by James, E L
“I hate fighting with you,” I whisper.
“Well, stop being such an arse.”
I chuckle and draw her closer. “Arse?”
“Ass.”
“I prefer arse.”
“You should. It suits you.”
I laugh and kiss the top of her head, remembering that she was very taken with the word when she overheard it in Harrods.
London. Happy times.
“A requiem?” There’s a trace of censure in her murmur.
I shrug. “It’s just a lovely piece of music, Ana.” And I get to hold you.
Taylor coughs, and grudgingly I release her. “Miss Matteo is here,” he announces.
“Show her in.” I clasp Ana’s hand as Gia enters.
“Christian. Ana.” She beams at us, and we each shake her hand.
“Gia,” I respond, politely.
“You both look so well after your honeymoon,” she purrs.
I pull Ana close. “We had a wonderful time, thank you.” I plant a soft kiss on my wife’s temple and she slips her hand into my back pocket, and, to my delight, squeezes my butt.
Gia’s smile falters a little. “Have you managed to look over the plans?” she asks brightly.
“We have,” Ana says with a quick glance at me. I can’t help my grin. Ana’s gone all territorial and is laying claim to me. I like it.
“Please, the plans are here.” I wave in the direction of our dining table. Reluctantly, I pull away from Ana, but hold her hand.
“Would you like something to drink?” Ana asks Gia. “A glass of wine?”
“That would be lovely. Dry white if you have it,” she responds.
I switch off the music as Gia joins me by the table.
“Would you like some more wine, Christian?” Ana calls.
“Please, baby.” I watch as she retrieves the wineglasses.
Gia stands beside me. “This is good work, Gia,” I say, as she moves a little too close. “This especially.” I point at the rear elevation of her CAD drawing. “I think Ana has some opinions on the glass wall, but generally we’re both pleased with the ideas you’ve come up with.”
“Oh, I’m glad,” Gia coos, and she pats my arm.
Keep your fucking distance. She’s wearing a cloying, rich perfume that’s almost suffocating.
I step out of her reach and call to Ana. “Thirsty here.”
“Coming right up,” Ana responds.
A beat later, she’s back with glasses of wine for each of us, and she inserts herself between Gia and me—deliberately, I think. Has she noticed how Gia is incapable of keeping her hands to herself?
“Cheers.” I offer up my glass in thanks to Ana and take a sip of wine.
“Ana, you have some issues with the glass wall?” Gia prompts.
“Yes. I love it—don’t get me wrong. But I was hoping that we could incorporate it more organically into the house. After all, I fell in love with the house as it was, and I don’t want to make any radical changes.”
“I see.” Gia’s eyes flick to mine, and I look at Ana.
She continues, “I just want the design to be sympathetic, you know, more in keeping with the original house.” Ana glances at me.
“No major renovations?” I say.
“No.”
“You like it as it is?”
“Mostly, yes. I always knew it just needed some TLC.”
Ana’s eyes are glowing, reflecting mine, I’m sure.
Are we talking about the house, or me?
“Okay.” Gia gives us a quick glance before pitching a revised plan. “I think I get where you’re coming from, Ana. How about if we retain the glass wall, but have it open out onto a larger deck that’s in keeping with the Mediterranean style. We have the stone terrace there already. We can put in pillars in matching stone, widely spaced so you’ll still have the view. Add a glass roof, or tile it as per the rest of the house. It’ll also make a sheltered alfresco dining and seating area.”
Ana looks impressed.
Gia continues, “Or instead of the deck, we could incorporate a wood color of your choice into the glass doors—that might help to keep the Mediterranean spirit.”
“Like the bright blue shutters in the South of France,” Ana says, looking at me.
I’m not keen on the idea, but I’m not going to shoot her down in front of Ms. Matteo. Besides, if that’s what Ana wants, she can have it. I’ll learn to live with it. I ignore Gia, preening beside me.
“Ana, what do you want to do?” I ask.
“I like the deck idea.”
“Me, too.”
Ana turns her attention to Gia. “I think I’d like to see revised drawings, showing the bigger deck and pillars that are in keeping with the house.”
“Sure,” Gia says to Ana. “Any other issues?”
“Christian wants to remodel the master suite,” Ana says.
Another discreet cough interrupts us.
“Taylor?” He’s standing on the threshold.
“I need to confer with you on an urgent matter, Mr. Grey.”
I squeeze Ana’s shoulders and address Gia. “Mrs. Grey is in charge of this project. She has absolute carte blanche. Whatever she wants, it’s hers. I completely trust her instincts. She’s very shrewd.” Ana reaches up and pats my hand.
“If you’ll excuse me.” I leave them, and follow Taylor into his office. Prescott is there, seated at the CCTV monitor bank. Over her shoulder, all the feeds from around the apartment and also from the perimeter of Escala and the garage are on display.
“Mr. Grey,” Prescott greets me.
“Evening. What gives?”
Taylor grabs a chair from his small conference table and places it beside Prescott. He gestures to me to sit down. I comply and look at them expectantly.
“Prescott has been going through all the tapes from over the weekend from downstairs and outside. She found this.” Taylor nods at her, and using her mouse, Prescott clicks start on one of the screens.
A grainy image begins to play. It shows a man in coveralls walking toward the front entrance of the building, and inspecting the camera itself. She freezes it as the man looks directly at the camera.
Fuck. “It’s Jack Hyde,” I murmur, and he has his hair tied back. “When was this?”
“It’s Saturday, August 20, at around nine forty-five in the morning.”
His hair is lighter here; he must have been wearing a wig in the server room at Grey House.
“Sir, I’ve isolated all the footage I can find of him at around this time,” Prescott says.
“Interesting. What else do you have?”
She runs through several clips of Hyde: at the front door, at the opening to the garage, at the fire escapes. He’s carrying a broom, which he uses occasionally so he looks like a street cleaner.
Cunning bastard.
It’s weirdly fascinating to watch him.
“Have you sent this to Welch?”
“Not yet,” Taylor says. “I thought you’d better see it first.”
“Send it to him. Perhaps he can track where he goes from here.”
“Will do. This might be just the clue they need. Though, I learned today they haven’t found him yet. He’s still not been to his apartment, sir.”
“Oh, that’s news.”
“I spoke with Welch for a full update about an hour ago,” Taylor clarifies.
“No doubt he’ll fill me in tomorrow. This is good work. Well done, Prescott.” I give her a quick smile.
“Thank you, sir.”
“We’ll have to be extra careful, knowing that he’s prowling around the building.”
“Indeed,” Taylor agrees.
“I’d better head back. Thank you. Both of you.”
It looks like
Ana and Gia are finishing up when I enter the living room. “All done?” I ask, as I put my arm around Ana.
“Yes, Mr. Grey.” Gia smiles brightly, though her smile looks forced. “I’ll have the revised plans to you in a couple of days.”
Oh. I’m Mr. Grey now.
Interesting.
“Excellent. You’re happy?” I ask Ana, and I want to know what she’s said to Gia. Ana nods, looking rather pleased with herself.
“I’d better be going,” Gia says, again too brightly. She offers her hand to Ana first, then to me.
“Until next time, Gia,” Ana says with a charming smile.
“Yes, Mrs. Grey. Mr. Grey.”
Taylor appears at the entrance of the great room.
“Taylor will see you out,” Ana says, and arm in arm, we watch her join Taylor in the hallway.
When she’s out of earshot, I look down at my wife. “She was noticeably cooler.”
“Was she? I didn’t notice.” Ana shrugs, trying and failing miserably to look nonchalant. My wife is an appalling liar. “What did Taylor want?” She’s changing the subject.
Releasing her, I turn and start rolling up the plans. “It was about Hyde.”
“What about Hyde?” She pales.
Shit. I don’t want to add to her nightmares.
“It’s nothing to worry about, Ana.” Abandoning the plans, I draw her into my arms. “It turns out he hasn’t been in his apartment for weeks, that’s all.” I kiss her hair and go back to rolling up Gia’s designs. “So, what did you decide on?”
“Only what you and I discussed. I think she likes you,” Ana says quietly.
I think so, too! “Did you say something to her?”
She stares down at her hands. She’s knotting her fingers.
“We were Christian and Ana when she arrived, and Mr. and Mrs. Grey when she left,” I prompt.
“I may have said something,” she admits.
Oh, baby, you’re going into battle for me?
I’ve met Gia’s type before. Always in a business context. “She’s only reacting to this face.”
Ana looks alarmed.
“What? You’re not jealous, are you?” I’m shocked that she could even think this. Her cheeks color, and she doesn’t answer me, but looks down at her hands again, and I know I have my answer. I remember Elliot alluding to Gia’s nature and it reminded me of Elena—a woman who doesn’t take no for an answer. A woman who gets what she wants. “Ana, she’s a sexual predator. Not my type at all. How can you be jealous of her? Of anyone? Nothing about her interests me.” I run a hand through my hair, at a loss. “It’s only you, Ana. It will only ever be you.”
Abandoning the drawings again, I move quickly toward her and grasp her chin. “How can you think otherwise? Have I ever given you any indication that I could be remotely interested in anyone else?”
“No,” she whispers. “I’m being silly. It’s just today. You—” She stops.
“What about me?”
“Oh, Christian.” Tears well in her eyes. “I’m trying to adapt to this new life, that I had never imagined for myself. Everything is being handed to me on a plate—the job, you, my beautiful husband, who I never…I never knew I’d love this way, this hard, this fast, this…indelibly.”
I stare at her, paralyzed, as she takes a deep breath. “But you’re like a freight train, and I don’t want to get railroaded because the girl you fell in love with will be crushed. And what’ll be left? All that would be left is a vacuous social X-ray, flitting from charity function to charity function.”
Whoa! Ana!
“And now you want me to be a company CEO, which has never even been on my radar. I’m bouncing between all these ideas, struggling. You want me at home. You want me to run a company. It’s so confusing.” She fights down a sob. “You’ve got to let me make my own decisions, take my own risks, and make my own mistakes, and let me learn from them. I need to walk before I can run, Christian, don’t you see? I want some independence. That’s what my name means to me.”
This is about her!
Shit.
“You feel railroaded?” I whisper.
She nods.
I close my eyes. “I just want to give you the world, Ana, everything and anything you want. And save you from it, too. Keep you safe. But I also want everyone to know you’re mine. I panicked today when I got your e-mail. Why didn’t you tell me about your name?”
She flushes. “I only thought about it while we were on our honeymoon, and, well, I didn’t want to burst the bubble, and I forgot about it. I only remembered yesterday evening. And then Jack—you know—it was distracting. I’m sorry, I should have told you or discussed it with you, but I could never seem to find the right time.”
I study her, measuring her words. Yes. It would have resulted in an argument on our honeymoon.
“Why did you panic?” she asks.
I want to be worthy of you and your e-mail derailed me.
Stop, Grey. “I just don’t want you to slip through my fingers.”
“For heaven’s sake, I’m not going anywhere. When are you going to get that through your incredibly thick skull? I. Love. You.” She waves her hand in the air looking for inspiration—like I do. “More than ‘eyesight, space, or liberty.’”
Shakespeare? “A daughter’s love?” I hope not!
“No.” She laughs. “It’s the only quote that came to mind.”
“Mad King Lear?”
“Dear, dear mad King Lear.” She reaches up and strokes my cheek and I lean in to her hand, closing my eyes and reveling in her touch. “Would you change your name to Christian Steele, so everyone would know that you belong to me?”
Opening my eyes, I stare at her. “Belong to you?”
“Mine,” she says.
“Yours,” I repeat. “Yes, I would. If it meant that much to you.” I remember surrendering myself to her here, before we were married, when I thought she was leaving.
“Does it mean that much to you?” she asks.
“Yes.”
“Okay,” she says.
“I thought you’d already agreed to this.”
“Yes, I have, but now that we’ve discussed it further, I’m happier with my decision.”
“Oh.”
Flynn was right. This was about her and how she feels.
But I’m glad she’s come around. It’s a relief—our feud is over. I beam at her and she smiles back, so I swoop down, grab her by her waist, and swing her high.
Thank you, Anastasia.
She giggles, and I set her on her feet. “Mrs. Grey, do you know what this means to me?”
“I do now.”
I kiss her, threading my fingers through the softness of her hair, and whisper against her lips, “It means seven shades of Sunday.” I run my nose down hers.
“You think?” She leans back, her eyes narrowed, but she’s trying to hide her smile.
“Certain promises were made. An offer extended, a deal brokered,” I whisper.
And I want you.
After this fight, I need to know we’re okay.
“Um…” Ana regards me as if I’ve lost mind.
Hell, she’s backing out. “You reneging on me?” A plan pops, fully formed, into my mind. “I have an idea. A really important matter to attend to.”
Ana’s expression intensifies; she thinks I’m crazy.
“Yes, Mrs. Grey. A matter of the gravest importance.” I’m sure there’s a wicked gleam in my eye. This is a means to an end.
She narrows hers, once more. “What?” she asks.
“I need you to cut my hair. Apparently, it’s overlong, and my wife doesn’t like it.”
“I can’t cut your hair!” she exclaims, in amused disbelief.
“Yes, you can.” I shake my head and my
hair falls into my eyes.
How have I not noticed this?
“Well, if Mrs. Jones has a pudding bowl.” Ana giggles.
I laugh. “Okay, good point well made. I’ll get Franco to do it.”
Her laugh turns to a grimace, and after a moment’s hesitation she grabs my hand with surprising strength. “Come.” She drags me all the way to our bathroom and releases me there.
Looks like she’s going to cut my hair.
I stand watching her as she drags the bathroom chair in front of her sink. Her high heels emphasize her legs and the tight pencil skirt sculpts her beautiful behind. This is a show worth watching.
She turns and points to the chair. “Sit.”
“Are you going to wash my hair?”
She nods.
Whoa. I can’t remember anyone washing my hair. Ever.
“Okay.” Without taking my eyes off hers, I slowly unbutton my shirt, and when it’s undone I present her with my right wrist. The cuff is held together with one of my cuff links.
Undo this, baby.
With a darkening look, she undoes the right, then the left cuff, her fingertips tantalizing my skin with a soft sweep or two over each pulse. Her blouse is undone, one button too far, and I glimpse the soft swell of her breasts encased in fine lace.
It’s a most inspiring sight. She steps closer, and I catch a hint of her lovely fragrance as she pushes my shirt off my shoulders and lets it drop to the floor.
“Ready?” she whispers, and that one word holds so much promise. It’s arousing. Deeply arousing.
“For whatever you want, Ana.”
Her eyes stray to my lips and she leans in for a kiss.
“No,” I breathe, and in a monumental act of self-sacrifice, I grasp her shoulders. “Don’t. If you do that, I’ll never get my hair cut.”
Her mouth forms a perfect o.
“I want this,” I whisper, surprising myself.
“Why?”
Because no one’s washed my hair… Ever. “Because it’ll make me feel cherished.”
She gasps at my softly spoken confession, and before I can do so much as blink, she embraces me, holding me close. She kisses my chest with soft, gentle kisses, where only two months ago I couldn’t bear to be touched.
“Ana. My Ana.” Closing my eyes, I gather her in my arms while my heart overflows.
