by James, E L
In the salon, I find the binoculars and watch as Ana pulls up beside the tender. Taylor helps her in, then onto the dock.
I call her number and watch as she fumbles in her purse for her phone.
“Hi,” she answers, a little breathlessly.
“Hi.”
“I’ll come back on the boat. Don’t be mad.”
Oh. I’m expecting a fight. “Um.”
“It was fun, though,” she whispers, sounding exhilarated. And I see her once more in my head, flying past the boat, the wind in her hair and a huge smile on her face.
I sigh. “Well, far be it for me to curtail your fun, Mrs. Grey. Just be careful. Please.”
“I will. Anything you want from town?”
“Just you, back in one piece.”
“I’ll do my best to comply, Mr. Grey.”
“I’m glad to hear it, Mrs. Grey.”
“We aim to please.” She giggles, and the sweet sound makes me smile. My phone beeps.
“I have another call. Laters, baby.”
“Laters, Christian.”
I hang up and Grace is on the line. “Hello, darling, how are you?”
“I’m good, Mom.”
“I’m just calling to check that you’re all okay.”
“Why wouldn’t I be okay?” Shit. Maybe she knows. “Are you calling about the fire?”
“What fire?” she asks, suddenly terse.
“It’s nothing, Mother.”
“What. Fire. Christian.” Her tone is intimidating.
Sighing, I quickly fill her in on what’s happened at Grey House, sparing no details. “Mom, it’s no big deal. No damage.” The last thing I want to do is worry Grace.
“Will you come home?”
“I don’t see any reason to cut my honeymoon short. The fire was contained and hasn’t done any damage.”
She’s quiet for a moment.
“Grace. It’s okay.”
She sighs. “If you say so, darling. How is your honeymoon going?”
“Well, up until this incident—it’s been wonderful. Ana loves London and Paris and the yacht, she’s yar.”
“Sounds heavenly. Did you go to Saint-Paul-de-Vence?”
“We did. Today. It was magical.”
“I fell in love with the place. I won’t keep you, I know you’ll have a lot to think about and do. The reason I called was to invite you and Ana to lunch on Sunday, when you’re home.”
“Sure. That sounds great.”
“Lovely. See you then. And, Christian, remember, we love you.”
“Yes, Mom. Thanks for the call.”
When I hang up there’s an e-mail from Ana.
From: Anastasia Grey
Subject: Thank You
Date: August 17 2011 16:55
To: Christian Grey
For not being too grouchy.
Your loving wife
xxx
I type back.
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Trying to Stay Calm
Date: August 17 2011 16:59
To: Anastasia Grey
You’re welcome.
Come back in one piece.
This is not a request.
x
Christian Grey
CEO & Overprotective Husband, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
A couple of hours later, I’m sitting at the small desk in the study and I get the call I’ve been dreading. “It’s arson,” Welch says.
“Fuck.” My heart sinks.
Who the hell is doing this to me? What do they want?
“Exactly. A small incendiary device was placed beside one of the server cabinets. Interestingly, it was designed to set off smoke, but that’s it. I think it’s a warning.”
A warning?
“Any idea when it was placed?” I ask.
“We don’t have that information, yet. We’ve already doubled security. I’ll post a guard 24/7 outside the server room. I know it’s the lifeblood of the company.”
“Good idea.”
“Will you come back early?”
“Do I need to?” I don’t want to end our honeymoon.
“No. I don’t think so. I think the biggest question for me right now is if this is linked to your EC135.”
“Let’s assume it is. That’s the worst-case scenario.”
“Yes. I think that’s prudent,” Welch responds.
“There’s nothing I can achieve there that I can’t do here. Besides, I think we’re safer on the boat.”
“There’s that,” he agrees, then pauses. “I know all our leads for a potential suspect have led to nothing. But we’ll double-check all the footage in and around Grey House. We will find this person.”
“Do. Nail the prick.”
“The police forensics team are in the server room right now, dusting for prints.”
“I bet Barney’s thrilled about that.”
Welch’s laugh is wry. “He’s not.”
“Goddamn it, this is frustrating,” I mutter into the phone.
“I know, Christian. The EC135 was dusted for prints by the FBI a few weeks ago. We’re still waiting to see if that yields a suspect. Eurocopter have the helicopter now. They’re assessing the damage to see if it can be repaired.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll call if there’s an update.”
“Thank you.” I hang up and stare at the coastline, where the city lights of Cannes are beginning to wake and welcome the dusk.
What the hell am I going to do?
What have I done to deserve this?
Grey, don’t go there.
The tender is being craned onto the bridge deck, which means Ana must have returned.
Ana. My girl.
She might get caught in this crossfire. I put my head in my hands in an attempt to drive the image of Ana lying unmoving on the floor from my psyche.
If anything happened to her…
The thought is torture. I need to see that she’s back in one piece. Now.
Quelling my morbid thoughts, I go in search of her. Stopping outside the master cabin door, I take a deep breath to calm my anxiety, and step inside. Ana is sitting on the bed with a parcel beside her. “You were gone some time.”
Startled, she looks up and eyes me warily. “Everything in control at your office?”
“More or less.” I don’t tell her more; I don’t want to worry her.
“I did a little shopping,” she says with a sweet smile.
“What did you buy?”
“This.” She places her foot on the bed, and around her ankle there’s a silver ankle chain.
“Very nice.” I run my fingers over the little bells that hang from the chain. They have a sweet, delicate chime, but the chain doesn’t hide the faint red line from the cuff yesterday.
The mark I left on her.
Hell.
“And this.” She holds out a wrapped gift box, a little too eagerly—to distract me, I think. Of course, she’s bought me something, and my mood switches to curious delight.
“For me?” The package is surprisingly heavy. Sitting down beside her, I give it a quick shake. Grinning, I clasp her chin and kiss her. “Thank you.”
“You haven’t opened it yet.”
“I’ll love it, whatever it is. I don’t get many presents.”
“It’s hard to buy you things. You have everything.”
“I have you.”
“You do.” She smiles.
I unwrap the paper to find a digital SLR camera. “A Nikon?”
“I know you have your compact digital camera, but this is for…portraits and the like. It comes with two lenses.”
Portraits?
Where is she going with
this?
My anxiety returns in full force, prickling my scalp.
“Today in the gallery you liked the Florence D’elle photographs. And I remember what you said in the Louvre. And, of course, there were those other photographs.” Her voice drops.
Oh good God. I don’t want to talk about them!
“I thought you might, um, like to take pictures of me.”
“Pictures? Of you?”
She nods, blinking, her uncertainty obvious, and I examine the box, playing for time. It’s a state-of-the-art camera, a thoughtful gift from my thoughtful wife, but it makes me uncomfortable. Really uncomfortable
Why does she think I want to photograph her naked?
That isn’t my life anymore.
I look up at her. “Why do you think I want this?” I whisper.
A frisson of alarm crosses her face. “Don’t you?” she asks.
No, Ana. You’ve got this all wrong.
Suddenly, I see it clearly: my old life and my new one careening together like a car crash and inflicting untold damage. Those photographs were fundamentally to protect me—to protect my position and my family. I have to make her understand that I don’t need this from her…but I don’t want to hurt her feelings.
Try the truth, Grey. Communicate.
“For me, photos like those have usually been an insurance policy, Ana.”
And for your pleasure, Grey. Yes. It felt intimate, but deep down I knew I was safe viewing my subject through a lens. I was always at a remove; the camera put a wall between me and my sub, even though it was a thrill to capture them in the most intimate poses.
Fuck. Shame washes over me, and I’m in the confessional spilling my darkest secrets. “I know I’ve objectified women for so long.”
Ana tucks her hair behind her ear, and looks as confounded as I feel. “And you think taking pictures of me is objectifying me?” she whispers.
I close my eyes. What is happening here?
Why wouldn’t I do this with her?
“I’m so confused,” I murmur.
“Why do you say that?” she asks gently.
Opening my eyes, I look down at her wrist, which still bears the marks that I left on her. I’m trying to protect her from my old life. And this is what I do?
How can I keep her safe, when I can’t even keep her safe from me?
“Christian, these don’t matter.” She holds up her hand so the welt is on show. “You gave me a safe word. Shit—yesterday was fun. I enjoyed it. Stop brooding about it. I like rough sex, I’ve told you that before.” She sounds panicked. “Is this about the fire? Do you think it’s connected somehow to Charlie Tango? Is this why you’re worried? Talk to me, Christian, please.”
Don’t frighten her further, Grey.
She frowns. “Don’t overthink this, Christian.” She reaches for the box, opens it, and removes the camera. Switching it on, she takes the lens cap off, and raises the Nikon to her face, pointing it at me.
I loathe having my photograph taken. The last time I did it willingly was at the wedding, and before that it was for her, not so long ago, at The Heathman. That was before my life changed irrevocably. Before I knew her. She presses the button and holds it, taking a burst of photographs.
“I’ll objectify you, then,” she mutters. And once more I know she’s laughing at me, and not putting up with my bullshit. She edges closer, still looking at me through the lens. One, two, three, she takes several photos. She pokes her tongue between her teeth as she snaps each one, but I know she’s unaware that she’s doing it and I’m beguiled. She smiles and captures my answering smile.
Only you, Ana.
Only you can drag me back into the light.
I pose for her, pursing my lips in an exaggerated fashion.
Her grin broadens and she giggles, and it’s such a wonderful sound.
“I thought it was my present,” I grumble.
“Well, it was supposed to be fun, but apparently, it’s a symbol of women’s oppression.” She takes more photographs.
She’s laughing at me!
Game on, Ana.
“You want to be oppressed?” A delightful vision of her kneeling in front of me, hands tied while she services my cock, forms in my mind.
“Not oppressed. No,” she whispers, continuing to take photographs.
“I could oppress you big-time, Mrs. Grey.”
“I know you can, Mr. Grey. And you do, frequently.”
Oh. Fuck. She’s serious!
She lowers the camera and stares at me. “What’s wrong, Christian?”
I just want to keep you safe.
She frowns and lifts the camera to her eye once more. “Tell me,” she insists.
Get a grip, Grey.
I damp down my feelings. I can’t deal with them right now. “Nothing,” I answer, and drop out of her line of sight, remove the camera box from the bed, and grab Ana, dragging her down onto the comforter and sitting astride her.
“Hey!” she protests, and takes more photographs of me smiling down at her until I take the camera from her and frame her beautiful face in the viewfinder. I press the shutter and capture her loveliness for posterity.
“So, you want me to take pictures of you, Mrs. Grey?” She looks so earnest, through the lens. “Well, for a start, I think you should be laughing.” Reaching down, I start to tickle her with my free hand. She squeals and struggles beneath me and I take picture after picture.
This is fun.
She laughs and laughs. “No! Stop!”
“Are you kidding?” I’ve never tickled anyone, and hers is a particularly gratifying reaction. I put the camera down and use both hands.
“Christian!” she squeals, and thrashes around beneath me. “Christian, stop!” she pleads, and I take pity on her. Grabbing both her hands, I hold them down on either side of her head. She’s winded, flushed, her eyes dark, her hair a mess. She’s stunning. She takes my breath away.
“You. Are. So. Beautiful,” I whisper.
I don’t deserve her.
Leaning down, I close my eyes and kiss her. Her lips are soft. Her mouth welcoming. I cradle her head in my hands, my fingers weaving into her hair, and I deepen our kiss, wanting more, wanting to lose myself in her. She responds, her body rising, her hands traveling up my arms and grasping my biceps.
Her response is a torch to my arousal.
No, it’s more than that.
I want her, yes, but I need her more.
My body stands at attention, hungering for her. She’s my life raft, while I’m adrift, trying to make sense of what’s happening to me. When I’m with her, in her, all is right with the world. “Oh, what you do to me.” I groan, yearning for her. I shift quickly so I’m lying on top of her, feeling her body along the length of mine. My hand skates down to her breast, her waist, her hip, and her behind, squeezing as I go. I kiss her again, pushing my knee between her legs, running my hand down her thigh and hitching her leg over my hip. I grind against her, wanting her. Her fingers are in my hair and she tugs and holds me to her mouth, while I take all I want.
I think I’m going to combust, I want her so badly.
Fuck.
Abruptly, I stop. I need her. Now.
Standing, I pull her off the bed and undo her shorts. Kneeling down, I drag them and her panties off, then we’re back on the bed with her beneath me. My fingers make light work of my fly and free my impatient dick.
With one move, I’m inside her. Hard. Deep.
“Yes!” I hiss as she cries out.
I still and examine her face. Her eyes are closed, her head tipped back and her mouth open. I swivel my hips and drive myself deeper.
She groans and wraps her arms around me.
“I need you,” I growl, and graze my teeth along her jaw, and then I’m kissing her again, t
aking her mouth and all she has to give while she binds herself to me, wrapping her legs and arms around me. I’m unleashed. My need for her greater than I ever imagined. I want to crawl inside her skin so she can keep me in one piece; keep me whole. She meets me stroke for stroke. Encouraging me with her soft cries of need. Her passion, loud and hot in my ear.
I feel her. She’s close. So close. Reaching. With me. As I drive her higher. As she drives me higher.
“Come with me,” I rasp, and rear up over her. “Open your eyes. I need to see you.” She peers up at me, eyes dazed with longing, and she lets go, tipping her head back and screaming her orgasm for all to hear.
It pushes me over the edge and I climax, driving myself into her and calling out her name. I collapse to the side, bringing her with me, and turn us both so that she’s sprawled on top of me. I drag precious air into my lungs while still inside her, holding her tightly.
My beacon. My dream catcher. My love. My life.
Someone wants to kill us. Damn them.
She kisses my chest, soft, sweet kisses. “Tell me, Christian, what’s wrong?”
I tighten my hold on her and close my eyes.
I don’t want to lose you.
“I give you my solemn vow,” she whispers, “to be your faithful partner in sickness and in health, to stand by your side in good times and in bad, to share your joy as well as your sorrow.”
I still. She’s reciting her vows. I open my eyes. Her face is a picture of sincerity and her love-light shines so bright from her beautiful face. “I promise to love you unconditionally, to support you in your goals and dreams, to honor and respect you, to laugh with you and cry with you, to share my hopes and dreams with you, and bring you solace in times of need. And to cherish you for as long as we both shall live.” She sighs, gazing at me and willing me to speak.
“Oh, Ana,” I murmur, and move, easing out of her, so that we’re lying side by side, lost in each other’s eyes. I stroke her face with my knuckles and thumb. From memory, I recite my vows, my voice hoarse as I try to contain my emotion. “I solemnly vow that I will safeguard and hold dear and deep in my heart our union and you. I promise to love you faithfully, forsaking all others, through the good times and the bad, in sickness and in health, regardless of where life takes us. I will protect you, trust you, and respect you. I will share your joys and sorrows and comfort you in times of need. I promise to cherish you and uphold your hopes and dreams and keep you safe at my side. All that is mine is now yours. I give you my hand, my heart, and my love from this moment on for as long as we both shall live.”
