by E. L. James
How can I sleep with all this shit going on? I stand and walk around my desk to gaze down at her. What if Leila wants to hurt her? What if she succeeds? How could I live with that?
"Do you know what you mean to me? If something happened to you, because of me..." I'm overwhelmed by a familiar, uncomfortable feeling that expands in my chest, becoming a lump in my throat that I have to swallow.
"Nothing's going to happen to me," she says in a soothing tone. She strokes my cheek, her fingers scratching my stubble. "Your beard grows quickly." There's wonder in her voice. I love her tender touch on my cheek. It's soothing and sensual. It tames the darkness. She caresses my bottom lip with her thumb, her eyes following her fingers. Her pupils are large and the small v has appeared between her brows as she concentrates. She traces a line from my bottom lip, down my chin, down my throat, to the base of my neck, where my shirt is open.
What is she doing?
She runs her finger along what I can only assume is the lipstick line. I close my eyes, waiting for the darkness to constrict my chest. Her finger touches my shirt.
"I'm not going to touch you. I just want to undo your shirt," she says.
Opening my eyes, I keep my panic in check and focus on her face. I don't stop her. The material of my shirt lifts and she unfastens a second button. Keeping the fabric off my skin, her fingers move to the next button down and she undoes that one, then the next. I don't move. I daren't. My breathing is shallow as I suppress my fear; my whole body is tense and waiting.
Don't touch me.
Please, Ana.
She opens the next button down and smiles up at me. "Back on home territory," she says, and her fingers trail along the line she made much, much earlier in the day and I tense my diaphragm as her fingers skim across my skin.
She undoes the final button and opens my shirt fully and I let out the breath I'm holding. Next she grabs my hand and, grasping my shirt cuff, removes my left cuff link, followed by the right. "Can I take your shirt off?" she asks.
I nod, totally disarmed, and she lifts my shirt up off my shoulders and pulls it from my body. She's done. She looks pleased with herself, and I'm standing half naked in front of her.
Slowly I relax.
That wasn't so bad.
"What about my pants, Miss Steele?" I manage a lascivious smirk.
"In the bedroom. I want you in your bed."
"Do you, now? Miss Steele, you are insatiable."
"I can't think why," she says, taking my hand. I let her lead me across the living room, through the corridor, and into my bedroom. It's cold. My nipples pucker against the chill in the room.
"You opened the balcony door?" I ask.
"No," Ana replies, looking at the open door with a bewildered expression. Then she turns to me, her face ashen. She's alarmed.
"What?" I ask, as every hair on my body stands on end--not from cold but from fear.
"When I woke," she whispers, "there was someone in here. I thought it was my imagination."
"What?" I scan the room quickly, then dash to the balcony and look outside. No one there--but I distinctly remember locking this door during the search. And I know Ana's never been on the balcony. I lock it again.
"Are you sure?" I ask her. "Who?"
"A woman, I think. It was dark. I'd only just woken up."
Fuck!
"Get dressed. Now!" I order. Why the hell didn't she tell me when she came into my office? I have to get her out of here.
"My clothes are upstairs," she whimpers.
From my chest of drawers I pull out some sweatpants. "Put these on." I toss them at her, pull out a T-shirt, and dress quickly.
I pick up the phone at my bedside.
"Mr. Grey?" Taylor answers.
"She's still fucking here," I bark.
"Shit," says Taylor, and he hangs up.
Moments later he barrels into the bedroom with Ryan.
"Ana says she saw someone in the room. A woman. She came to see me in my study and neglected to tell me this." I give her a pointed look. "Then when we got back here the balcony door was open. I remember closing and locking it myself during the search. It's Leila. I know it is."
"How long ago?" Taylor asks Ana.
"About ten minutes," she answers.
"She knows the apartment like the back of her hand. I'm taking Anastasia away now. She's hiding here somewhere. Find her. When is Gail back?"
"Tomorrow evening, sir."
"She's not to return until this place is secure. Understand?"
"Yes, sir. Will you be going to Bellevue?"
"I'm not taking this problem to my parents. Book me somewhere."
"Yes. I'll call you."
"Aren't we all overreacting slightly?" Ana asks.
"She may have a gun," I growl.
"Christian, she was standing at the end of the bed. She could have shot me then if that's what she wanted to do."
I take a deep breath, because now isn't the time to lose it. "I'm not prepared to take the risk. Taylor, Anastasia needs shoes." Taylor leaves, but Ryan stays to watch over Ana.
I hurry into my closet, strip out of my pants, and pull on some jeans and my jacket. From my dress-pants pocket I grab the condoms I'd slipped in there earlier and stuff them into my jeans pocket. I pack some clothes, and as an afterthought grab my denim jacket.
Ana is where I left her, looking lost and anxious. My sweatpants are far too big on her, but there's no time for her to change. I place the denim jacket over her shoulders and grab her hand.
"Come."
I lead her into the living room to wait for Taylor.
"I can't believe she could hide somewhere in here," Ana says.
"It's a big place. You haven't seen it all yet."
"Why don't you just call her? Tell her you want to talk to her?"
"Anastasia, she's unstable, and she may be armed," I stress, irritated.
"So we just run?"
"For now, yes."
"Supposing she tries to shoot Taylor?"
Jesus. I hope she doesn't.
"Taylor knows and understands guns. He'll be quicker with a gun than she is." I hope.
"Ray was in the army. He taught me to shoot."
"You, with a gun?" I scoff. I'm shocked. I loathe guns.
"Yes." She sounds offended. "I can shoot, Mr. Grey, so you'd better beware. It's not just crazy ex-subs you need to worry about."
"I'll bear that in mind, Miss Steele."
Taylor comes down the stairs and we join him in the foyer. He gives Ana a carry-on suitcase and her Chucks. She hugs him, taking him and me by surprise.
"Be careful," she says.
"Yes, Miss Steele," Taylor replies, embarrassed yet pleased by her concern and her spontaneous affection. I give him a look and he adjusts his tie.
"Let me know where I'm going."
Taylor takes out his wallet and passes me his credit card. "You might want to use this when you get there."
Whoa. He's really taking this seriously. "Good thinking."
Ryan joins us. "Sawyer and Reynolds found nothing," he tells Taylor.
"Accompany Mr. Grey and Miss Steele to the garage," Taylor says.
The three of us enter the elevator, where Ana has a chance to pull on her Chucks. She looks a little comical in my jacket and sweatpants. But as cute as she looks, I can't find the funny in our situation; the fact is I've placed her in harm's way.
Ana blanches when she sees her car in the garage. It's a mess--the windshield is shattered and the bodywork is covered in dents and cheap white paint. My blood boils at the sight, but for Ana's sake I control my rage. I usher her quickly into the R8. She's staring straight ahead when I climb into the car beside her, and I know it's because she can't bear to look at her car.
"A replacement will arrive on Monday," I assure her, hoping that might make her feel better. I start the engine and put on my seatbelt.
"How could she have known it was my car?"
I sigh. This is not going to go down well. "She ha
d an Audi A3. I buy one for all my submissives. It's one of the safest cars in its class."
"So, not so much a graduation present, then," she says quietly.
"Anastasia, despite what I hoped, you have never been my submissive, so technically it is a graduation present." I back out of the parking space and head to the garage exit where we pause, waiting for the barrier to lift.
"Are you still hoping?" she asks.
What?
The in-car phone rings. "Grey," I answer.
"Fairmont Olympic. In my name," Taylor informs me.
"Thank you, Taylor. And Taylor, be careful."
"Yes, sir," he says, and hangs up.
It's eerily quiet in downtown Seattle. That's one of the advantages of driving at nearly three in the morning. I take a detour on I-5 just in case Leila is following us. Every few minutes I check the rearview mirror, anxiety gnawing at my gut.
Everything is out of control. Leila might be dangerous. Yet, she had the opportunity to harm Ana and didn't. She was a gentle soul when I knew her, artistic, bright, mischievous. And when she ended our relationship as a means of self-preservation, I admired her for that. She was never destructive, not even to herself, until she turned up at Escala and cut herself in front of Mrs. Jones, and tonight when she vandalized Ana's car.
She's not herself.
And I don't trust her not to hurt Ana.
How could I live with myself if that happened?
Ana is swimming in my clothes, looking small and miserable, staring out of the car window. She asked me a question and I was interrupted. She wanted to know if I'm still hoping for a submissive.
How can she ask that?
Reassure her, Grey.
"No. It's not what I hope for, not anymore. I thought that was obvious."
She turns to look at me, huddling down in my jacket, so that she looks even smaller. "I worry that, you know, that I'm not enough."
Why is she bringing this up now? "You're more than enough. For the love of God, Anastasia, what do I have to do?"
She fiddles with a button on my denim jacket. "Why did you think I'd leave when I told you Dr. Flynn had told me all there was to know about you?"
Is this what she's brooding about?
Keep it vague, Grey.
"You cannot begin to understand the depths of my depravity, Anastasia. And it's not something I want to share with you."
"And you really think I'd leave if I knew? Do you think so little of me?"
"I know you'll leave," I answer, and the thought is untenable.
"Christian, I think that's very unlikely. I can't imagine being without you."
"You left me once. I don't want to go there again."
She pales and begins fiddling with the drawstring on my sweatpants.
Yeah. You hurt me.
And I hurt you...
"Elena said she saw you last Saturday," she whispers.
No. That's bullshit. "She didn't." Why the hell would Elena lie?
"You didn't go to see her when I left?"
"No. I just told you I didn't, and I don't like to be doubted." And I realize I'm taking my anger out on her. In a gentler tone I add, "I didn't go anywhere last weekend. I sat and made the glider you gave me. Took me forever."
Ana looks down at her fingers. She's still fiddling with the drawstring.
"Contrary to what Elena thinks," I continue, "I don't rush to her with all my problems, Anastasia. I don't rush to anybody. You may have noticed, I'm not much of a talker."
"Carrick told me you didn't talk for two years."
"Did he, now?" Why can't my family keep quiet?
"I kind of pumped him for information," she confesses.
"So what else did Daddy say?"
"He said your mom was the doctor who examined you when you were brought into the hospital. After you were discovered in your apartment. He said learning the piano helped. And Mia."
A vision of Mia as a baby, a shock of black hair and a gurgling smile, comes to mind. She was someone I could take care of, someone I could protect. "She was about six months old when she arrived. I was thrilled, Elliot less so. He'd already had to contend with my arrival. She was perfect. Less so now, of course."
Ana giggles. And it's so unexpected. I immediately feel more at ease.
"You find that amusing, Miss Steele?"
"She seemed determined to keep us apart."
"Yes, she's quite accomplished." And annoying. She is...Mia. My baby sister. I squeeze Ana's knee. "But we got there in the end." I offer her a brief smile, then check the rearview mirror. "I don't think we've been followed."
I take the next off-ramp and head back into downtown Seattle.
"Can I ask you something about Elena?" Ana asks, when we're stopped at a red light.
"If you must." But I really wish she wouldn't.
"You told me ages ago that she loved you in a way you found acceptable. What did that mean?"
"Isn't it obvious?"
"Not to me."
"I was out of control. I couldn't bear to be touched. I can't bear it now. For a fourteen-, fifteen-year-old adolescent boy with hormones raging, it was a difficult time. She showed me a way to let off steam."
"Mia said you were a brawler."
"Christ, what is it with my loquacious family?" We're stopped at the next red. I glare at her. "Actually, it's you. You inveigle information out of people."
"Mia volunteered that information. In fact, she was very forthcoming. She was worried you'd start a brawl in the tent if you didn't win me at the auction," she says.
"Oh, baby, there was no danger of that. There was no way I would let anyone else dance with you."
"You let Dr. Flynn."
"He's always the exception to the rule."
I turn into the driveway of the Fairmont Olympic Hotel. A valet scrambles out to meet us and I pull up toward him.
"Come," I say to Ana and get out of the car to retrieve our luggage. I toss the keys to the enthusiastic young man. "Name of Taylor," I inform him.
The lobby is quiet, save for some random woman and her dog. At this time? Odd.
The receptionist checks us in. "Do you need a hand with your bags, Mr. Taylor?" she asks.
"No, Mrs. Taylor and I can manage."
"You're in the Cascade Suite, Mr. Taylor, eleventh floor. Our bellboy will help with your bags."
"We're fine. Where are the elevators?"
She directs us, and as we wait, I ask Ana how she's holding up. She looks worn out.
"It's been an interesting evening," she says, with her usual gift for understatement.
Taylor has booked us into the largest suite in the hotel. I'm surprised to discover it has two bedrooms. I wonder if Taylor is expecting us to sleep apart, as I do with my submissives. Maybe I should tell him this doesn't apply to Ana.
"Well, Mrs. Taylor, I don't know about you, but I'd really like a drink," I say, as Ana follows me into the master bedroom, where I set our overnight bags on the ottoman.
Back in the main living room there's a fire burning in the hearth. Ana warms her hands while I fix a drink at the bar. She looks gamine, adorable, and her dark hair shines coppery and bright in the firelight.
"Armagnac?"
"Please," she says.
By the fire, I hand her a brandy glass. "It's been quite a day, huh?" I gauge her reaction. I'm amazed, given all the drama of the evening, that she hasn't broken down and wept by now.
"I'm okay," she says. "How about you?"
I'm wired.
Anxious.
Angry.
I know of one thing that will give me relief.
You, Miss Steele.
My panacea.
"Well, right now I'd like to drink this, and then, if you're not too tired, take you to bed and lose myself in you." I'm really chancing my luck. She must be exhausted.
"I think that can be arranged, Mr. Taylor," she says, and rewards me with a shy smile.
Oh, Ana. You're my heroine.
; I slip out of my shoes and socks. "Mrs. Taylor, stop biting your lip," I murmur. She takes a sip of her Armagnac and closes her eyes. She hums her appreciation for her drink. The sound soft and mellow and oh so sexy.
I feel it in my groin.
She really is something else.
"You never cease to amaze me, Anastasia. After a day like today, or yesterday, rather, you're not whining or running off into the hills screaming. I am in awe of you. You're very strong."
"You're a very good reason to stay," she whispers.
That strange feeling swells in my chest. Scarier than the darkness. Bigger. More potent. It has the power to wound.
"I told you, Christian, I'm not going anywhere, no matter what you've done. You know how I feel about you."
Oh, baby, you'd run if you knew the truth.
"Where are you going to hang Jose's portraits of me?" she asks, throwing me for a loop.
"That depends," I respond, bemused that she can change tack so quickly.
"On what?"
"Circumstances." It'll depend on whether she stays. I don't think I could bear to look at them when she's no longer mine.
If. If she's no longer mine.
"His show's not over yet, so I don't have to decide straightaway." I still don't know when the gallery will deliver them, in spite of my request.
She narrows her eyes, studying me, as if I'm hiding something.
Yeah. My fear. That's what I'm hiding.
"You can look as sternly as you like, Mrs. Taylor. I'm saying nothing," I tease.
"I may torture the truth from you."
"Really, Anastasia, I don't think you should make promises you can't fulfill."
She narrows her eyes once more, but this time, she's amused. She places her glass on the mantelpiece, then takes mine and sets it beside hers. "We'll just have to see about that," she says with cool determination in her voice. Grasping my hand, she guides me into the bedroom.
Ana is taking the lead.
This hasn't happened since that time in my study when she jumped me.
Go with it, Grey.
At the foot of the bed, she stops.
"Now that you have me in here, Anastasia, what are you going to do with me?"
She looks up at me, eyes shining, full of love, and I swallow, awed at the sight of her. "I'm going to start by undressing you. I want to finish what I started earlier."
All the breath leaves my body.
She grasps the lapels of my jacket and gently eases it off my shoulders. She turns and places it on the ottoman and I catch a trace of her fragrance.
Ana.
"Now your T-shirt," she says. I feel bolder. I know she won't touch me. Her road-map idea was a good one, and I still have the smudged remains of the lipstick on my chest and back. I raise my arms and take a step back as she tugs my T-shirt over my head.
