Part II 17

Miss Kelly leads us into the master suite where fullheight windows open onto a balcony, and the view is stillspectacular. I could sit in bed and gaze out all day,watching the sailing boats and the changing weather.There are five additional bedrooms on this floor. Jeez—kids. I push the thought hastily to one side. I ha一ve toomuch to process already. Miss Kelly is busily suggesting toChristian how the grounds could accommodate ridingstables and a paddock. Horses! Terrifying images of myfew riding lessons flash through my mind, but Christiandoesn’t appear to be listening.“The paddock would be where the meadow is at themoment?” I ask.“Yes,” Miss Kelly says brightly.“Yes,” Miss Kelly says brightly.To me the meadow looks like somewhere to lie in thelong grass and ha一ve picnics, not for some four-legged fiendof Satan to roam.Back in the main room, Miss Kelly discreetlydisappears, and Christian leads me out once more onto theterrace. The sun has set and lights from the towns on theOlympic peninsula are twinkling on the far side of theSound.Christian pulls me into his arms and tips my chin upwith his index finger, staring intently down at me.“Lot to take in?” he asks, his expression unreadable.I nod.“I wanted to check you liked it before I bought it.”“The view?”He nods.“I love the view, and I like the house that’s here.”“You do?”I smile shyly at him. “Christian, you had me at themeadow.”His lips part as he inhales sharply, then his facetransforms with a grin, and his hands are suddenly fistinginto my hair and his mouth is on mine.Back in the car as we head for Seattle, Christian’s moodhas lifted considerably.“So you’re going to buy it?” I ask.“Yes.”“You’ll put Escala on the market?”He frowns. “Why would I do that?”“To pay for . . .” My voice trails off—of course. Iflush.He smirks at me. “Trust me, I can afford it.”“Do you like being rich?”“Yes. Show me someone who doesn’t,” he saysdarkly.Okay, get off that subject quickly.“Anastasia, you’re going to ha一ve to learn to be rich,too, if you say yes,” he says softly.“Wealth isn’t something I’ve ever aspired to,Christian.” I frown.“I know. I love that about you. But then you’ve neverbeen hungry,” he says simply. His words are sobering.“Where are we going?” I ask brightly, changing thesubject.“To celebrate.” Christian relaxes.Oh! “Celebrate what, the house?”“Ha一ve you forgotten already? Your acting editor role.”“Oh yes.” I grin. Unbelievably, I had forgotten.“Where?”“Up high at my club.”“Your club?”“Yes. One of them.”The Mile High Club is on the seventy-sixth floor ofColumbia Tower, higher even than Christian’s apartment.Columbia Tower, higher even than Christian’s apartment.It’s very now and has the most head-spinning views overSeattle.“Cristal, ma’am?” Christian hands me a glass of chilledchampagne as I sit perched on a barstool.“Why thank you, sir.” I stress the last wordflirtatiously, batting my eyelashes at him deliberately.He gazes at me and his face darkens. “Are you flirtingwith me, Miss Steele?”“Yes, Mr. Grey, I am. What are you going to do aboutit?”“I’m sure I can think of something,” he says, his voicelow. “Come—our table’s ready.”As we approach the table, Christian stops me, his handon my elbow.“Go and take your panties off,” he whispers.Oh? A delicious tingle runs down my spine.“Go,” he commands quietly.Whoa, what? I blink up at him. He’s not smiling—he’sdead serious. Every muscle below my waistline tightens. Ihand him my glass of champagne, turn sharply on my heel,and head for the restroom.Shit. What’s he going to do? Perhaps this club is aptlynamed.The restrooms are the height of modern design—alldark wood, black granite, and pools of light fromstrategically placed halogens. In the privacy of the stall, Ismirk as I divest myself of my underwear. Again I’mgrateful I changed into the na一vy blue shift dress. I thought itappropriate attire to meet the good Dr. Flynn—I hadn’tappropriate attire to meet the good Dr. Flynn—I hadn’texpected the evening to take this unexpected course.I am excited already. Why does he affect me so? Islightly resent how easily I fall under his spell. I know nowthat we won’t be spending the evening talking through allour issues and recent events . . . but how can I resist him?Checking my appearance in the mirror, I am brighteyedand flushed with excitement. Issues schmissues.I take a deep breath and head back out into the club. Imean, it’s not as if I ha一ven’t gone panty less before. Myinner goddess is draped in a pink feather boa anddiamonds, strutting her stuff in fuck-me shoes.Christian stands politely when I return to the table, hisexpression unreadable. He looks his usual perfect, cool,calm, and collected self. Of course, I now knowdifferently.“Sit beside me,” he says. I slide into the seat and hesits. “I’ve ordered for you. I hope you don’t mind.” Hehands me my half-finished glass of champagne, regardingme intently and under his scrutiny, my blood heats anew.He rests his hands on his thighs. I tense and part my legsslightly.The waiter arrives with a dish of oysters on crushedice. Oysters. The memory of the two of us in the privatedining room at the Heathman fills my mind. We werediscussing his contract. Oh boy. We’ve come a long waysince then.“I think you liked oysters last time you tried them.” Hisvoice is low, seductive.“Only time I’ve tried them.” I’m all breathy, my voice“Only time I’ve tried them.” I’m all breathy, my voiceexposing me. His lips twitch with a smile.“Oh, Miss Steele—when will you learn?” he muses.He takes an oyster from the dish and lifts his otherhand from his thigh. I flinch in anticipation, but he reachesfor a slice of lemon.“Learn what?” I ask. Jeez, my pulse is racing. His long,skilled fingers gently squeeze the lemon over the shellfish.“Eat,” he says, holding the shell close to my mouth. Ipart my lips, and he gently places the shell on my bottomlip. “Tip your head back slowly,” he murmurs. I do as heasks and the oyster slips down my throat. He doesn’ttouch me, only the shell.Christian helps himself to one, then feeds me another.We continue this tortuous routine until all twelve are gone.His skin never connects with mine. It’s driving me crazy.“Still like oysters?” he asks as I swallow the final one.I nod, flushed, cra一ving his touch.“Good.”I squirm in my seat. Why is this so hot?He puts his hand casually on his own thigh again, and Imelt. Now. Please. Touch me. My inner goddess is on herknees, naked except for her panties—begging. He runs hishand up and down his thigh, lifts it, then places it backwhere it was.The waiter tops up our champagne glasses and whisksaway our plates. Moments later he’s back with our entrée,sea bass—I don’t believe it —served with asparagus,sautéed potatoes, and a hollandaise sauce.“A fa一vorite of yours, Mr. Grey?”“A fa一vorite of yours, Mr. Grey?”“Most definitely, Miss Steele. Though I believe it wascod at the Heathman.” His hand moves up and down histhigh. My breathing spikes, but still he doesn’t touch me.It’s so frustrating. I try to concentrate on our conversation.“I seem to remember we were in a private dining roomthen, discussing contracts.”“Happy days,” he says, smirking. “This time I hope toget to fuck you.” He moves his hand to pick up his knife.Gah!He takes a bite out of his sea bass. He’s doing this onpurpose.“Don’t count on it,” I mutter with a pout and heglances at me, amused. “Speaking of contracts,” I add.“The NDA.”“Tear it up,” he says simply.Whoa.“What? Really?”“Yes.”“You’re sure I’m not going to run to the Seattle Timeswith an exposé?” I tease.He laughs and it’s a wonderful sound. He looks soyoung.“No. I trust you. I’m going to give you the benefit ofthe doub一t.”Oh. I grin shyly at him. “Ditto,” I breathe.His eyes light up. “I’m very glad you’re wearing adress,” he murmurs. And bam—desire courses through myalready overheated blood.“Why ha一ven’t you touched me, then?” I hiss.“Why ha一ven’t you touched me, then?” I hiss.“Missing my touch?” he asks grinning. He’samused . . . the bastard.“Yes,” I seethe.“Eat,” he orders.“You’re not going to touch me, are you?”“No.” He shakes his head.What? I gasp out loud.“Just imagine how you’ll feel when we’re home,” hewhispers. “I can’t wait to get you home.”“It will be your fault if I combust here on the seventysixthfloor,” I mutter through gritted teeth.“Oh, Anastasia. We’d find a way to put the fire out,”he says, grinning salaciously at me.Fuming, I dig into my sea bass, and my inner goddessnarrows her eyes in quiet, devious contemplation. We canplay this game, too. I learned the basics during our meal atthe Heathman. I take a bite out of my sea bass. It is meltin-the-mouth delicious. I close my eyes, sa一voring the taste.When I open them, I begin my seduction of ChristianGrey, very slowly hitching my skirt up, exposing more ofmy thighs.Christian pauses momentarily, a forkful of fishsuspended midair.Touch me.After a beat, he resumes eating. I take another bite ofsea bass, ignoring him. Then, putting down my knife, I runmy fingers up the inside of my lower thigh, lightly tappingmy skin with my fingertips. It’s distracting even to me,especially as I am cra一ving his touch. Christian pauses onceespecially as I am cra一ving his touch. Christian pauses oncemore.“I know what you’re doing.” His voice is low andhusky.“I know that you know, Mr. Grey,” I reply softly.“That’s the point.” I pick up an asparagus stalk, gazesideways at him from beneath my lashes, then dip theasparagus into the hollandaise sauce, swirling the tip roundand round.“You’re not turning the tables on me, Miss Steele.”Smirking he reaches over and takes the spear from me—amazingly and annoyingly managing not to touch me again.No, this isn’t right—this is not going according to plan.Gah!“Open your mouth,” he commands.I am losing this battle of wills. I glance up at him again,and his eyes blaze bright gray. Parting my lips a fraction Irun my tongue across my lower lip. Christian smiles and hiseyes darken further.“Wider,” he breathes, his lips parting so that I can seehis tongue. I groan inwardly and bite my bottom lip, thendo as he asks.I hear his sharp intake of breath—he’s not so immune.Good, I am finally getting to him. My inner goddess fistpumpsthe air above her chaise longue.Keeping my eyes locked on his, I take the spear in mymouth, and suck, gently . . . delicately . . . on the end. Thehollandaise sauce is mouthwatering. I bite down, moaningquietly in appreciation.Christian closes his eyes. Yes! When he opens themagain, his pupils ha一ve dilated. The effect on me isimmediate. I groan and reach out to touch his thigh. To mysurprise, he uses his other hand to grab my wrist.“Oh, no you don’t, Miss Steele,” he murmurs softly.Raising my hand to his mouth, he gently brushes myknuckles with his lips, and I squirm. Finally! More, please.“Don’t touch,” he scolds me quietly, and places myhand back on my knee. It’s so frustrating—this briefunsatisfactory contact.“You don’t play fair.” I pout.“I know.” He picks up his champagne glass to proposea toast, and I mirror his actions.“Congratulations on your promotion, Miss Steele.” Weclink glasses and I blush.“Yes, kind of unexpected,” I mutter. He frowns as ifsome unpleasant thought has crossed his mind.“Eat,” he orders. “I am not taking you home untilyou’ve finished your meal, and then we can reallycelebrate.” His expression is so heated, so raw, socommanding. I am melting.“I’m not hungry. Not for food.”He shakes his head, thoroughly enjoying himself, butnarrows his eyes at me just the same.“Eat, or I’ll put you across my knee, right here, andwe’ll entertain the other diners.”His words make me squirm. He wouldn’t dare! Heand his twitchy palm. I press my mouth into a hard line andstare at him. Picking up an asparagus stalk, he dips thehead into the hollandaise.“Eat this,” he murmurs, his voice low and seductive.I willingly comply.“You really don’t eat enough. You’ve lost weight sinceI’ve known you.” His tone is gentle.I don’t want to think about my weight; truth is, I likebeing this slim. I swallow the asparagus.“I just want to go home and make love,” I mutterdisconsolately. Christian grins.“So do I, and we will. Eat up.”Reluctantly, I turn back to my food and start to eat.Honestly, I’ve taken my panties off and everything. I feellike a child who has been denied candy. He is such atease, a delicious, hot, naughty tease, and all mine.He quizzes me about Ethan. As it turns out, Christiandoes business with Kate and Ethan’s father. Hmm . . . it’ssmall world. I’m relieved he doesn’t mention Dr. Flynn orthe house as I’m finding it difficult to concentrate on ourconversation. I want to go home.The carnal anticipation is unfurling between us. He’s sogood at this. Making me wait. Setting the scene. Betweenbites, he places his hand on his thigh, so close to mine, butstill doesn’t touch me just to tease me further.Bastard! Finally I finish my food, and place my knifeand fork on the plate.“Good girl,” he murmurs, and those two words hold somuch promise.I frown at him. “What now?” I ask, desire clawing atmy belly. Oh, I want this man.“Now? We lea一ve. I believe you ha一ve certainexpectations, Miss Steele. Which I intend to fulfill to thebest of my ability.”Whoa!“The best . . . of your a . . . bil . . . ity?” I stutter. Holyshit.He grins and stands.“Don’t we ha一ve to pay?” I ask, breathless.He cocks his head to one side. “I am a member here.They’ll bill me. Come, Anastasia, after you.” He stepsaside, and I stand to lea一ve, conscious that I am notwearing my panties.He gazes at me darkly, like he’s undressing me, and Iglory in his carnal appraisal. It just makes me feel so sexy—this beautiful man desires me. Will I always get a kickout of this? Deliberately stopping in front of him, I smoothmy dress over my hips.Christian whispers in my ear, “I can’t wait to get youhome.” But he still doesn’t touch me.On the way out he murmurs something about the car tothe ma?tre d’, but I’m not listening, my inner goddess isincandescent with anticipation. Jeez, she could light upSeattle.Waiting by the elevators, we are joined by two middleagedcouples. When the doors open, Christian takes myelbow and steers me to the back. I glance around, andwe’re surrounded by dark smoked-glass mirrors. As theother couples enter, one man in a rather unflattering brownsuit greets Christian.suit greets Christian.“Grey,” he nods politely. Christian nods in return but issilent.The couples stand in front of us, facing the elevatordoors. They are obviously friends—the women chatloudly, excited and animated after their meal. I thinkthey’re all a little tipsy.As the doors close, Christian briefly stoops downbeside me to tie his shoelace. Odd, his shoelaces aren’tundone. Discreetly he places his hand on my ankle,startling me, and as he stands his hand tra一vels swiftly upmy leg, skating deliciously over my skin—whoa—right up.I ha一ve to stifle my gasp of surprise as his hand reaches mybackside. Christian moves behind me.Oh my. I gape at the people in front of us, staring atthe backs of their heads. They ha一ve no idea what we’re upto. Wrapping his free arm around my waist, Christian pullsme to him, holding me in place as his fingers explore. Holyfucking shit . . . in here? The elevator tra一vels smoothlydown, stopping at the fifty-third floor to let some morepeople on, but I am not paying attention. I am focused onevery little move his fingers make. Circling around . . . nowmoving forward, questing, as we shuffle back.Again I stifle a groan when his fingers find their goal.“Always so ready, Miss Steele,” he whispers as heslips a long finger inside me. I squirm and gasp. How canhe do this with all these people here?“Keep still and quiet,” he warns, murmuring in my ear.I’m flushed, warm, wanting, trapped in an elevator withseven people, six of them oblivious to what’s occurring inseven people, six of them oblivious to what’s occurring inthe corner. His finger slides in and out of me, again andagain. My breathing. Jeez, it’s embarrassing. I want to tellhim to stop . . . and continue . . . and stop. I sag againsthim, and he tightens his arm around me, his erectionagainst my hip.We halt again at the forty-fourth floor. Oh . . . howlong is this torture going to continue? In . . . out . . .in . . . out . . . Sub一tly I grind myself against his persistentfinger. After all this time of not touching me, he choosesnow! Here! And it makes me feel so—wanton.“Hush,” he breathes, seemingly unaffected as yet twomore people come aboard. The elevator is gettingcrowded. Christian moves us both farther back so thatwe’re now pressed into the corner, holding me in placeand torturing me further. He nuzzles my hair. I’m sure welook like a young couple in love, canoodling in the corner,if anyone could be bothered to turn round and see whatwe’re doing . . . And he eases a second finger inside me.Fuck! I groan, and I’m thankful that the gaggle ofpeople in front of us are still chatting away, totallyoblivious.Oh, Christian, what you do to me. I lean my headagainst his chest, closing my eyes and surrendering to hisunrelenting fingers.“Don’t come,” he whispers. “I want that later.” Hesplays his hand out on my belly, pressing down slightly, ashe continues his sweet persecution. The feeling is exquisite.Finally the elevator reaches the first floor. With a loudping the doors open, and almost instantly the passengersping the doors open, and almost instantly the passengersstart exiting. Christian slowly slips his fingers out of me andkisses the back of my head. I glance round at him, and hesmiles, then nods again at Mr. Badly-fitted-brown-suitwho returns his nod of acknowledgment as he shuffles outof the elevator with his wife. I barely notice, concentratinginstead on staying upright and trying to manage my panting.Jeez, I feel aching and bereft. Christian releases me,lea一ving me to stand on my own two feet without leaning onhim.Turning, I gaze up at him. He looks cool and unruffled,his usual composed self. Hmm . . . This is so not fair.“Ready?” he asks. His eyes gleam wickedly as he slipsfirst his index, then his middle finger into his mouth andsucks on them. “Mighty fine, Miss Steele,” he whispers. Inearly convulse on the spot.“I can’t believe you just did that,” I murmur, and I’mpractically coming apart at the seams.“You’d be surprised what I can do, Miss Steele,” hesays. Reaching out, he tucks a lock of hair behind my ear,a slight smile betraying his amusement.“I want to get you home, but maybe we’ll only make itas far as the car.” He grins down at me as he takes myhand and leads me out of the elevator.What! Sex in the car? Can’t we just do it here on thecool marble of the lobby floor . . . please?“Come.”“Yes, I want to.”“Miss Steele!” he admonishes me with mock-amusedhorror.horror.“I’ve never had sex in a car,” I mumble. Christian haltsand places those same fingers under my chin, tipping myhead back and glaring down at me.“I’m very pleased to hear that. I ha一ve to say I’d bevery surprised, not to say mad, if you had.”I flush, blinking up at him. Of course, I’ve only had sexwith him. I frown at him.“That’s not what I meant.”“What did you mean?” His tone is unexpectedly harsh.“Christian, it was just an expression.”“The famous expression, ‘I’ve never had sex in a car.’Yes, it just trips off the tongue.”Jeez . . . what’s his problem?“Christian, I wasn’t thinking. For hea一ven’s sake,you’ve just . . . um, done that to me in an elevator full ofpeople. My wits are scattered.”He raises his eyebrows. “What did I do to you?” hechallenges.I scowl at him. He wants me to say it.“You turned me on, big time. Now take me home andfuck me.”His mouth drops open then he laughs, surprised. Nowhe looks young and carefree. Oh, to hear him laugh. I loveit because it’s so rare.“You’re a born romantic, Miss Steele.” He takes myhand, and we head out of the building to where the valetstands by my Saab.“So you want sex in a car,” Christian murmurs as heswitches on the ignition.“Quite frankly, I would ha一ve been happy with thelobby floor.”“Trust me, Ana, so would I. But I don’t fancy beingarrested at this time of night, and I didn’t want to fuck youin a restroom. Well, not today.”What! “You mean there was a possibility?”“Oh yes.”“Let’s go back.”He turns to gaze at me and laughs. His laughter isinfectious; soon we’re both laughing—wonderful,cathartic, head-held-back laughter. Reaching over, heplaces his hand on my knee, caressing it gently with longskilled fingers. I stop laughing.“Patience, Anastasia,” he murmurs and pulls into theSeattle traffic.He parks the Saab in the Escala garage and turns off theengine. Suddenly, in the confines of the car, theatmosphere between us changes. With wantonanticipation, I glance at him, trying to contain mypalpitating heart. He’s turned toward me, leaning againstthe door, his elbow propped on the steering wheel.He pulls his lower lip with his thumb and index finger.His mouth is so distracting. I want it on me. He’s watchingme intently, his eyes dark gray. My mouth goes dry. Hesmiles a slow sexy smile.“We will fuck in the car at a time and place of mychoosing. Right now, I want to take you on every a一vailablesurface of my apartment.”It’s like he’s addressing me below the waist . . . myinner goddess performs four arabesques and a pas deBasque.“Yes.” Jeez, I sound so breathy, desperate.He leans forward a fraction. I close my eyes, waitingfor his kiss, thinking—finally. But nothing happens. After amoment, I open my eyes to find him gazing at me. I can’tfigure out what he’s thinking, but before I can say anything,he distracts me once more.“If I kiss you now we won’t make it into theapartment. Come.”Gah! Could this man be any more frustrating? Heclimbs out of the car.Once again, we wait for the elevator, my body thrummingwith anticipation. Christian holds my hand, running histhumb rhythmically across my knuckles, each strokeechoing through me. Oh, I want his hands on all of me.He’s tortured me long enough.“So, what happened to instant gratification?” I murmurwhile we wait.Christian smirks down at me.“It’s not appropriate in every situation, Anastasia.”“Since when?”“Since when?”“Since this evening.”“Why are you torturing me so?”“Tit for tat, Miss Steele.”“How am I torturing you?”“I think you know.”I gaze up at him and his expression is difficult to read.He wants my answer . . . that’s it.“I’m into delayed gratification, too,” I whisper, smilingshyly.He tugs my hand unexpectedly, and suddenly I am inhis arms. He grabs the hair at the nape of my neck, pullinggently so my head tips back.“What can I do to make you say yes?” he asksfervently, throwing me off balance once more. I blink athim—at his lovely, serious, desperate expression.“Give me some time? Please,” I murmur. He groansand finally he kisses me, long and hard. Then we’re in theelevator, and we’re all hands and mouths and tongues andlips and fingers and hair. Desire, thick and strong, lancesthrough my blood, clouding all my reason. He pushes meagainst the wall, pinning me with his hips, one hand in myhair, the other at my chin, holding me in place.“You own me,” he whispers. “My fate is in your hands,Ana.”His words are intoxicating, and in my overheated state,I want to rip off his clothes. I push off his jacket, and asthe elevator arrives at the apartment, we tumble out intothe foyer.Christian pins me to the wall by the elevator, his jacketChristian pins me to the wall by the elevator, his jacketfalling to the floor, and his hand tra一vels up my leg, his lipsnever lea一ving mine. He hoists up my dress.“First surface here,” he breathes and abruptly he liftsme. “Wrap your legs around me.”I do as I’m told, and he turns and lays me down on thefoyer table, so he’s standing between my legs. I’m awarethat the usual vase of flowers is missing. Huh? Reachinginto his jeans pocket, he fishes out a foil packet and handsit to me, undoing his fly.“Do you know how much you turn me on?”“What?” I pant. “No . . . I . . .”“Well, you do,” he mutters, “all the time.” He grabs thefoil packet from my hands. Oh, this is so quick, but afterall his tantalizing teasing, I want him badly—right now. Hegazes down at me as he rolls on the condom, then puts hishands under my thighs, spreading my legs wider.Positioning himself, he pauses. “Keep your eyes open.I want to see you,” he whispers and clasping both myhands with his, he sinks slowly into me.I try, I really do, but the feeling is so exquisite. WhatI’ve been waiting for after all his teasing. Oh, the fullness,this feeling . . . I groan and arch my back off the table.“Open!” he growls, tightening his hands on mine andthrusting sharply into me so that I cry out.I blink my eyes open, and he stares down at me wideeyed.Slowly he withdraws then sinks into me once more,his mouth slackening and then forming an Ah . . . , but hesays nothing. Seeing his arousal, his reaction to me—I lightup inside, my blood scorching through my veins. His grayup inside, my blood scorching through my veins. His grayeyes burn into mine. He picks up the rhythm, and I revel init, glory in it, watching him, watching me—his passion,his love—as we come apart, together.I call out as I explode around him, and Christianfollows.“Yes, Ana!” he cries. He collapses on me, releasingmy hands and resting his head on my chest. My legs arestill wrapped around him, and under the patient, maternaleyes of the Madonna paintings, I cradle his head againstme and struggle to catch my breath.He raises his head to look at me. “I’m not finished withyou yet,” he murmurs and leaning up, he kisses me.I lie naked in Christian’s bed, sprawled over his chest,panting. Holy cow—does his energy ever wane? Christiantrails his fingers up and down my back.“Satisfied, Miss Steele?”I murmur my assent. I ha一ve no energy left for talking.Raising my head, I turn unfocused eyes to him and bask inhis warm, fond gaze. Very deliberately, I angle my headdown so he knows I am going to kiss his chest.He tenses momentarily, and I plant a soft kiss in hischest hair, breathing in his unique Christian smell, mixedwith sweat and sex. It’s heady. He rolls onto his side soI’m lying beside him and gazes down at me.“Is sex like this for everyone? I’m surprised anyoneever goes out,” I murmur, feeling suddenly shy.He grins. “I can’t speak for everyone, but it’s prettyHe grins. “I can’t speak for everyone, but it’s prettydamned special with you, Anastasia.” He bends and kissesme.“That’s because you’re pretty damned special, Mr.Grey,” I agree, smiling up at him and caressing his face. Heblinks down at me at a loss.“It’s late. Go to sleep,” he says. He kisses me, then liesdown and pulls me to him so we’re spooning in bed.“You don’t like compliments.”“Go to sleep, Anastasia.”Hmm . . . But he is pretty damned special. Jeez . . .why doesn’t he realize this?“I loved the house,” I murmur.He says nothing for a moment, but I sense his grin.“I love you. Go to sleep.” He nuzzles my hair, and Idrift into sleep, safe in his arms, dreaming of sunsets andFrench doors and wide staircases . . . and a small copperhairedboy running through a meadow, laughing andgiggling as I chase him.“Gotta go, baby.” Christian kisses me just below my ear.I open my eyes and it’s morning. I turn to face him, buthe’s up and dressed and fresh and delicious, leaning overme.“What time is it?” Oh no . . . I don’t want to be late.“What time is it?” Oh no . . . I don’t want to be late.“Don’t panic. I ha一ve a breakfast meeting.” He rubs hisnose against mine.“You smell good,” I murmur, stretching out beneathhim, my limbs pleasurably tight and creaky from all ourexploits yesterday. I wrap my arms around his neck.“Don’t go.”He cocks his head to one side and raises his eyebrow.“Miss Steele—are you trying to keep a man from anhonest day’s work?”I nod sleepily at him, and he smiles his new shy smile.“As tempting as you are, I ha一ve to go.” He kisses meand stands. He’s wearing a really sharp dark na一vy suit,white shirt and na一vy tie, and he looks every inch theCEO . . . the hot CEO.“Laters, baby,” he murmurs and he’s off.Glancing at the clock I note it’s already seven—I mustha一ve slept through the alarm. Well, time to get up.In the shower, inspiration hits me. I’ve thought of anotherbirthday present for Christian. It’s so difficult to buysomething for the man who has everything. I’ve alreadygiven him my main present, and I still ha一ve the other item Ibought at the tourist shop, but this is one present that willreally be for me. I hug myself in anticipation as I switch offthe shower. I just ha一ve to prepare it.In the walk-in closet, I put on a dark red fitted dresswith a square neckline, cut quite low. Yes, this will do forwork.Now for Christian’s present . I start rummagingthrough his drawers, looking for his ties. In the bottomdrawer I find those faded, ripped jeans, the ones he wearsin the playroom—the ones he looks so hot in. I strokethem gently, using my whole hand. Oh my, the material isso soft.Beneath them, I find a large, black, flat cardboard box.It piques my interest immediately. What’s in here? I stareat it, feeling like I’m trespassing again. Taking it out, Ishake it. It’s hea一vy as if it holds papers or manuscripts. Icannot resist, I open the lid—and quickly shut it again.Holy fuck—photographs from the Red Room. The shockmakes me sit back on my heels as I try to wipe the imagefrom my brain. Why did I open the box? Why has hekept them?I shudder. My subconscious scowls at me—this isbefore you. Forget them.She’s right. Standing up I notice his ties are hanging atthe end of his clothes rail. I find my fa一vorite and exitquickly.I try to tell myself those photos are BA—Before Ana.My subconscious nods with approval, but it’s with ahea一vier heart that I head into the main room for breakfast.Mrs. Jones smiles at me warmly and then frowns.“Everything all right, Ana?” she asks kindly.“Yes,” I murmur, distracted. “Do you ha一ve a key tothe . . . um, playroom?”She pauses momentarily, surprised.“Yes, of course.” She unclips a small bunch of keysfrom her belt. “What would you like for breakfast, dear?”she asks as she hands me the keys.“Just granola. I won’t be long.”I feel more ambivalent about this gift now but onlysince the discovery of those photographs. Nothing’schanged, my subconscious barks at me again, glaring atme over her half-moon winged glasses. That picture washot, my inner goddess chips in, and mentally I scowl ather. Yes it was—too hot for me.What else does he ha一ve hidden away? Quickly I ferretthrough the museum chest, take what I need, and lock theplayroom door behind me. Wouldn’t do for José todiscover this!I hand the keys back to Mrs. Jones and sit down todevour my breakfast, feeling odd that Christian is absent.The photograph image dances unwelcome around mymind. I wonder who it was? Leila perhaps?On my drive in to work, I debate whether or not to tellChristian I found his photographs. No, screams mysubconscious, her Edvard Munch face on. I decide she’sprobably right.As I sit down at my desk, my Blackberry buzzes.From: Christian GreySubject: SurfacesDate: June 17, 2011 08:59To: Anastasia SteeleI calculate that there are at least 30 surfaces to go. I am lookingforward to each and every one of them. Then there’s the floors,the walls—and let’s not forget the balcony.After that there’s my office . . .Miss you. xChristian GreyPriapic CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.His e-mail makes me smile, and all my earlier reservationsevaporate. It’s me he wants now, and memories of lastnight’s sexcapades flood my mind . . . the elevator, thefoyer, the bed. Priapic is right. I wonder idly what thefemale equivalent might be?From: Anastasia SteeleSubject: Romance?Date: June 17, 2011 09:03To: Christian GreyTo: Christian GreyMr. GreyYou ha一ve a one-track mind.I missed you at breakfastBut Mrs. Jones was very accommodating.A xFrom: Christian GreySubject: IntriguedDate: June 17, 2011 09:07To: Anastasia SteeleWhat was Mrs. Jones accommodating about?What are you up to Miss Steele?Christian GreyCurious CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.How does he know?From: Anastasia SteeleSubject: Tapping NoseDate: June 17, 2011 09:10To: Christian GreyWait and see—it’s a surprise.I need to work . . . let me be.Love you.A xFrom: Christian GreySubject: FrustratedDate: June 17, 2011 09:12To: Anastasia SteeleI hate it when you keep things from me.Christian GreyCEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.I stare at the small screen of my Blackberry. Thevehemence implicit in his e-mail takes me by surprise. Whydoes he feel like this? It’s not like I’m hiding eroticphotographs of my exes.From: Anastasia SteeleSubject: Indulging youSubject: Indulging youDate: June 17, 2011 09:14To: Christian GreyIt’s for your birthday.Another surprise.Don’t be so petulant.A xHe doesn’t reply immediately, and I’m called into ameeting so I can’t dwell on it for too long.When I next glance at my Blackberry, to my horror Irealize it’s four in the afternoon. Where has the day gone?Still no message from Christian. I decide to e-mail himagain.From: Anastasia SteeleSubject: HelloDate: June 17, 2011 16:03To: Christian GreyAre you not talking to me?Don’t forget I am going for a drink with José, and that he’sstaying with us tonight.Please rethink about joining us.Please rethink about joining us.A xHe doesn’t reply, and I feel a frisson of unease. I hopehe’s okay. Calling his mobile, I get his voicemail. Theannouncement simply says Grey, lea一ve a message in hismost clipped tone.“Hi . . . um . . . it’s me. Ana. Are you okay? Call me,”I stutter through my message. I’ve never had to lea一ve onefor him before. I flush as I hang up. Of course he’ll knowit’s you, idiot! My subconscious rolls her eyes at me. I amtempted to ring his PA Andrea but decide that’s a step toofar. Reluctantly I continue my work.My phone rings unexpectedly and my heart jumps.Christian! But no—it’s Kate, my best friend finally!“Ana!” she shouts from wherever she is.“Kate! Are you back? I’ve missed you.”“Me, too. I ha一ve so much to tell you. We’re at Sea-Tac—me and my man.” She giggles in a most un-Katelikeway.“Cool. I ha一ve so much to tell you, too.”“See you back at the apartment?”“I’m ha一ving drinks with José. Join us.”“José’s in town? Sure! Text me where.”“Okay.” I beam. My best friend is home. After all thistime!“You good, Ana?”“Yeah, I’m fine.”“Still with Christian?”“Yes.”“Good. Laters!”Oh, not her as well. Elliot’s influence knows nobounds.“Yeah—laters, baby.” I grin and she hangs up.Wow. Kate is home. How am I going to tell her all thathas happened? I should write it down so I don’t forgetanything.An hour later my office phone rings—Christian? No, it’sClaire.“You should see the guy asking for you in reception.How come you know all these hot guys, Ana?”José must be here. I glance at the clock—it’s five fiftyfive,and a small thrill of excitement pulses through me. Iha一ven’t seen him in ages.“Ana, wow! You look great. So grown up.” He grinsat me.Just because I’m wearing a smart dress . . . jeez!He hugs me hard. “And tall,” he mutters in amazement.“It’s just the shoes, José. You don’t look so badyourself.”He’s wearing jeans, a black T-shirt, and a black andwhite check flannel shirt.“I’ll grab my things and we can go.”“I’ll grab my things and we can go.”“Cool. I’ll wait here.”I pick up two Rolling Rocks from the crowded bar andhead over to the table where José is seated.“You found Christian’s place okay?”“Yeah. I ha一ven’t been inside. I just delivered thephotos to the service elevator. Some guy named Taylortook them up. Looks like quite a place.”“It is. You should see inside.”“Can’t wait. Salud, Ana. Seattle agrees with you.”I flush as we clink bottles. It’s Christian that agreeswith me. “Salud. Tell me about your show and how itwent.”He beams and launches into the story. He sold all butthree of his photos, which has taken care of his studentloans and left him some cash to spare.“And I’ve been commissioned to do some landscapesfor the Portland Tourist Authority. Pretty cool, huh?” hefinishes proudly.“Oh José—that’s wonderful. Not interfering with yourstudies though?” I frown at him.“Nah. Now that you guys ha一ve gone and three of theguys I used to hang out with, I ha一ve more time.”“No hot babe to keep you busy? Last time I saw you,you had half a dozen women hanging on your everyword.” I arch an eyebrow at him.“Nah, Ana. None of them are woman enough for me.”He’s all bra一vado.He’s all bra一vado.“Oh sure. José Rodriguez, lady killer.” I giggle.“Hey—I ha一ve my moments, Steele.” He looks vaguelyhurt, and I am chastened.“Sure you do.” I mollify him.“So, how’s Grey?” he asks, his tone changing,becoming cooler.“He’s good. We’re good,” I murmur.“Serious, you say?”“Yes. Serious.”“He’s not too old for you?”“Oh José. You know what my mom says—I was bornold.”José’s mouth twists wryly.“How is your mom?” And like that, we are out of thedanger zone.“Ana!”I turn and there’s Kate with Ethan. She looksgorgeous: sun-kissed, bleached strawberry-blond hair,golden tan, and beaming white smile, and so shapely in herwhite cami and tight white jeans. All eyes are on Kate. Ileap up from my seat to give her a hug. Oh how I’vemissed this woman!She pushes me away from her and holds me at arm’slength, examining me closely. I flush under her intensegaze.“You’ve lost weight. A lot of weight. And you lookdifferent. Grown up. What’s been going on?” she says, allmother hen, concerned and bossy. “I like your dress. Suitsyou.”you.”“A lot’s happened since you went away. I’ll tell youlater when we’re on our own.” I am not ready for theKatherine Ka一vanagh Inquisition just yet. She regards mesuspiciously.“You’re okay?” she asks gently.“Yes,” I smile, though I’d be happier knowing whereChristian is.“Cool.”“Hi, Ethan.” I grin at him, and he gives me a quick hug.“Hi, Ana,” he whispers in my ear.José frowns at him.“How was lunch with Mia?” I ask Ethan.“Interesting,” he says cryptically.Oh?“Ethan—you know José?”“We’ve met once,” José mutters, assessing Ethan asthey shake hands.“Yeah, at Kate’s place in Vancouver,” Ethan says,smiling pleasantly at José. “Right—who’s for a drink?”I make my way to the restrooms. While there I textChristian our location; perhaps he’ll join us. There are nomissed calls from him and no e-mails. This is not like him.“Whassup, Ana?” José asks as I come back to thetable.“I can’t reach Christian. I hope he’s okay.”“He’ll be fine. Like another beer?”“Sure.”“Sure.”Kate leans across. “Ethan says some mad stalker exgirlfriendwas in the apartment with a gun?”“Well . . . yeah.” I shrug apologetically. Oh jeez—dowe ha一ve to do this now?“Ana—what the hell’s been going on?” Kate stopsabruptly and checks her phone.“Hi, baby,” she says when she answers it. Baby! Shefrowns and looks at me. “Sure,” she says and turns to me.“It’s Elliot . . . he wants to talk to you.”“Ana.” Elliot’s voice is clipped and quiet, and my scalpprickles ominously.“What’s wrong?”“It’s Christian. He’s not back from Portland.”“What? What do you mean?”“His helicopter has gone missing.”“Charlie Tango?” I whisper as all the breath lea一ves mybody. “No!”I stare at the flames, mesmerized. They dance and wea一vebright blazing orange with tips of cobalt blue in thefireplace in Christian’s apartment. And despite the heatpumping out of the fire and the blanket draped around myshoulders, I’m cold. Bone-chillingly cold.I’m aware of hushed voices, many hushed voices. Butthey’re in the background, a distant buzz. I don’t hear thewords. All I can hear, all I can focus on, is the soft hiss ofthe gas from the fire.My thoughts turn to the house we saw yesterday andMy thoughts turn to the house we saw yesterday andthe huge fireplaces—real fireplaces for burning wood. I’dlike to make love with Christian in front of a real fire. I’dlike to make love with Christian in front of this fire. Yes,that would be fun. No doub一t, he’d think of some way tomake it memorable like all the times we’ve made love. Isnort wryly to myself, even the times when we were justfucking. Yes, those were pretty memorable, too. Where ishe?The flames shimmy and flicker, holding me captive,keeping me numb. I focus solely on their flaring, scorchingbeauty. They are bewitching.Anastasia, you’ve bewitched me.He said that the first time he slept with me in my bed.Oh no . . .I wrap my arms around myself, and the world fallsaway from me and reality bleeds into my consciousness.The creeping emptiness inside expands some more.Charlie Tango is missing.“Ana. Here,” Mrs. Jones gently coaxes me, her voice“Ana. Here,” Mrs. Jones gently coaxes me, her voicebringing me back into the room, into the now, into theanguish. She hands me a cup of tea. I take the cup andsaucer gratefully, the rattle betraying my shaking hands.“Thank you,” I whisper, my voice hoarse from unshedtears and the large lump in my throat.Mia sits across from me on the larger-than-large Ushapedcouch, holding hands with Grace. They gaze at me,pain and anxiety etched on their lovely faces. Grace looksolder—a mother worried for her son. I blinkdispassionately at them. I can’t offer a reassuring smile, atear even—there’s nothing, just blankness and the growingemptiness. I gaze at Elliot, José, and Ethan, who standaround the breakfast bar, all serious faces, talking quietly.Discussing something in soft subdued voices. Behind them,Mrs. Jones busies herself in the kitchen.Kate is in the TV room, monitoring the local news. Ihear the faint squawk from the big plasma TV. I can’t bearto see the news item again—CHRISTIAN GREY MISSING—his beautiful face on TV.Idly, it occurs to me that I’ve never seen so manypeople in this room, yet they are still dwarfed by its sheersize. Little islands of lost, anxious people in my Fifty’shome. What would he think about them being here?Somewhere, Taylor and Carrick are talking to theauthorities who are drip-feeding us information, but it’s allmeaningless. The fact is—he’s missing. He’s been missingfor eight hours. No sign, no word from him. The searchhas been called off—this much I do know. It’s just toodark. And we don’t know where he is. He could be hurt,hungry, or worse. No!I offer another silent prayer to God. Please letChristian be okay. Please let Christian be okay. Irepeat it over and over in my head—my mantra, mylifeline, something concrete to cling to in my desperation. Irefuse to think the worst. No, don’t go there. There ishope.“You’re my lifeline.”Christian’s words come back to haunt me. Yes, thereis always hope. I must not despair. His words echois always hope. I must not despair. His words echothrough my mind.“I’m now a firm advocate of instant gratification.Carpe diem, Ana.”Why didn’t I seize the day?“I’m doing this because I’ve finally met someone Iwant to spend the rest of my life with.”I close my eyes in silent prayer, rocking gently. Please,let the rest of his life not be this short. Please, please.We ha一ven’t had enough time . . . we need more time.We’ve done so much in the last few weeks, come so far.It can’t end. All our tender moments: the lipstick, when hemade love to me for the first time at the Olympic hotel, onhis knees in front of me offering himself to me, finallytouching him.“I am just the same, Ana. I love you and I needyou. Touch me. Please.”Oh, I love him so. I will be nothing without him, nothingbut a shadow—all the light eclipsed. No, no, no . . . mypoor Christian.poor Christian.“This is me, Ana. All of me . . . and I’m all yours.What do I ha一ve to do to make you realize that? Tomake you see that I want you any way I can get you.That I love you.”And I you, my Fifty Shades.I open my eyes and gaze unseeing into the fire oncemore, memories of our time together flitting through mymind: his boyish joy when we were sailing and gliding; hissua一ve, sophisticated, hot-as-hell look at the masked ball;dancing, oh yes, dancing here in the apartment to Sinatra,whirling round the room; his quiet, anxious hope yesterdayat the house—that stunning view.“I will lay my world at your feet, Anastasia. I wantyou, body and soul, forever.”