fifty shades darker (9 page)

“I’ve enjoyed myself this week, thank you, Jack. Yes, I think I made the right decision.”

“You’re a very bright girl, Ana. You’ll go far.”

I blush. “Thank you,” I mutter, because I don’t know what else to say.

“Do you live far?”

“The Pike Market district.”

“Not far from me.” Smiling, he moves even closer and leans against the bar, effectively trapping me. “Do you have any plans this weekend?”

“Well . . . um—”

I feel him before I see him. It’s as if my whole body is highly attuned to his presence.

It relaxes and ignites at the same time—a weird, internal duality—and I sense that strange pulsing electricity.

Christian drapes his arm around my shoulder in a seemingly casual display of affection—but I know differently. He is staking a claim, and on this occasion, it’s very welcome.

Softly he kisses my hair.

“Hello, baby,” he murmurs.

I can’t help but feel relieved, safe, and excited with his arm around me. He draws me to his side, and I glance up at him while he stares at Jack, his expression impassive. Turning his attention to me, he gives me a brief crooked smile followed by a swift kiss. He’s wearing his navy pinstriped jacket over jeans and an open white shirt. He looks edible.

Jack shuffles back uncomfortably.

“Jack, this is Christian,” I mumble apologetically. Why am I apologizing? “Christian, Jack.”

“I’m the boyfriend,” Christian says with a small, cool smile that doesn’t reach his eyes as he shakes Jack’s hand. I glance up at Jack who is mentally assessing the fine specimen of manhood in front of him.

“I’m the boss,” Jack replies arrogantly. “Ana did mention an ex-boyfriend.”

Oh, shit. You don’t want to play this game with Fifty.

“Well, no longer ex,” Christian replies calmly. “Come on, baby, time to go.”

“Please, stay and join us for a drink,” Jack says smoothly.

I don’t think that’s a good idea. Why is this so uncomfortable? I glance at Claire, who is, of course staring, open-mouthed and with frankly carnal appreciation at Christian.

When will I stop caring about the effect he has on other women?

“We have plans,” Christian replies with his enigmatic smile.

We do? And a frisson of anticipation runs through my body.

“Another time, perhaps,” he adds. “Come,” he says to me as he takes my hand.

“See you Monday.” I smile at Jack, Claire, and the guys from finance, trying hard to ignore Jack’s less-than-pleased expression, and follow Christian out of the door.

Taylor is at the wheel of the Audi waiting at the curb.

“Why did that feel like a pissing contest?” I ask Christian as he opens the car door for me. “Because it was,” he murmurs and gives me his enigmatic smile then shuts my door.

“Hello, Taylor,” I say and our eyes meet in the review mirror.

“Miss Steele,” Taylor acknowledges with a genial smile.

Christian slides in beside me, clasps my hand, and gently kisses my knuckles. “Hi,” he says softly.

My cheeks turn pink, knowing that Taylor can hear us, grateful that he can’t see the scorching, panty-combusting look that Christian is giving me. It takes all my self-restraint not to leap on him right here, in the back seat of the car.

Oh, the back seat of the car . . . hmm.
My inner goddess strokes her chin gently in quiet contemplation.

“Hi,” I breathe, my mouth dry.

“What would you like to do this evening?”

“I thought you said we had plans.”

“Oh, I know what I’d like to do, Anastasia. I’m asking you what you want to do.”

I beam at him.

“I see,” he says with a wickedly salacious grin. “So . . . begging it is, then. Do you want to beg at my place or yours?” He tilts his head to one side and smiles his oh-so-sexy smile at me.

“I think you’re being very presumptuous, Mr. Grey. But by way of a change, we could go to my apartment.” I bite my lip deliberately, and his expression darkens.

“Taylor, Miss Steele’s, please.”

“Sir,” Taylor acknowledges and he heads off into the traffic.

“So how has your day been?” he asks.

“Good. Yours?”

“Good, thank you.”

His ridiculously broad grin reflects mine, and he kisses my hand again.

“You look lovely,” he says.

“As do you.”

“Your boss, Jack Hyde, is he good at his job?”

Whoa! That’s a sudden change in direction? I frown. “Why? This isn’t about your pissing contest?”

Christian smirks. “That man wants into your panties, Anastasia,” he says dryly.

I go crimson as my mouth drops open, and I glance nervously at Taylor. My subconscious inhales sharply, shocked.

“Well, he can want all he likes . . . why are we even having this conversation? You know I have no interest in him whatsoever. He’s just my boss.”

“That’s the point. He wants what’s mine. I need to know if he’s good at his job.”

I shrug. “I think so.” Where is he going with this?

“Well, he’d better leave you alone, or he’ll find himself on his ass on the sidewalk.”

“Oh, Christian, what are you talking about? He hasn’t done anything wrong.” . . .
Yet.

He just stands too close.

“He makes one move, you tell me. It’s called gross moral turpitude—or sexual harass-ment.”

“It was just a drink after work.”

“I mean it. One move and he’s out.”

“You don’t have that kind of power.” Honestly! And before I roll my eyes at him, the realization hits me with the force of a speeding freight truck. “Do you, Christian?”

Christian gives me his enigmatic smile.

“You’re buying the company,” I whisper in horror.

His smile slips in response to the panic in my voice. “Not exactly,” he says.

“You’ve bought it. SIP. Already.”

He blinks at me, warily. “Possibly.”

“You have or you haven’t?”

“Have.”

What the hell?
“Why?” I gasp, appalled. Oh, this just is too much.

“Because I can, Anastasia. I need you safe.”

“But you said you wouldn’t interfere in my career!”

“And I won’t.”

I snatch my hand out of his. “Christian . . .” Words fail me.

“Are you mad at me?”

“Yes. Of course I’m mad at you.” I seethe. “I mean, what kind of responsible business executive makes decisions based on who they are currently fucking?” I blanch and glance nervously once more at Taylor who is stoically ignoring us.

Shit. What a time to have a brain-to-mouth filter malfunction.
Anastasia!
My subconscious glares at me.

Christian opens his mouth then closes it again and scowls at me. I glare at him. The atmosphere in the car plunges from warm with sweet reunion to frigid with unspoken words and potential recriminations as we glower at each other.

Fortunately, our uncomfortable car journey doesn’t last long, and Taylor pulls up outside my apartment.

I scramble out of the car quickly, not waiting for anyone to open the door.

I hear Christian mutter to Taylor, “I think you’d better wait here.”

I sense him standing close behind me as I struggle to find the front door keys in my purse.

“Anastasia,” he says calmly as if I’m some cornered wild animal.

I sigh and turn to face him. I am so mad at him, my anger is palpable—a dark entity threatening to choke me.

“First, I haven’t fucked you for a while—a long while, it feels—and second, I wanted to get into publishing. Of the four companies in Seattle, SIP is the most profitable, but it’s on the cusp and it’s going to stagnate—it needs to branch out.”

I stare frigidly at him. His eyes are so intense, threatening even, but sexy as hell. I could get lost in their steely depths.

“So you’re my boss now,” I snap.

“Technically, I’m your boss’s boss’s boss.”

“And, technically, it’s gross moral turpitude—the fact that I am fucking my boss’s boss’s boss.”

“At the moment, you’re arguing with him.” Christian scowls.

“That’s because he’s such an arse,” I hiss.

Christian steps back in stunned surprise.
Oh shit.
Have I gone too far?

“An arse?” he murmurs as his expression changes to one of amusement.

Goddamn it! I am mad at you, do not make me laugh!

“Yes.” I struggle to maintain my look of moral outrage.

“An arse?” Christian says again. This time his lips twitch with a repressed smile.

“Don’t make me laugh when I am mad at you!” I shout.

And he smiles, a dazzling, full-toothed, all-American-boy smile, and I can’t help it. I am grinning and laughing, too. How could I not be affected by the joy I see in his smile?

“Just because I have a stupid damn grin on my face doesn’t mean I’m not mad as hell at you,” I mutter breathlessly, trying to suppress my high-school-cheerleader giggling.

Though I was never cheerleader
—the bitter thought crosses my mind.

He leans in, and I think he’s going to kiss me but he doesn’t. He nuzzles my hair and inhales deeply.

“As ever, Miss Steele, you are unexpected.” He leans back and gazes at me, his eyes dancing with humor. “So are you going to invite me in, or am I to be sent packing for exercising my democratic right as an American citizen, entrepreneur, and consumer to purchase whatever I damn well please?”

“Have you spoken to Dr. Flynn about this?”

He laughs. “Are you going to let me in or not, Anastasia?”

I try for a grudging look—biting my lip helps—but I’m smiling as I open the door.

Christian turns and waves to Taylor, and the Audi pulls away.

It’s odd having Christian Grey in the apartment. The place feels too small for him.

I am still mad at him—his stalking knows no bounds, and it dawns on me that this is how he knew about the e-mail being monitored at SIP. He probably knows more about SIP

than I do. The thought is unsavory.

What can I do? Why does he have this need to keep me safe? I am a grown-up—
sort
of
—for heaven’s sake. What can I do to reassure him?

I gaze at his beautiful face as he paces the room like a caged predator, and my anger subsides. Seeing him here in my space when I thought we were over is heartwarming.

More than heartwarming, I love him, and my heart swells with a nervous, heady elation.

He glances around, assessing his surroundings.

“Nice place,” he says.

“Kate’s parents bought it for her.”

He nods distractedly, and his bold gray eyes come to rest on mine, staring at me.

“Er . . . would you like a drink?” I mutter, flushing with nerves.

“No, thank you, Anastasia.” His eyes darken.

Oh crap. Why am I so nervous?

“What would you like to do, Anastasia?” he asks softly as he walks toward me, all feral and hot. “I know what I want to do,” he adds in a low voice.

I back up until I bump against the concrete kitchen island.

“I’m still mad at you.”

“I know.” He smiles a lopsided apologetic smile and I melt . . . Well, maybe not so mad.

“Would you like something to eat?” I ask.

He nods slowly. “Yes. You,” he murmurs. Everything south of my waistline clenches.

I’m seduced by his voice alone, but that look, that hungry I-want-you-now look—oh my.

He’s standing in front of me, not quite touching, staring down into my eyes and bathing me in the heat that’s radiating off his body. I’m stiflingly hot, flustered, and my legs are like jelly as dark desire courses through me. I want him.

“Have you eaten today?” he murmurs.

“I had a sandwich at lunch,” I whisper. I don’t want to talk food.

He narrows his eyes. “You need to eat.”

“I’m really not hungry right now . . . for food.”

“What are you hungry for, Miss Steele?”

“I think you know, Mr. Grey.”

He leans down, and again I think he’s going to kiss me, but he doesn’t.

“Do you want me to kiss you, Anastasia?” he whispers softly in my ear.

“Yes,” I breathe.

“Where?”

“Everywhere.”

“You’re going to have to be a bit more specific than that. I told you I am not going to touch you until you beg me and tell me what to do.”

My inner goddess is writhing on her chaise longue. I am lost; he’s not playing fair.

“Please,” I whisper.

“Please what?”

“Touch me.”

“Where, baby?”

He is so tantalizingly close, his scent intoxicating. I reach up, and immediately he steps back.“No, no,” he chides, his eyes suddenly wide and alarmed.

“What?”
No . . . come back.

“No.” He shakes his head.

“Not at all?” I can’t keep the longing out of my voice.

He looks at me uncertainly, and I’m emboldened by his hesitation. I step toward him, and he steps back, holding up his hands in defense, but smiling.

“Look, Ana.” It’s a warning, and he runs his hand through his hair, exasperated.

“Sometimes you don’t mind,” I observe plaintively. “Perhaps I should find a marker pen, and we could map out the no-go areas.”

He raises an eyebrow. “That’s not a bad idea. Where’s your bedroom?”

I nod in the direction. Is he deliberately changing the subject?

“Have you been taking your pill?”

Oh shit. My pill.

His face falls at my expression.

“No,” I squeak.

“I see,” he says, and his lips press into a thin line. “Come, let’s have something to eat.”

Oh no!

“I thought we were going to bed! I want to go to bed with you.”

“I know, baby.” He smiles, and suddenly darting toward me, he grabs my wrists and pulls me into his arms so that his body is pressed against mine.

“You need to eat and so do I,” he murmurs, burning gray eyes gazing down at me.

“Besides . . . anticipation is the key to seduction, and right now, I’m really into delayed gratification.”

Huh, since when?

“I’m seduced and I want my gratification now. I’ll beg, please.” I sound whiney. My inner goddess is beside herself.

He smiles at me tenderly. “Eat. You’re too slender.” He kisses my forehead and releases me.

This is a game, part of some evil plan. I scowl at him.