by James, E L
“Yeah. Dad told me you’re working with him,” Ethan says.
“GEH is updating his fiber-optic network.”
“He’s pleased.”
I grin. “I enjoy working with him. He’s got a good head on his shoulders.”
Ethan nods. “He says the same about you.”
“I’m glad to hear that.” From my backpack, I remove a box of flies. Inside is an impressive collection. “Carmella’s husband makes these. They’re great for trout.”
“Cool.” He selects one and examines it closely.
“Yeah.” I choose one. “The mayflies are hatching around now.”
“These should do it. Let’s hook some lips. I’ll give you some room,” he says, and we both move over the rock-strewn bank in opposite directions.
My reel is attached, but I quickly assemble the rest of the rod and run the fly-line through the guides and attach my fly to the tippet. I’m ready. A glance at Ethan, who must be twenty-five feet away, tells me he’s ready, too. He makes his first cast. It’s smooth and graceful, and the fly lands in what looks like a sweet spot in the water. He knows what he’s doing.
The Roaring Fork gurgles westward at my feet, flanked by rocks and silver birches. It’s a perfect, peaceful setting. The mere sight of this wilderness is enough to make me exhale. I gaze intently at the water as it rushes past me, and slowly wade into the shallows.
Dad is standing with me in the water.
We’re in waders. He scans the river.
Here, son, you’ve got to learn to read the water like you do a book.
Look for those telltale signs of Mr. Trout.
He could be hiding under rocks in the river.
He could be in the seam.
You see the seam, where the slow water hits the fast water.
And look for the bubbles. He could be feeding there.
He loves to eat mayflies, especially this time of year.
This guy, he holds up a fly. We’ll fool him with this.
Take your fly and fasten to the tippet. Here. Like this. Dad knots the fly.
Now you do it. After a few goes, I do. It’s a good knot because Dad’s shown me how.
Good going, Christian. Remember to cast like you’re flicking paint off a brush. It’s all in your wrist.
The mayfly lands and I let her drift on top of the water like Dad said. I get a bite. A trout.
Good going, Christian!
Together we reel it in.
My dad was a good teacher. I make a couple of casts upstream to the far bank and let the fly drift toward me, and soon I’m lost in concentration. Everything slips from my mind as I set about conquering the river.
A heron lands upstream.
The drizzle eases.
It’s so quiet. In spite of the weather, it’s great out here.
I get a bite.
It’s a trout.
A big one.
Hell yes.
The trout backflips and snaps the line.
Shit. Lost him. And the fly.
Ethan has better luck than me. I suspect he hooks the same fish I lost.
“The one that got away,” I complain.
Ethan grins. “This one had my name on it.”
I check the time; we should go.
“He’s big enough to eat. Can we take him?” Ethan says.
“We shouldn’t.”
He grimaces. “Just this once?”
I smile. “Let’s load up. And head back.”
“Elliot never showed,” Ethan says, as we climb into the truck.
“His business in town must have taken longer than he thought.”
Ethan nods, pensive. “He’s a good guy. I think my sister is pretty stuck on him.”
“I think he’s pretty stuck on her, too. Speaking of sisters, how are things with Mia?” I hope I sound casual.
“Your sister is a real force of nature.” He shakes his head, amused by something. “But we’re still just friends.”
“I think she’d like to be more than friends.”
“Yeah. I think so, too.” He blows out a breath.
We pull into the driveway and I activate the garage door. We both climb out of the truck to start unloading, as the garage door slowly rises to reveal Ana and Kate standing beside Elliot astride one of my KTM dirt bikes. They’re all staring at us. “Garage band?” I ask, as I saunter toward Ana. She’s a little flushed, as if she’s been drinking. She grins as her eyes travel down my body; she’s amused at my attire.
Fishing gear, baby. Or maybe she recognizes the coveralls she sold me at Clayton’s. “Hi,” I say, wondering what the hell they’re all doing in the garage.
“Hi. Nice coveralls,” coos Ana.
“Lots of pockets. Very handy for fishing.” I remember how attractive but awkward she was when I was at the hardware store. Her cheeks grow rosier.
Oh, baby, we’ve come a long way since then.
From the corner of my eye, I see Kate roll her eyes, but I ignore her.
“You’re wet,” Ana breathes.
“It was raining. What are you guys doing in the garage?”
“Ana came to fetch some wood.” Elliot smirks.
Dude!
“I tried to tempt her to take a ride.” He pats the bike.
Fuck. No. In this weather? And enough of the smut talk, bro!
“She said no. That you wouldn’t like it,” Elliot says quickly.
I slide my eyes to Ana. “Did she, now?”
Her cheeks grow rosier still.
“Listen, I’m all for standing around discussing what Ana did next, but shall we go back inside?” Kate snaps. She picks up two logs and marches out of the garage. Elliot sighs and swings his leg off the bike and follows her.
I turn back to Ana. “You can ride a motorcycle?”
“Not very well. Ethan taught me.”
Did he, now? My sister and my wife…
“You made the right decision. The ground’s very hard at the moment, and the rain’s made it treacherous and slippery.”
“Where do you want the fishing gear?” Ethan asks.
“Leave it, Ethan—Taylor will take care of it.”
“What about the fish?” Ethan continues, his voice vaguely taunting.
“You caught a fish?” Ana asks.
No. “Not me. Kavanagh did.” I pout.
Ana starts laughing.
“Mrs. Bentley will deal with that,” I call. With a smug grin, Ethan takes it into the house. “Am I amusing you, Mrs. Grey?”
“Very much so. You’re wet. Let me run you a bath.”
“As long as you join me.” I plant a kiss on her lips. “I’ll see you up in the bedroom. I’ve just got to get out of my coveralls.”
Ana cocks her head to the side.
“Do you want to watch?” I grin at her.
“Always. But right now, I’ll go run your bath, Sir.”
I smirk and watch her leave, then head into the mudroom.
“Man, that was great,” Ethan says, as he strips out of his waders.
“Yeah. It’s a good spot.”
“I’m happy to sort the gear.” He sounds sincere.
“Okay. I’ll help you.”
“No, man. Your wife is waiting for you. I’ll bring it in.” He waves me away as he goes back out to the truck. I don’t argue; instead, I strip out of my gear and leave the coveralls on a peg in the mudroom.
On my way to join Ana, I run into Mia at the bottom of the stairs.
“Hey, big brother.” She hugs me, taking me by surprise.
“Mia.” I think she’s a little tipsy.
“Where’s Ethan?”
“He’s outside. Unloading the truck.”
She puts her hands on her hips. �
�Christian Grey, did you make him unload it on his own?”
“He offered.”
“You know, I don’t hear from you at all since you got married. It’s like I don’t exist.” She sounds sullen.
“Hey.” I kiss her forehead. “You exist. How about I take you for lunch next week?”
She claps her hands in delight.
“What have you been drinking?” I call after her.
“Strawberry daiquiris.” She dashes out to find Ethan and I shake my head.
Taking the stairs two at a time, I go in search of my wife.
Ana is hanging a silvery-looking garment in the closet. She must have bought it in town. “Did you have a good time?” I ask, as I enter and close the door.
“Yes,” she says, staring at me.
“What is it?”
“I was thinking how much I’ve missed you.”
My heart skips a beat at the warmth in her voice. “You sound like you have it bad, Mrs. Grey.”
“I have, Mr. Grey,” she whispers.
I stroll over and stand before her, feeling the heat emanating from her body. “What did you buy?” I whisper, basking in her warmth.
“A dress, some shoes, a necklace. I spent a great deal of your money.” She peers up at me as if she’s guilty of some terrible crime.
Oh, this will never do.
“Good,” I stress quietly while my fingers ease a stray lock of her hair behind her ear. “And for the billionth time, our money.” The scent of jasmine and the sound of the bath filling with water drift from the en suite. With a gentle tug, I release her bottom lip from her teeth. I run my index finger down the front of her T-shirt, between her breasts, over her stomach and belly, to the hem. “You won’t be needing this in the bath.” I grip her T-shirt with both hands and slowly pull it up. “Lift your arms.” Ana cooperates, her luminous eyes on mine, and I tug off her top, dropping it on the floor.
“I thought we were just having a bath.” Her voice is breathy with desire.
“I want to make you good and dirty first. I’ve missed you, too.” I lean down and kiss her. Her hands creep into my hair as she welcomes the touch of my lips, and we’re soon lost in each other.
Ana’s head is off the side of the bed, tipped back as she cries out her orgasm. Her response triggers mine, and I come fast and hard inside her. Panting, I pull her onto my chest and we lie dazed and replete while I stare up at the ceiling.
“Shit, the water!” Ana cries, and tries to sit up. I keep hold of her.
Don’t go.
“Christian, the bath!” She stares down at me in horror.
I laugh. “Relax—it’s a wet room.” I roll onto her, pressing her into the mattress once more and kiss her, quickly. “I’ll switch off the faucet.” Feeling far more relaxed than I have for days, I get up, saunter into the bathroom, and turn off the water. Sure enough, the bath is overflowing, which will make for a fun time with my wife. She follows me in and gapes at the floor.
“See?” I point to where the water is circling the drain. She grins, and together we climb in, laughing as the water splashes out around us. She’s piled her hair into an impossible topknot perched precariously on her head, tendrils falling around her face.
She looks lovely.
And she’s all mine.
We sit at opposite ends of the overflowing tub. “Foot,” I command, and she places her left foot in my hand. I start massaging her sole with my thumbs. She closes her eyes and, as earlier, tips her head back and groans. “You like?” I whisper.
“Yes,” she breathes. Tugging each of her toes, I watch her lips pucker as she absorbs the pleasure. I kiss each toe in turn and graze my teeth along her little toe.
“Aaah!” she groans once more, and her eyes pop open.
“Like that?”
“Hmm.” I start massaging again, and she closes her eyes. “I saw Gia in town,” she says airily.
“Really? I think she has a place here.”
“She was with Elliot.”
My hands still, and Ana opens her eyes.
“What do you mean ‘with Elliot’?”
“We were in a boutique opposite a jeweler. I saw him go in alone, and I thought he must be buying the watch battery. He came out with Gia Matteo. She laughed at something he said, then he kissed her cheek and left.”
Maybe Gia helped him select a ring?
“Ana, they’re just friends. I think Elliot is pretty stuck on Kate.” Unfortunately. “In fact, I know he’s pretty stuck on her.” Though why, I have no idea.
“Kate is gorgeous.” Ana bridles, and I wonder once more if she can read my mind.
“Still glad it was you who fell into my office.” I kiss her big toe, pick up her right foot, and begin the process over again. Ana lays back once more as I lavish attention on her sole and we stop talking about Elliot and Gia and Kate.
I wonder when he’s going to propose?
I leave Ana to get ready for dinner while I head down to my study to check my e-mails. I sit down at my desk and open my laptop. As I go through my inbox, there are a couple of irritating work issues that I need to deal with, but I shelve them for the moment. It’s the e-mail from Leila that stops me in my tracks. My scalp tingles with apprehension. What the hell does she want?
From: Leila Williams
Subject: Thank you
Date: August 27 2011 14:00 EST
To: Christian Grey
Sir, or should I just call you Mr. Grey?
I don’t know anymore.
I wanted to say thank you.
For everything.
In person.
Please.
Leila
I scowl at the screen, and at Leila’s audacity. I’ve asked her, via Flynn, not to contact me directly, and yet she’s sent me this e-mail. I send it on to Flynn and ask him to remind her of my precondition to paying for her treatment and her tuition fees. Hopefully she won’t contact me again.
To add to my annoyance, there’s an e-mail from Ros telling me that the Taiwanese would like to talk tomorrow at 2:30 p.m. their time. On a Sunday? What time is that here?
I google it—shit. That’s half-past midnight, tonight.
What the hell?
I call Ros.
“Christian, hi. How are you?” She sounds upbeat, which only adds to my annoyance.
“Pissed. Can you change the time of this call?”
“I know. It’s ridiculous. But no. One of their execs is only available then.”
“On a Sunday?”
“It’s something to do with them having to be off-site when they make this call.”
I sigh. “Okay.”
“I’ll be on the call, too,” she says, in an attempt to mollify me, I suspect. “And we’ll have an interpreter.”
“Okay, I’ll speak to you then.” I hang up, irritated.
To hell with this.
I head into the den, where Elliot and Ethan are playing pool and drinking beer. I join them for a drink. Taylor has booked a table at a local restaurant for the six of us, but they have time for a game.
“So, what’s the deal with you and Mia?” Elliot asks Ethan.
Ethan chuckles. “You’re as bad as your brother.” He eyes me. “Like I said to Christian, we’re just friends.”
Elliot raises an eyebrow and directs a look at me.
I take a long swig of cool, clean-tasting beer.
“Did you get what you needed from town?” I ask Elliot as we watch Ethan slam in a couple of solids.
“Yeah.” He grins.
“Did you get some help?”
Elliot cocks his head to one side. “Why do you ask?”
“Little bird told me.”
Elliot scowls and Ethan fouls the white ball, so he goes to take his shot.
My phone buzzes in my back pocket. I have an e-mail from my wife.
From: Anastasia Grey
Subject: Does My Butt Look Big in This?
Date: August 27 2011 18:53 MST
To: Christian Grey
Mr. Grey
I need your sartorial advice.
Yours
Mrs. G x
Now, this I have to see. I type a quick response.
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Peachy
Date: August 27 2011 18:55 MST
To: Anastasia Grey
Mrs. Grey
I seriously doubt it.
But I will come and give your butt a thorough examination just to make sure.
Yours in anticipation
Mr. G x
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings and Butt Inspectorate, Inc.
I abandon my beer, bound up two sets of stairs, and open our bedroom door.
Wow.
Anastasia Grey. Wow.
Paralyzed, I stand on the threshold. Ana’s in front of the full-length mirror. She’s dressed—in a sense—in a tiny silver dress, and towering stilettos. Her hair is a glossy veil edging her beautiful face. Kohl frames her eyes, and dark red lipstick paints her mouth.
She looks sensational; my body comes alive in response.
She flicks her hair to the side. “Well?” she whispers.
“Ana, you look… Wow.”
“You like it?”
“Yes, I guess so.” My voice is husky, betraying my desire. I want to mess up her hair and smudge her lipstick. I want her to be my Ana, not this version of her. This powerful, seductive woman is, frankly, a little intimidating.
And hot.
Ball-tighteningly hot.
I enter the room, bewitched by my wife, and close the door behind me, glad that I put my jacket back on. She has endless, shapely legs. A vision of her feet in those shoes, hooked over my shoulders, comes to the forefront of my mind.
Fuck.
Placing my hands on her naked shoulders, I turn her around so we’re both facing the mirror.
Christ!
This dress hardly has a back.
At least it covers her backside. Just.
Our eyes meet in the glass, smoky blue to darkening gray.
She looks every inch the goddess I know. And tall. Really tall!
I glance down at her naked back, and I cannot resist her. I glide a knuckle down her spine and she slowly arches her back into my touch.
