Fifty Shades Trilogy Bundle: Fifty Shades of Grey; Fifty Shades Darker; Fifty Shades Freed (109 page)

Barney hangs up. He sounds much younger than I expected.

What else is on Jack’s computer?

“Are you talking to me?” I ask quietly.

Christian glances at me, before fixing his eyes back on the road ahead, and I can tell he’s still mad.

“No,” he mutters sullenly.

Oh, there we go … how childish. I wrap my arms around myself and stare unseeing out the window. Perhaps I should just ask him to drop me off at my apartment; then he can “not talk” to me from the safety of Escala and save us both the inevitable quarrel. But even as I think it, I know I don’t want to leave him to brood, not after yesterday.

Eventually we pull up in front of his apartment building, and Christian climbs out of the car. Moving with easy grace around to my side, he opens my door.

“Come,” he orders as Taylor clambers into the driver’s seat. I take his proffered hand and follow him through the grand foyer to the elevator. He doesn’t let go of me.

“Christian, why are you so mad at me?” I whisper as we wait.

“You know why,” he mutters as we step into the elevator, and he punches in the code to his floor. “God, if something had happened to you, he’d be dead by now.” Christian’s tone chills me to the bone. The doors close.

“As it is, I’m going to ruin his career so he can’t take advantage of young women anymore, miserable excuse for a man that he is.” He shakes his head. “Jesus, Ana!” He grabs me suddenly, imprisoning me in the corner of the elevator.

His hands fist in my hair as he pulls my face up to his, and his mouth is on mine, a passionate desperation in his kiss. I don’t know why this takes me by surprise, but it does. I taste his relief, his longing, and his residual anger while his tongue possesses my mouth. He stops, gazing down at me, resting his weight against me so I can’t move. He leaves me breathless, clinging to him for support, staring up into that beautiful face etched with determination and without any trace of humor.

“If anything had happened to you … If he’d harmed you …” I feel the shudder that runs through him. “BlackBerry,” he commands quietly. “From now on. Understand?”

I nod, swallowing, unable to break eye contact from his grim, mesmerizing look.

He straightens, releasing me as the elevator comes to a stop. “He said you kicked him in the balls.” Christian’s tone is lighter with a trace of admiration, and I think I’m forgiven.

“Yes,” I whisper, still reeling from the intensity of his kiss and his impassioned command.

“Good.”

“Ray is ex-army. He taught me well.”

“I’m very glad he did,” he breathes and adds, arching a brow, “I’ll need to remember that.” Taking my hand, he leads me out of the elevator and I follow, relieved. I think that’s as bad as his mood is going to get.

“I need to call Barney. I won’t be long.” He disappears into his study, leaving me stranded in the vast living room. Mrs. Jones is adding the finishing touches to our meal. I realize I am famished, but I need something to do.

“Can I help?” I ask.

She laughs. “No, Ana. Can I fix you a drink or something? You look beat.”

“I’d love a glass of wine.”

“White?”

“Yes, please.”

I perch on one of the barstools, and she hands me a glass of chilled wine. I don’t know what it is, but it’s delicious and slides down easily, soothing my shattered nerves. What was I thinking about earlier today? How alive I have felt since I met Christian. How exciting my life has become. Jeez, could I just have a few boring days?

What if I’d never met Christian? I’d be holed up in my apartment, talking it through with Ethan, completely freaked by my encounter with Jack, knowing I would have to face the sleazeball again on Friday. As it is, there’s every chance I’ll never set eyes on him again. But who will I work for now? I frown. I hadn’t thought of that. Shit, do I even have a job?

“Evening, Gail,” Christian says as he comes back into the great room, dragging me from my thoughts. Heading straight to the fridge, he pours himself a glass of wine.

“Good evening, Mr. Grey. Dinner in ten, sir?”

“Sounds good.”

Christian raises his glass.

“To ex-military men who train their daughters well,” he says and his eyes soften.

“Cheers,” I mutter, raising my glass.

“What’s wrong?” Christian asks.

“I don’t know if I still have a job.”

He cocks his head to the side. “Do you still want one?”

“Of course.”

“Then you still have one.”

Simple. See? He is master of my universe. I roll my eyes at him and he smiles.

MRS. JONES MAKES A
mean chicken potpie. She has left us to enjoy the fruits of her labors, and I feel much better now I’ve had something to eat. We are sitting at the breakfast bar, and despite my best cajoling, Christian won’t tell me what Barney has found on Jack’s computer. I drop the subject, and decide to tackle instead the thorny issue of José’s impending visit.

“José called,” I say nonchalantly.

“Oh?” Christian turns to face me.

“He wants to deliver your photos on Friday.”

“A personal delivery. How accommodating of him,” Christian mutters.

“He wants to go out. For a drink. With me.”

“I see.”

“And Kate and Elliot should be back,” I add quickly.

Christian puts his fork down, frowning at me.

“What exactly are you asking?”

I bristle. “I’m not asking anything. I’m informing you of my plans for Friday. Look, I want to see José, and he wants to stay over. Either he stays here or he can stay at my place, but if he does, I should be there, too.”

Christian’s eyes widen. He looks dumbfounded.

“He made a pass at you.”

“Christian, that was weeks ago. He was drunk, I was drunk, you saved the day—it won’t happen again. He’s no Jack, for heaven’s sake.”

“Ethan’s there. He can keep him company.”

“He wants to see me, not Ethan.”

Christian scowls at me.

“He’s just a friend.” My voice is emphatic.

“I don’t like it.”

So what?
Jeez, he’s irritating sometimes. I take a deep breath. “He’s my friend, Christian. I haven’t seen him since his show. And that was too brief. I know you don’t have any friends, apart from that god-awful woman, but I don’t moan about you seeing her,” I snap. Christian blinks, shocked. “I want to see him. I’ve been a poor friend to him.” My subconscious is alarmed.
Are you stamping your little foot? Steady now!

Gray eyes blaze at me. “Is that what you think?” he breathes.

“Think about what?”

“Elena. You’d rather I didn’t see her?”

“Exactly. I’d rather you didn’t see her.”

“Why didn’t you say?”

“Because it’s not my place to say. You think she’s your only friend.” I shrug in exasperation. He really doesn’t get it. How did this turn into a conversation about her? I don’t even want to think about her. I try to steer us back to José. “Just as it’s not your place to say if I can or can’t see José. Don’t you see that?”

Christian gazes at me, perplexed, I think.
Oh, what is he thinking?

“He can stay here, I suppose,” he mutters. “I can keep an eye on him.” He sounds petulant.

Hallelujah!

“Thank you! You know, if I am going to live here, too …” I trail off. Christian nods. He knows what I’m trying to say. “It’s not like you haven’t got the space.” I smirk.

His lips turn up slowly. “Are you smirking at me, Miss Steele?”

“Most definitely, Mr. Grey.” I get up just in case his palms start twitching, clear our plates, and then load them into the dishwasher.

“Gail will do that.”

“I’ve done it now.” I stand up and gaze at him. He’s watching me intently.

“I have to work for a while,” he says apologetically.

“Cool. I’ll find something to do.”

“Come here,” he orders, but his voice is soft and seductive, his eyes heated. I don’t hesitate to walk into his arms, clasping him around his neck as he perches on his barstool. He wraps his arms around me, crushes me to him, and just holds me.

“Are you okay?” he whispers into my hair.

“Okay?”

“After what happened with that fucker? After what happened yesterday?” he adds, his voice quiet and earnest.

I gaze into dark, serious, eyes.
Am I okay?
“Yes,” I whisper.

His arms tighten around me, and I feel safe, cherished, and loved all at once. It’s blissful. Closing my eyes, I enjoy the feel of being in his arms. I love this man. I love his intoxicating scent, his strength, his mercurial ways—my Fifty.

“Let’s not fight,” he murmurs. He kisses my hair and inhales deeply. “You smell heavenly as usual, Ana.”

“So do you,” I whisper and kiss his neck.

All too soon he releases me. “I should only be a couple of hours.”

I WANDER LISTLESSLY THROUGH
the apartment. Christian is still working. I have showered and dressed in some sweats and a T-shirt of my own, and I’m bored. I don’t want to read. If I sit still, I’ll recall Jack and his fingers on me.

I check out my old bedroom, the subs’ room. José can sleep here—he’ll like the view. It’s about eight fifteen, and the sun is beginning to sink into the west. The lights of the city twinkle below me. It’s glorious. Yes, José will like it here. I wonder idly where Christian will hang José’s pictures of me. I’d rather he didn’t. I am not keen on looking at myself.

Back down the hallway I find myself outside the playroom, and without thinking, I try the door handle. Christian normally keeps it locked, but to my surprise, the door opens. How strange. Feeling like a child playing hooky and straying into the forbidden
forest, I walk in. It’s dark. I flick the switch and the lights under the cornice light up with a soft glow. It’s as I remember it. A womblike room.

Memories of the last time I was in here flash through my mind. The belt … I wince at the recollection. Now it hangs innocently, lined up with others, on the rack beside the door. Tentatively I run my fingers over the belts, the floggers, the paddles, and the whips. Sheesh. This is what I need to square with Dr. Flynn. Can someone in this lifestyle just stop? It seems so improbable. Wandering over to the bed, I sit on soft red satin sheets, gazing around at all the apparatuses.

Beside me is the bench, above that the assortment of canes.
So many! Surely one is enough?
Well, the less said about that, the better. And the large table. We never tried that, whatever he does on it. My eyes fall on the chesterfield, and I move over to sit on it. It’s just a couch, nothing extraordinary about it—nothing to fasten anything to, not that I can see. Glancing behind me, I spy the museum chest. My curiosity is piqued. What does he keep in there?

As I pull open the top drawer I realize my blood is pounding through my veins. Why am I so nervous? This feels so illicit, as if I’m trespassing, which of course I am. But if he wants to marry me, well …

Holy fuck, what’s all this? An array of instruments and bizarre implements—I don’t have a clue what they are, or what they’re for—are carefully laid out in the display drawer. I pick one up. It’s bullet-shaped with a sort of handle.
Hmm … what the hell do you do with that?
My mind boggles, though I think I have an idea. There are four different sizes! My scalp prickles and I glance up.

Christian is standing in the doorway, staring at me, his face unreadable. How long has he been there? I feel like I’ve been caught with my hand in the cookie jar.

“Hi.” I smile nervously, and I know my eyes are wide and that I’m deathly pale.

“What are you doing?” he says softly, but there’s an undercurrent in his tone.

Oh shit. Is he mad? I flush. “Er … I was bored and curious,” I mutter, embarrassed to be found out. He said he’d be two hours.

“That’s a very dangerous combination.” He runs his index finger across his lower lip in quiet contemplation, not taking his eyes off me. I swallow and my mouth is dry.

Slowly he enters the room and closes the door quietly behind him, his eyes liquid gray fire.
Oh my
. He leans casually over the chest of drawers, but I think his stance is deceptive. My inner goddess doesn’t know whether it’s fight-or-flight time.

“So, what exactly are you curious about, Miss Steele? Perhaps I could enlighten you.”

“The door was open … I—” I gaze at Christian as I hold my breath and blink, uncertain as ever of his reaction or what I should say. His eyes are dark. I think he’s amused, but it’s difficult to tell. He places his elbows on the museum chest and rests his chin on his clasped hands.

“I was in here earlier today wondering what to do with it all. I must have forgotten to lock it.” He scowls momentarily, as if leaving the door unlocked is a terrible lapse in judgment. I frown—it’s not like him to be forgetful.

“Oh?”

“But now here you are, curious as ever.” His voice is soft, puzzled.

“You’re not mad?” I whisper, using my remaining breath.

He cocks his head to one side, and his lips twitch in amusement.

“Why would I be mad?”

“I feel like I’m trespassing … and you’re always mad at me.” My voice is quiet, though I’m relieved. Christian’s brow creases once more.

“Yes, you’re trespassing, but I’m not mad. I hope that one day you’ll live with me here, and all this”—he gestures vaguely around the room with one hand—“will be yours, too.”

My playroom …? I gape at him—that’s a lot to take in.

“That’s why I was in here today. Trying to decide what to do.” He taps his lips with his index finger. “Am I angry with you all the time? I wasn’t this morning.”

Oh, that’s true. I smile at the memory of Christian when we woke, and it distracts me from the thought of what will become of the playroom. He was such fun Fifty this morning.

“You were playful. I like playful Christian.”

“Do you, now?” He arches an eyebrow, and his lovely mouth curves up in a smile, a shy smile. Wow!

“What’s this?” I hold up the silver bullet thing.

“Always hungry for information, Miss Steele. That’s a butt plug,” he says gently.

“Oh …”

“Bought for you.”

What?
“For me?”