Part II 7

We glare at each other.Okay, I can see this will end in a fight if I don’t tell him.“She’s threatening to come after me if I hurt you again—probably with a whip,” I snap at him.Relief flashes across his face, his mouth softening withhumor. “Surely the irony of that isn’t lost on you?” he says,and I can tell he’s trying hard to stifle his amusement.“This isn’t funny, Christian!”“No, you’re right. I’ll talk to her.” He adopts hisserious face, though he’s still suppressing his amusement.“You will do no such thing.” I fold my arms, my angerspiking again.He blinks at me, surprised by my outburst.“Look, I know you’re tied up with her financially,forgive the pun, but—” I stop. What am I asking him todo? Give her up? Stop seeing her? Can I do that? “I needthe restroom.” I glare up at him, my mouth set in a grimline.He sighs and cocks his head to one side. Could helook any hotter? Is it the mask or just him?“Please don’t be mad. I didn’t know she was here.She said she wasn’t coming.” His tone is placating as ifhe’s talking to a child. Reaching up he runs his thumb alongmy pouting bottom lip. “Don’t let Elena ruin our evening,please, Anastasia. She’s really old news.”Old being the operative word, I think uncharitably, ashe tips my chin up and gently grazes his lips against mine. Isigh in agreement, blinking up at him. He straightens andtakes my elbow.“I’ll accompany you to the powder room so you don’tget interrupted again.”He leads me across the lawn toward the luxurioustemporary restrooms. Mia said they had been deliveredfor the occasion, but I had no idea they came in deluxeversions.“I’ll wait here for you, baby,” he murmurs.When I come out, my mood has moderated. I ha一vedecided not to let Mrs. Robinson blight my eveningbecause that’s probably what she wants. Christian is onthe phone some distance away and out of earshot of thefew people laughing and chatting nearby. As I get closer, Ican hear him. He’s very terse.“Why did you change your mind? I thought we’dagreed. Well, lea一ve her alone . . . This is the first regularrelationship I’ve ever had, and I don’t want youjeopardizing it through some misplaced concern for me.Lea一ve. Her. Alone. I mean it, Elena.” He pauses, listening.“No, of course not.” He frowns deeply as he says this.Glancing up, he sees me regarding him. “I ha一ve to go.Goodnight.” He presses the off button.I cock my head to one side and raise an eyebrow athim. Why is he phoning her?“How’s the old news?”“Cranky,” he replies sardonically. “Do you want todance some more? Or would you like to go?” He glancesat his watch. “The fireworks start in five minutes.”“I love fireworks.”“We’ll stay and watch them, then.” He puts his armsaround me and pulls me close. “Don’t let her comebetween us, please.”“She cares about you,” I mutter.“Yes, and I her . . . as a friend.”“I think it’s more than a friendship to her.”His brow furrows. “Anastasia, Elena and I . . . it’scomplicated. We ha一ve a shared history. But it is just that,history. As I’ve said to you time and time again, she’s agood friend. That’s all. Please, forget about her.” Hekisses my hair, and in the interest of not ruining ourevening, I let it go. I am just trying to understand.We wander hand in hand back to the dance floor. Theband is still in full swing.“Anastasia.”I turn to find Carrick standing behind us.“I wondered if you’d do me the honor of the nextdance.” Carrick holds his hand out to me. Christian shrugsand smiles, releasing my hand, and I let Carrick lead meonto the dance floor. Sam the bandleader launches into“Come Fly with Me,” and Carrick puts his arm around mywaist and gently whirls me into the throng.“I wanted to thank you for the generous contribution toour charity, Anastasia.”From his tone, I suspect this is his roundabout way ofasking whether I can afford it.“Mr. Grey—”“Call me Carrick, please, Ana.”“I’m delighted to be able to contribute. I unexpectedlycame into some money. I don’t need it. And it’s such aworthy cause.”He smiles down at me, and I seize the opportunity forsome innocent inquiries. Carpe diem, my subconscioushisses from behind her hand.“Christian told me a little about his past, so I think it’sappropriate to support your work,” I add, hoping that thismight encourage Carrick to give me a small insight into themystery that is his son.Carrick is surprised. “Did he? That’s unusual. Youcertainly ha一ve had a very positive effect on him, Anastasia.I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so, so . . . buoyant.”I flush.“Sorry, I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”“Well, in my limited experience, he’s a very unusualman,” I murmur.“He is,” Carrick agrees quietly.“Christian’s early childhood sounds hideouslytraumatic, from what he’s told me.”Carrick frowns, and I worry if I’ve overstepped themark.“My wife was the doctor on duty when the policebrought him in. He was skin and bones, and badlybrought him in. He was skin and bones, and badlydehydrated. He wouldn’t speak.” Carrick frowns again,lost in the awful memory, despite the up-tempo musicsurrounding us. “In fact, he didn’t speak for nearly twoyears. It was playing the piano that eventually brought himout of himself. Oh, and Mia’s arrival, of course.” He smilesdown at me fondly.“He plays beautifully. And he’s accomplished so much,you must be very proud of him.” I sound distracted. HolyShit. Didn’t speak for two years.“Immensely so. He’s a very determined, very capable,very bright young man. But between you and me,Anastasia, it’s seeing him like he is this evening—carefree,acting his age—that’s the real thrill for his mother and me.We were both commenting on it today. I believe we ha一veyou to thank for that.”I think I blush to my roots. What am I supposed to sayto this?“He’s always been such a loner. We never thoughtwe’d see him with anyone. Whatever you’re doing, pleasedon’t stop. We’d like to see him happy.” He stopssuddenly as if he’s overstepped the mark. “I’m sorry, Idon’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”I shake my head. “I’d like to see him happy, too,” Imutter, unsure of what else to say.“Well, I’m very glad you came this evening. It’s been areal pleasure seeing the two of you together.”As the final strains of “Come Fly with Me” fade away,Carrick releases me and bows, and I curtsey, mirroring hiscivility.civility.“That’s enough dancing with old men.” Christian is atmy side again. Carrick laughs.“Less of the ‘old,’ son. I’ve been known to ha一ve mymoments.” Carrick winks at me playfully and saunters intothe crowd.“I think my dad likes you,” Christian mutters as hewatches his father mingle with the crowd..“What’s not to like?” I peek coquettishly up at himthrough my lashes.“Good point well made, Miss Steele.” He pulls me intoan embrace as the band starts to play “It Had to Be You.”“Dance with me,” he whispers seductively.“With pleasure, Mr. Grey.” I smile in response, and hesweeps me across the dance floor once more.At midnight, we stroll down toward the shore between themarquee and the boathouse where the other partygoersare gathered to watch the fireworks. The MC, back incharge, has permitted the removal of masks, the better tosee the display. Christian has his arm around me, but I’maware that Taylor and Sawyer are close by, probablybecause we’re in the crowd now. They are lookinganywhere but at the dockside where two pyrotechniciansdressed in black are making their final preparations. SeeingTaylor reminds me of Leila. Perhaps she’s here. Shit. Thethought chills my blood, and I huddle closer to Christian.He gazes down at me as he pulls me closer.“You okay, baby? Cold?”“You okay, baby? Cold?”“I’m fine.” I glance quickly behind us and see the othertwo security guys, whose names I forget, standing closeby. Moving me in front of him, Christian puts both his armsaround me over my shoulders.Suddenly, a stirring classical soundtrack booms overthe dock and two rockets soar into the air, exploding witha deafening bang over the bay, lighting it all in a dazzlingcanopy of sparkling orange and white that’s reflected in aglittering shower over the still calm water of the bay. Myjaw drops as several more rockets fire into the air andexplode in a kaleidoscope of color.I can’t recall ever seeing a display this impressive,except perhaps on television, and it never looks this goodon TV. They’re all in time to the music. Volley after volley,bang after bang, and light after light as the crowd answerswith gasps and ooohs and ahhs. It is out of this world.On the pontoon in the bay several silver fountains oflight shoot up twenty feet in the air, changing color throughblue, red, orange, and back to silver—and yet morerockets explode as the music reaches its crescendo.My face is beginning to ache from the ridiculous grin ofwonder plastered across it. I glance at Fifty, and he’s thesame, marveling like a child at the sensational show. Forthe finale a volley of six rockets shoot into the dark andexplode simultaneously, bathing us in a glorious goldenlight as the crowd erupts into frantic, enthusiastic applause.“Ladies and gentlemen,” the MC calls out as thecheers and whistles fade. “Just one note to add at the endof this wonderful evening; your generosity has raised aof this wonderful evening; your generosity has raised atotal of one million, eight hundred and fifty three thousanddollars!”Spontaneous applause erupts again, and out on thepontoon, a message lights up in silver streams of sparksforming the words Thank You From Coping Together,sparkling and shimmering over the water.“Oh, Christian . . . that was wonderful.” I grin up athim and he bends down to kiss me.“Time to go,” he murmurs, a broad smile on hisbeautiful face, and his words hold so much promise.Suddenly, I feel very tired.He glances up again, and Taylor is close, the crowddispersing around us. They don’t speak but somethingpasses between them.“Stay with me a moment. Taylor wants us to wait whilethe crowd disperses.”Oh.“I think that firework display probably aged him ahundred years,” he adds.“Doesn’t he like fireworks?”Christian gazes down at me fondly and shakes his headbut doesn’t elaborate.“So, Aspen,” he says, and I know he’s trying todistract me from something. It works.“Oh . . . I ha一ven’t paid for my bid,” I gasp.“You can send a check. I ha一ve the address.”“You were really mad.”“Yes, I was.”I grin. “I blame you and your toys.”I grin. “I blame you and your toys.”“You were quite overcome, Miss Steele. A mostsatisfactory outcome if I recall.” He smiles salaciously.“Incidentally, where are they?”“The silver balls? In my bag.”“I’d like them back.” He smirks down at me. “Theyare far too potent a device to be left in your innocenthands.”“Worried I might be quite overcome again, maybe withsomebody else?”His eyes glitter dangerously. “I hope that’s not going tohappen,” he says, a cool edge to his voice. “But no, Ana. Iwant all your pleasure.”Whoa. “Don’t you trust me?”“Implicitly. Now, can I ha一ve them back?”“I’ll think about it.”He narrows his eyes at me.There’s music once more from the dance floor but it’sa DJ playing a thumping dance number, the bass poundingout a relentless beat.“Do you want to dance?”“I’m really tired, Christian. I’d like to go, if that’sokay.”Christian glances at Taylor, who nods, and we set offtoward the house, following a couple of drunken guests.I’m grateful when Christian takes my hand—my feet areaching from the dizzying height and tight confinement of myshoes.Mia comes bounding up to us. “You’re not going, areyou? The real music’s just beginning. Come on, Ana.” Shegrabs my hand.“Mia,” Christian admonishes her. “Anastasia’s tired.We’re going home. Besides, we ha一ve a big daytomorrow.”We do?Mia pouts but surprisingly doesn’t push Christian.“You must come by sometime next week. Maybe wecan hit the mall?”“Sure, Mia.” I grin, though in the back of my mind I’mwondering how since I ha一ve to work for a living.She gives me a quick kiss then hugs Christian fiercely,taking us both by surprise. More astoundingly still, sheplaces her hands directly on the lapels of his jacket, and hejust gazes down at her, indulgently.“I like seeing you this happy,” she says sweetly andkisses him on the cheek. “Bye. You guys ha一ve fun.” Sheskips off toward her waiting friends—among them Lily,who looks even more sour-faced without her mask.I wonder idly where Sean is.“We’ll say goodnight to my parents before we lea一ve.Come.” Christian leads me through a gaggle of guests toGrace and Carrick, who wish us fond and warm farewells.“Please do come again, Anastasia, it’s been lovelyha一ving you here,” says Grace kindly.I am a little overwhelmed by both her and Carrick’sreaction. Fortunately, Grace’s parents ha一ve retired for theevening, so at least I am spared their enthusiasm.Quietly, Christian and I walk hand in hand to the frontof the house where countless cars are lined up and waitingto collect guests. I glance up at Fifty. He looks happy andrelaxed. It’s a real pleasure to see him this way, though Isuspect it’s unusual after such an extraordinary day.“Are you warm enough?” he asks.“Yes, thank you.” I clasp my satin wrap.“I really enjoyed this evening, Anastasia. Thank you.”“Me too, some parts more than others.” I grin.He grins and nods, then his brow creases. “Don’t biteyour lip,” he warns in a way that makes my blood sing.“What did you mean about a big day tomorrow?” Iask to distract myself.“Dr. Greene is coming to sort you out. Plus, I ha一ve asurprise for you.”“Dr. Greene!” I halt.“Yes.”“Why?”“Because I hate condoms,” he says quietly. His eyesglint in the soft light from the paper lanterns, gauging myreaction.“It’s my body,” I mutter, annoyed that he hasn’t askedme.“It’s mine, too,” he whispers.I gaze up at him as various guests pass by, ignoring us.He looks so earnest. Yes, my body is his . . . he knows itbetter than I do.I reach up, and he flinches ever so slightly but staysstill. Grasping the corner of his bow tie, I pull so itunra一vels, revealing the top button of his shirt. Gently I undoit.“You look hot like this,” I whisper. Actually he lookshot all the time, but really hot like this.He smirks at me. “I need to get you home. Come.”At the car, Sawyer hands Christian an envelope. Hefrowns at it and glances at me as Taylor ushers me into thecar. Taylor looks relieved for some reason. Christianclimbs in and hands me the envelope, unopened, as Taylorand Sawyer take their seats in the front.“It’s addressed to you. One of the staff ga一ve it toSawyer. No doub一t from yet another ensnared heart.”Christian’s mouth twists. It’s obvious this is an unpleasantconcept to him.I stare at the note. Who is this from? Ripping it open, Iread it quickly in the dim light. Holy shit, it’s from her!Why won’t she lea一ve me alone?Fuck, she’s signed it Mrs. Robinson! He told her. Thebastard.“You told her?”“Told who, what?”“That I call her Mrs. Robinson,” I snap.“It’s from Elena?” Christian is shocked. “This isridiculous,” he grumbles, running a hand through his hair,and I can tell he’s irritated. “I’ll deal with her tomorrow.Or Monday,” he mutters bitterly.And though I’m ashamed to admit it, a very small partof me is pleased. My subconscious nods sagely. Elena ispissing him off, and this can only be good—surely. Idecide to say nothing for now but stash her note in mybag, and in a gesture guaranteed to lighten his mood, Ihand him back the balls.“Until next time,” I murmur.He glances at me, and it’s hard to see his face in thedark, but I think he’s smirking. He reaches for my handand squeezes it.I gaze out of the window into the darkness, reflectingon this long day. I’ve learned so much about him, gleanedso many missing details—the salons, the road map, hischildhood—but there’s still so much more to discover.And what about Mrs. R? Yes, she cares for him, anddeeply, it would appear. I can see that, and he cares forher—but not in the same way. I don’t know what to thinkanymore. All this information is making my head hurt.Christian wakes me just as we pull up outside Escala. “DoI need to carry you in?” he asks gently.I shake my head sleepily. No way.As we stand in the elevator, I lean against him, puttingmy head against his shoulder. Sawyer stands in front of us,shifting uncomfortably.“It’s been a long day, eh, Anastasia?”I nod.“Tired?”I nod.“You’re not very talkative.”I nod and he grins.“Come. I’ll put you to bed.” He takes my hand as weexit the elevator, but we stop in the foyer when Sawyerholds up his hand. In that split second, I am instantly wideawake. Sawyer talks into his sleeve. I had no idea that hewas wearing a radio.“Will do, T,” he says and turns to face us. “Mr. Grey,the tires on Ms. Steele’s Audi ha一ve been slashed and paintthrown all over it.”Holy shit. My car! Who would do that? And I knowHoly shit. My car! Who would do that? And I knowthe answer as soon as the question materializes in mymind. Leila. I glance up at Christian, and he blanches.“Taylor is concerned that the perp may ha一ve enteredthe apartment and may still be there. He wants to makesure.”“I see,” Christian whispers. “What’s Taylor’s plan?”“He’s coming up in the service elevator with Ryan andReynolds. They’ll do a sweep then give us the all clear.I’m to wait with you, sir.”“Thank you, Sawyer.” Christian tightens his armaround me. “This day just gets better and better,” he sighsbitterly, nuzzling my hair. “Listen, I can’t stand here andwait. Sawyer, take care of Miss Steele. Don’t let her inuntil you ha一ve the all clear. I am sure Taylor isoverreacting. She can’t get into the apartment.”What? “No, Christian—you ha一ve to stay with me,” Iplead.Christian releases me. “Do as you’re told, Anastasia.Wait here.”No!“Sawyer?” Christian says.Sawyer opens the foyer door to let Christian enter theapartment then shuts the door behind him and stands infront of it, staring impassively down at me.Holy shit. Christian! All manner of horrific outcomesrun through my mind, but all I can do is stand and wait.Sawyer talks into his sleeve again.“Taylor, Mr. Grey has entered the apartment.” He flinchesand grabs the earpiece, pulling it out of his ear, presumablyreceiving some powerful invective from Taylor.Oh no—if Taylor is worried . . .“Please let me go in,” I plead.“Sorry, Miss Steele. This won’t take long.” Sawyerholds both hands up in a defensive gesture. “Taylor andthe guys are just coming into the apartment now.”Oh. I feel so impotent. Standing stock-still, I listenOh. I feel so impotent. Standing stock-still, I listena一vidly for the slightest sound, but all I hear is myaggra一vated breathing. It’s loud and shallow, my scalpprickles, my mouth is dry, and I feel faint. Please, letChristian be okay, I pray silently.I ha一ve no idea how much time passes, and still we hearnothing. Surely no sound is good—there are no gunshots. Ibegin pacing around the table in the foyer and examine thepaintings on the walls to distract myself.I’ve never really looked at them before: all figurativepaintings, all religious—the Madonna and child, all sixteenof them. How odd?Christian isn’t religious, is he? All of the paintings in thegreat room are abstracts—these are so different. Theydon’t distract me for long—Where is Christian?I stare at Sawyer and he watches me impassively.“What’s happening?”“No news, Miss Steele.”Abruptly, the doorknob moves. Sawyer spins like atop and draws a gun from his shoulder holster.top and draws a gun from his shoulder holster.I freeze. Christian appears at the door.“All clear,” he says, frowning at Sawyer, who puts hisgun away immediately and steps back to let me in.“Taylor is overreacting,” Christian grumbles as heholds out his hand to me. I stand gaping at him, unable tomove, drinking in every little detail: his unruly hair, thetightness round his eyes, the tense jaw, the top two buttonsof his shirt undone. I think I must ha一ve aged ten years.Christian frowns at me in concern, his eyes dark.“It’s alright, baby.” He moves toward me, envelopingme in his arms, and kisses my hair. “Come on, you’retired. Bed.”“I was so worried,” I murmur, rejoicing in his embraceand inhaling his sweet, sweet scent with my head againsthis chest.“I know. We’re all jumpy.”Sawyer has disappeared, presumably into theapartment.“Honestly, your exes are proving to be verychallenging, Mr. Grey,” I mutter wryly. Christian relaxes.“Yes. They are.”He releases me and taking my hand, leads me acrossthe hallway and into the great room.“Taylor and his crew are checking all the closets andcupboards. I don’t think she’s here.”“Why would she be here?” It makes no sense.“Exactly.”“Could she get in?”“I don’t see how. But Taylor is overcautioussometimes.”“Ha一ve you searched your playroom?” I whisper.Christian glances quickly at me, his brow creasing.“Yes, it’s locked—but Taylor and I checked.”I take a deep, cleansing breath.“Do you want a drink or anything?” Christian asks.“No.” Fatigue sweeps through me—I just want to goto bed.“Come. Let me put you to bed. You look exhausted.”Christian’s expression softens.Christian’s expression softens.I frown. Isn’t he coming, too? Does he want to sleepalone?I’m relieved when he leads me into his bedroom. Iplace my clutch bag on the chest of drawers and open it toempty the contents. I spy Mrs. Robinson’s note.“Here.” I pass it to Christian. “I don’t know if youwant to read this. I want to ignore it.”Christian scans it briefly and his jaw tenses.“I’m not sure what blanks she can fill in,” he saysdismissively. “I need to talk to Taylor.” He gazes down atme. “Let me unzip your dress.”“Are you going to call the police about the car?” I askas I turn around.He sweeps my hair out of the way, his fingers softlygrazing my naked back, and tugs down my zipper.“No. I don’t want the police involved. Leila needshelp, not police intervention, and I don’t want them here.We just ha一ve to double our efforts to find her.” He leansdown and plants a gentle kiss on my shoulder.down and plants a gentle kiss on my shoulder.“Go to bed,” he orders and then he’s gone.I lie, staring at the ceiling, waiting for him to return. Somuch has happened today, so much to process. Where tostart?I wake with a jolt—disorientated. Ha一ve I been asleep?Blinking in the dim glow the hallway casts through theslightly open bedroom door, I notice that Christian is notwith me. Where is he? I glance up. Standing at the end ofthe bed is a shadow. A woman, maybe? Dressed inblack? It’s difficult to tell.In my befuddled state, I reach across and switch onthe bedside light, then turn back to look but there’s no onethere. I shake my head. Did I imagine it? Dream it?I sit up and look around the room, a vague, insidiousunease gripping me—but I am quite alone.I rub my face. What time is it? Where’s Christian? Thealarm says it’s two fifteen in the morning.Climbing groggily out of bed, I set off to hunt himdown, disconcerted by my overactive imagination. I amseeing things now. It must be a reaction to the dramaticevents of the evening.The main room is empty, the only light emanating fromthe three pendulum lamps above the breakfast bar. But hisstudy door is ajar, and I hear him on the phone.“I don’t know why you’re calling at this hour. I ha一venothing to say to you . . . well, you can tell me now. Youdon’t ha一ve to lea一ve a message.”I stand motionless by the door, ea一vesdropping guiltily.Who is he talking to?“No, you listen. I asked you, and now I am telling you.Lea一ve her alone. She’s nothing to do with you. Do youunderstand?”He sounds belligerent and angry. I hesitate to knock.“I know you do. But I mean it, Elena. Lea一ve her thefuck alone. Do I need to put it in triplicate for you? Areyou hearing me? . . . Good. Good night.” He slams thephone down on the desk.phone down on the desk.Oh shit. I knock tentatively on the door.“What?” he snarls, and I almost want to run and hide.He sits at his desk with his head in his hands. Heglances up, his expression ferocious, but his face softensimmediately when he sees me. His eyes are wide andcautious. Suddenly, he looks so tired and my heartconstricts.He blinks, and his eyes sweep down my legs and backagain. I am wearing one of his T-shirts.“You should be in satin or silk, Anastasia,” hebreathes. “But even in my T-shirt you look beautiful.”Oh, an unexpected compliment. “I missed you. Cometo bed.”He rises slowly out of the chair still in his white shirtand black dress pants. But now his eyes are shining andfull of promise . . . but there’s a trace of sadness, too. Hestands in front of me, staring intently but not touching me.“Do you know what you mean to me?” he murmurs.“If something happened to you, because of me . . .” His“If something happened to you, because of me . . .” Hisvoice trails off, his brow creasing, and the pain that flashesacross his face is almost palpable. He looks so vulnerable—his fear very much apparent.“Nothing’s going to happen to me,” I reassure him, myvoice soothing. I reach up and stroke his face, running myfingers through the stubble on his cheek. It’s unexpectedlysoft. “Your beard grows quickly,” I whisper, unable tohide the wonder in my voice at this beautiful, fucked-upman who stands before me.I trace the line of his bottom lip then trail my fingersdown his throat, to the faint smudge of lipstick at the baseof his neck. He gazes down at me, still not touching me, hislips parted. I run my index finger along the line, and hecloses his eyes. His soft breathing quickens. My fingersreach the edge of his shirt, and I run them down to the nextfastened button.“I’m not going to touch you. I just want to undo yourshirt,” I whisper.His eyes open wide, regarding me with alarm. But hedoesn’t move, and he doesn’t stop me. Very slowly Iunfasten the button, holding the material away from hisskin, and move tentatively down to the next button,repeating the process—slowly, concentrating on what I amdoing.I don’t want to touch him. Well, I do . . . but I won’t .On the fourth button, the red line reappears, and I smileshyly up at him.“Back on home territory.” I trace the line with myfingers before undoing the final button. I pull his shirt openand move to his cuffs, removing his black polished stonecufflinks one at a time.“Can I take your shirt off?” I ask, my voice low.He nods, eyes still wide, as I reach up and pull his shirtover his shoulders. He frees his hands so he’s standing infront of me naked from the waist up. With his shirt off, heseems to recover his equilibrium. He smirks down at me.“What about my pants, Miss Steele?” he asks, raisingan eyebrow.“In the bedroom. I want you in your bed.”“In the bedroom. I want you in your bed.”“Do you now? Miss Steele, you are insatiable.”“I can’t think why.” I grab his hand, pull him from hisstudy, and lead him to his bedroom. The room is chilly.“You opened the balcony door?” he asks, frowningdown at me as we arrive in his room.“No.” I don’t remember doing that. I recall scanningthe room when I woke. The door was definitely closed.Oh shit . . . All the blood rushes from my face, and Istare at Christian as my mouth falls open.“What?” he snaps, glaring at me.“When I woke . . . there was someone in here,” Iwhisper. “I thought it was my imagination.”“What?” He looks horrified and dashes to the balconydoor, peers out, then steps back into the room and locksthe door behind him. “Are you sure? Who?” he asks hisvoice tight.“A woman, I think. It was dark. I’d only just wokenup.”“Get dressed,” he snarls at me on his way back in.“Get dressed,” he snarls at me on his way back in.“Now!”“My clothes are upstairs,” I whimper.He pulls open one of the drawers in his chest ofdrawers and fishes out a pair of sweatpants.“Put these on.” They are far too big, but he is not to beargued with.He swipes a T-shirt, too, and quickly pulls it over hishead. Grabbing the bedside phone, he presses twobuttons.“She’s still fucking here,” he hisses down the phone.Approximately three seconds later, Taylor and one ofthe other security guys, burst into Christian’s bedroom.Christian gives them a précis of what has happened.“How long ago?” Taylor demands, staring at me allbusinesslike. He’s still wearing his jacket. Does this manever sleep?“About ten minutes,” I mutter, for some reason feelingguilty.“She knows the apartment like the back of her hand,”says Christian. “I am taking Anastasia away now. She’shiding here somewhere. Find her. When is Gail back?“Tomorrow evening, sir.”“She’s not to return until this place is secure.Understand?” Christian snaps.“Yes, sir. Will you be going to Bellevue?”“I’m not leading this problem to my parents. Book mesomewhere.”“Yes. I’ll call you.”“Aren’t we all overreacting slightly?” I ask.Christian glowers at me. “She may ha一ve a gun,” hegrowls.“Christian, she was standing at the end of the bed. Shecould ha一ve shot me then, if that’s what she wanted to do.”Christian pauses for a moment to rein in his temper, Ithink. In a menacingly soft voice he says, “I’m notprepared to take the risk. Taylor, Anastasia needs shoes.”Christian disappears into his closet while the securityguy watches me. I can’t remember his name, Ryan maybe.He looks alternately down the hall and to the balconyHe looks alternately down the hall and to the balconywindows. Christian emerges a couple of minutes later witha leather messenger bag, wearing jeans and his pinstripedblazer. He drapes a denim jacket around my shoulders.“Come.” He clasps my hand tightly, and I ha一ve topractically run to keep up with his long strides into thegreat room.“I can’t believe she could hide somewhere in here,” Imutter, staring out the balcony doors.“It’s a big place. You ha一ven’t seen it all yet.”“Why don’t you just call her . . . tell her you want totalk to her?”“Anastasia, she’s unstable, and she may be armed,” hesays irritably.“So we just run?”“For now—yes.”“Supposing she tries to shoot Taylor?”“Taylor knows and understands guns,” he says withdistaste. “He’ll be quicker with a gun than she is.”“Ray was in the army. He’s taught me to shoot.”“Ray was in the army. He’s taught me to shoot.”Christian raises his eyebrows and for a moment looksutterly bemused. “You, with a gun?” he says incredulously.“Yes.” I am affronted. “I can shoot, Mr. Grey, soyou’d better beware. It’s not just crazy ex-subs you needto worry about.”“I’ll bear that in mind, Miss Steele,” he answers dryly,amused, and it feels good to know that even in thisridiculously tense situation, I can make him smile.Taylor meets us in the foyer and hands me my smallsuitcase and my black Converse. I am stunned that he’spacked me some clothes. I smile shyly at him withgratitude, and his returning smile is swift and reassuring.Before I can stop myself—I hug him, hard. He’s taken bysurprise, and when I release him, he’s pink in both cheeks.“Be careful,” I murmur.“Yes, Miss Steele,” he mutters.Christian frowns at me and then looks questioningly atTaylor, who smiles very slightly and adjusts his tie.“Let me know where I’m going.” Christian says.Taylor reaches into his jacket, pulls out his wallet, andhands Christian a credit card.“You might want to use this when you get there.”Christian nods. “Good thinking.”Ryan joins us. “Sawyer and Reynolds found nothing,”he says to Taylor.“Accompany Mr. Grey and Miss Steele to thegarage,” Taylor orders.The garage is deserted. Well, it is nearly three in themorning. Christian ushers me into the passenger seat of theR8 and puts my case and his bag in the trunk at the frontof the car. The Audi beside us is a complete mess—everytire slashed, white paint splattered all over it. It’s chillingand makes me grateful that Christian is taking mesomewhere else.“A replacement will arrive on Monday,” Christian saysbleakly when he’s seated beside me.“How could she ha一ve known it was my car?”He glances anxiously at me and sighs. “She had anAudi A3. I buy one for all my submissives—it’s one of theAudi A3. I buy one for all my submissives—it’s one of thesafest cars in its class.”Oh. “So, not so much a graduation present, then.”“Anastasia, despite what I hoped, you ha一ve never beenmy submissive, so technically it is a graduation present.”He pulls out of the parking space and speeds to the exit.Despite what he hoped. Oh no . . . my subconsciousshakes her head sadly. This is what we come back to allthe time.“Are you still hoping?” I whisper.The in-car phone buzzes. “Grey,” Christian snaps.“Fairmont Olympic. In my name.”“Thank you, Taylor. And, Taylor, be careful.”Taylor pauses. “Yes, sir,” he says quietly, andChristian hangs up.The streets of Seattle are deserted, and Christian roarsup Fifth Avenue toward the I-5. Once on the interstate, hefloors the gas pedal, heading north. He accelerates soquickly I’m momentarily thrown back in my seat.I peek at him. He’s deep in thought, radiating a deadlyI peek at him. He’s deep in thought, radiating a deadlybrooding silence. He hasn’t answered my question. Heglances frequently at the rearview mirror, and I realize he’schecking that we’re not being followed. Perhaps that’swhy we’re on the I-5. I thought the Fairmont was inSeattle.I gaze out of the window, trying to rationalize myexhausted, overactive mind. If she’d wanted to hurt me,she had ample opportunity in the bedroom.“No. It’s not what I hope for, not anymore. I thoughtthat was obvious.” Christian interrupts my introspection,his voice soft.I blink at him, pulling his denim jacket tighter aroundme, and I don’t know if the chill is emanating from withinme or from outside.“I worry that, you know . . . that I’m not enough.”“You’re more than enough. For the love of God,Anastasia, what do I ha一ve to do?”Tell me about yourself. Tell me you love me.“Why did you think I’d lea一ve when I told you Dr.Flynn had told me all there was to know about you?”He sighs hea一vily, closing his eyes for a moment, and forthe longest time he doesn’t answer. “You cannot begin tounderstand the depths of my depra一vity, Anastasia. And it’snot something I want to share with you.”“And you really think I’d lea一ve, if I knew?” My voiceis high, incredulous. Doesn’t he understand that I love him?“Do you think so little of me?”“I know you’ll lea一ve,” he says sadly.“Christian . . . I think that’s very unlikely. I can’timagine being without you.” Ever . . .“You left me once—I don’t want to go there again.”“Elena said she saw you last Saturday,” I whisperquietly.“She didn’t.” He frowns.“You didn’t go to see her, when I left?”“No,” he snaps, irritated. “I just told you I didn’t—andI don’t like to be doub一ted,” he scolds. “I didn’t goanywhere last weekend. I sat and made the glider youga一ve me. Took me forever,” he adds quietly.ga一ve me. Took me forever,” he adds quietly.My heart clenches again. Mrs. Robinson said she sawhim.Did she or didn’t she? She’s lying. Why?“Contrary to what Elena thinks, I don’t rush to her withall my problems, Anastasia. I don’t rush to anybody. Youmay ha一ve noticed—I’m not much of a talker.” He tightenshis hold on the steering wheel.“Carrick told me you didn’t talk for two years.”“Did he now?” Christian’s mouth presses into a hardline.“I kind of pumped him for information.” Embarrassed,I stare at my fingers.“So what else did Daddy say?”“He said your mom was the doctor who examined youwhen you were brought into the hospital. After you werediscovered in your apartment.”Christian’s expression remains blank . . . careful.“He said learning the piano helped. And Mia.”His lips curl in a fond smile at the mention of her name.His lips curl in a fond smile at the mention of her name.After a moment he says, “She was about six months oldwhen she arrived. I was thrilled, Elliot less so. He’dalready had to contend with my arrival. She was perfect.”The sweet, sad awe in his voice is affecting. “Less sonow, of course,” he mutters, and I recall her successfulattempts at the ball to thwart our lascivious intentions. Itmakes me giggle.Christian gives me a sideways glance. “You find thatamusing, Miss Steele?”“She seemed determined to keep us apart.”He laughs mirthlessly. “Yes, she’s quite accomplished.”He reaches across and squeezes my knee. “But we gotthere in the end.” He smiles then glances in the rearviewmirror once more. “I don’t think we’ve been followed.”He turns off the I-5 and heads back to central Seattle.“Can I ask you something about Elena?” We arestopped at some traffic lights.He gazes at me warily. “If you must,” he mutterssullenly, but I don’t let his irritability deter me.“You told me ages ago that she loved you in a way youfound acceptable. What did that mean?”“Isn’t it obvious?” he asks.“Not to me.”“I was out of control. I couldn’t bear to be touched. Ican’t bear it now. For a fourteen, fifteen-year-oldadolescent boy with hormones raging, it was a difficulttime. She showed me a way to let off steam.”Oh. “Mia said you were a brawler.”“Christ, what is it with my loquacious family? Actually—it’s you.” We’ve stopped at more lights, and he narrowshis eyes at me. “You inveigle information out of people.”He shakes his head in mock disgust.“Mia volunteered that information. In fact, she wasvery forthcoming. She was worried you’d start a brawl inthe marquee if you didn’t win me at the auction,” I mutterindignantly.“Oh, baby, there was no danger of that. There was noway I would let anyone else dance with you.”“You let Dr. Flynn.”“You let Dr. Flynn.”“He’s always the exception to the rule.”Christian pulls into the impressive, leafy driveway ofthe Fairmont Olympic Hotel and parks near the front door,beside a quaint stone fountain.“Come.” He climbs out of the car and retrieves ourluggage. A valet rushes toward us, looking surprised—nodoub一t at our late arrival. Christian tosses him the car keys.“Name of Taylor,” he says. The valet nods and can’tcontain his glee as he leaps into the R8 and drives off.Christian takes my hand and strides into the lobby.As I stand beside him at the reception desk, I feelutterly, utterly ridiculous. Here I am, in Seattle’s mostprestigious hotel, dressed in an oversized denim jacket,oversized sweatpants, and an old T-shirt next to thiselegant, beautiful, Greek god. No wonder the receptionistis looking from one to the other as if the equation doesn’tadd up. Of course, she’s over-awed by Christian. I roll myeyes as she flushes crimson and stutters. Jeez, even herhands are shaking.hands are shaking.“Do . . . you need a hand . . . with your bags, Mr.Taylor?” she asks, going scarlet again.“No, Mrs. Taylor and I can manage.”Mrs. Taylor! But I’m not wearing a ring. I put myhands behind my back.“You’re in the Cascade Suite, Mr. Taylor, eleventhfloor. Our bellboy will help with your bags.”“We’re fine,” Christian says curtly. “Where are theelevators?”Miss Flushing Crimson explains, and Christian graspsmy hand once more. I glance briefly round the impressive,sumptuous lobby full of overstuffed chairs, deserted sa一vefor a dark-haired woman sitting on a cozy sofa, feedingtidbits to her westie. She glances up and smiles at us as wemake our way to the elevators. So the hotel allows pets?Odd for a place so grand!The suite has two bedrooms, a formal dining room,and comes complete with grand piano. A log fire blazes inthe massive main room. Jeez . . . This suite is bigger thanmy apartment.“Well, Mrs. Taylor, I don’t know about you, but I’dreally like a drink,” Christian mutters, locking the frontdoor securely.In the bedroom, he puts my case and his satchel on theottoman at the foot of the king-size four-poster bed andleads me by the hand into the main room where the fire isburning brightly. It’s a welcome sight. I stand and warmmy hands while Christian fixes us both a drink.“Armagnac?”“Please.”After a moment, he joins me by the fire and hands mea crystal brandy glass.“It’s been quite a day, huh?”I nod and his gray eyes gaze at me searchingly,concerned.“I’m okay,” I whisper reassuringly. “How about you?”“Well, right now I’d like to drink this and then, ifyou’re not too tired, take you to bed and lose myself inyou.”you.”“I think that can be arranged, Mr. Taylor.” I smileshyly at him as he shuffles out of his shoes and peels off hissocks.“Mrs. Taylor, stop biting your lip,” he whispers.I blush into my glass. The Armagnac is delicious,lea一ving a burning warmth in its wake as it glides silkilydown my throat. When I glance up at Christian, he’ssipping his brandy, watching me, his eyes dark—hungry.“You never cease to amaze me, Anastasia. After a daylike today—or yesterday, rather—you’re not whining orrunning off into the hills screaming. I am in awe of you.You’re very strong.”“You’re a very good reason to stay,” I murmur. “I toldyou, Christian, I’m not going anywhere, no matter whatyou’ve done. You know how I feel about you.”His mouth twists as if he doub一ts my words, and hisbrow creases as if what I’m saying is painful for him tohear. Oh, Christian, what do I ha一ve to do to make yourealize how I feel?realize how I feel?Let him beat you, my subconscious sneers at me. Iscowl inwardly at her.“Where are you going to hang José’s portraits of me?”I try to lighten the mood.“That depends.” His lips twitch. This is obviously amuch more palatable topic of conversation for him.“On what?”“Circumstances,” he says mysteriously. “His show’snot over yet, so I don’t ha一ve to decide straight away.”I cock my head to one side and narrow my eyes.“You can look as sternly as you like, Mrs. Taylor. I’msaying nothing,” he teases.“I may torture the truth from you.”He raises an eyebrow. “Really, Anastasia, I don’t thinkyou should make promises you can’t fulfill.”Oh my, is that what he thinks? I place my glass on themantelpiece, reach over, and much to Christian’s surprise,take his glass and place it beside mine.“We’ll just ha一ve to see about that,” I murmur. Verybra一vely—emboldened by the brandy, no doub一t—I takeChristian’s hand and pull him toward the bedroom. At thefoot of the bed I stop. Christian is trying to hide hisamusement.“Now you ha一ve me in here, Anastasia, what are yougoing to do with me?” he teases, his voice low.“I’m going to start by undressing you. I want to finishwhat I started earlier.” I reach for the lapels on his jacket,careful not to touch him, and he doesn’t flinch but he’sholding his breath.Gently, I push his jacket over his shoulders, and hiseyes stay on mine, all traces of humor gone, as they growlarger, burning into me, wary and needful? There are somany interpretations of his look. What is he thinking? Iplace his jacket on the ottoman.“Now your T-shirt,” I whisper and lift it by the hem.He cooperates, raising his arms and backing away, makingit easier for me to pull it off. Once off, he gazes down atme, intently, wearing just his jeans that hang soprovocatively from his hips. The band of his boxer briefs isprovocatively from his hips. The band of his boxer briefs isvisible.My eyes move hungrily up across his taut stomach tothe remains of the lipstick line, faded and smudged, thenup to his chest. I want nothing more than to run my tonguethrough his chest hair to sa一vor his taste.“Now what?” he whispers, eyes blazing.“I want to kiss you here.” I run my finger from hipboneto hipbone across his belly.His lips part as he inhales sharply. “I’m not stoppingyou,” he breathes.I take his hand. “You’d better lie down then,” Imurmur and lead him to the side of the four-poster bed.He seems bewildered, and it occurs to me that perhaps noone has taken the lead with him since . . . her. No, don’tgo there.Lifting the covers, he sits on the edge of the bed,gazing up at me, waiting, his expression wary and serious.I stand before him and slip off his denim jacket and let itdrop to the floor, then I shuffle out of his sweatpants.drop to the floor, then I shuffle out of his sweatpants.He rubs his thumb over the tips of his fingers. He’sitching to touch me, I can tell, but he suppresses the urge.Taking a deep breath and beyond courageous, I reach forthe hem of my T-shirt and lift it over my head so I amnaked before him. His eyes don’t lea一ve mine, but heswallows and his lips part.“You are Aphrodite, Anastasia,” he murmurs.I clasp his face in my hands, tip his head up, and bendto kiss him. He groans low in his throat.As I place my mouth on his, he grabs my hips, andbefore I know it, I am pinned beneath him, his legs forcingmine apart so that he’s cradled against my body betweenmy legs. He’s kissing me, ra一vaging my mouth, our tonguesentwined. His hand trails from my thigh, over my hip, alongmy belly to my breast, squeezing, kneading, and pullingenticingly on my nipple.I groan and tilt my pelvis involuntarily against him,finding a delicious friction against the seam of his fly and hisgrowing erection. He stops kissing me and gazes down atme bemused and breathless. He flexes his hips so hiserection pushes against me. . . . Yes. Right there.I close my eyes and moan, and he does it again, butthis time I push back, relishing his answering moan as hekisses me again. He continues the slow delicious torture—rubbing me, rubbing him. And he’s right—getting lost inhim—it’s intoxicating to the exclusion of everything else.All my worries are obliterated.I am here in this moment with him—my blood singingin my veins, thrumming loudly through my ears, mixed withthe sound of our panting breaths. I bury my hands in hishair, holding him to my mouth, consuming him, my tongueas a一varicious as his. I trail my fingers down his arms, downhis lower back to the waistband of his jeans and push myintrepid, greedy hands inside, urging him on and on—forgetting everything, except us.