harm me, and yes, Ido need to work. I don’t want to be beholden to you. Iha一ve my student loans to pay.”His mouth presses into a grim line, as I place my handson my hips. I am not budging on this. Who the fuck doeshe think he is?“I don’t want you going to work.”“It’s not up to you, Christian. This is not your decisionto make.”He runs his hand through his hair as he stares at me.Seconds, minutes tick by as we glare at each other.“Sawyer will come with you.”“Christian, that’s not necessary. You’re beingirrational.”“Irrational?” he growls. “Either he comes with you, or Iwill be really irrational and keep you here.”He wouldn’t, would he? “How, exactly?”“Oh, I’d find a way, Anastasia. Don’t push me.”“Okay!” I concede, holding up both my hands,placating him. Holy fuck—Fifty is back with avengeance.vengeance.We stand, scowling at each other.“Okay—Sawyer can come with me if it makes you feelbetter.” I concede rolling my eyes. Christian narrows hisand takes a menacing step in my direction. I immediatelystep back. He stops and takes a deep breath, closes hiseyes, and runs both his hands through his hair. Oh no. Fiftyis well and truly wound up.“Shall I give you a tour?”A tour? Are you kidding me? “Okay,” I mutterwarily. Another change of tack—Mr. Mercurial is back intown. He holds out his hand and when I take it, hesqueezes mine softly.“I didn’t mean to frighten you.”“You didn’t. I was just getting ready to run,” I quip.“Run?” Christian eyes widen.“I’m joking!” Oh jeez.He leads me out of the closet, and I take a moment tocalm down. Adrenaline is still coursing through my body.A fight with Fifty is not to be undertaken lightly.A fight with Fifty is not to be undertaken lightly.He gives me a tour of the apartment, showing me thevarious rooms. Along with the playroom and three sparebedrooms upstairs, I’m intrigued to find that Taylor andMrs. Jones ha一ve a wing to themselves—a kitchen,spacious living area, and a bedroom each. Mrs. Jones hasnot yet returned from visiting her sister who lives inPortland.Downstairs, the room that catches my eye is oppositehis study—a TV room with a too-large plasma screen andassorted games consoles. It’s cozy.“So you do ha一ve an Xbox?” I smirk.“Yes, but I’m crap at it. Elliot always beats me. Thatwas funny, when you thought I meant this room was myplayroom.” He grins down at me his snit-fit forgotten.Thank hea一vens he’s recovered his good mood.“I’m glad you find me amusing, Mr. Grey,” I respondhaughtily.“That you are, Miss Steele—when you’re not beingexasperating, of course.”“I’m usually exasperating when you’re beingunreasonable.”“Me? Unreasonable?”“Yes, Mr. Grey. Unreasonable could be your middlename.”“I don’t ha一ve a middle name.”“Unreasonable would suit then.”“I think that’s a matter of opinion, Miss Steele.”“I would be interested in Dr. Flynn’s professionalopinion.”Christian smirks.“I thought Trevelyan was your middle name.”“No. Surname.”“But you don’t use it.”“It’s too long. Come,” he commands. I follow him outof the TV room through the great room to the maincorridor past the utility room and an impressive wine cellarand into Taylor’s own large, well-equipped office. Taylorstands when we enter. There’s room in here for a meetingtable that seats six. Above one desk is a bank of monitors.table that seats six. Above one desk is a bank of monitors.I had no idea the apartment had CCTV. It appears tomonitor the balcony, stairwell, service elevator, and foyer.“Hi, Taylor. I’m just giving Anastasia a tour.”Taylor nods but doesn’t smile. I wonder if he’s beentold off, too, and why is he still working? When I smile athim, he nods politely. Christian grabs my hand once moreand leads me to the library.“And, of course, you’ve been in here.” Christian opensthe door. I spy the green baize of the billiard table.“Shall we play?” I ask. Christian smiles, surprised.“Okay. Ha一ve you played before?”“A few times,” I lie, and he narrows his eyes, cockinghis head to one side.“You’re a hopeless liar, Anastasia. Either you’ve neverplayed before or—”I lick my lips. “Frightened of a little competition?”“Frightened of a little girl like you?” Christian scoffsgood-naturedly.“A wager, Mr. Grey.”“A wager, Mr. Grey.”“You’re that confident, Miss Steele?” He smirks,amused and incredulous at once. “What would you like towager?”“If I win, you’ll take me back into the playroom.”He gazes at me as if he can’t quite comprehend whatI’ve said. “And if I win?” he asks after several shellshockedbeats.“Then it’s your choice.”His mouth twists as he contemplates his answer.“Okay, deal.” He smirks. “Do you want to play pool,English snooker or carom billiards?”“Pool, please. I don’t know the others.”From a cupboard beneath one of the bookshelves,Christian takes out a large leather case. Inside the poolballs are nested in velvet. Quickly and efficiently, he racksthe balls on the baize. I don’t think I’ve ever played poolon such a large table before. Christian hands me a cue andsome chalk.“Would you like to break?” He feigns politeness. He’senjoying himself—he thinks he’s going to win.“Okay.” I chalk the end of my cue, and blow theexcess chalk off—staring up at Christian through mylashes. His eyes darken as I do.