Fifty Shades Trilogy Bundle: Fifty Shades of Grey; Fifty Shades Darker; Fifty Shades Freed (158 page)

I gaze at his e-mail for a full five minutes, trying to think of a light and witty response to lift his mood. I draw a complete blank, and opt for brevity instead.

I stare at the screen for another five minutes, anxious for his response, but there’s nothing. Christian is not in the mood to play today.

I sit back. Can I blame him? My poor Fifty was probably frantic, back in the early hours of this morning. Then a thought occurs to me. He was in his tux when I woke this morning. What time did he decide to come back from New York? He normally leaves functions between ten and eleven. Last night at that hour, I was still at large with Kate.

Did Christian come home because I was out or because of the Jack incident? If he left because I was out having a good time, he would have had no idea about Jack, about the police, nothing—until he landed in Seattle. It’s suddenly very important to me to find out. If Christian came back merely because I was out, then he was overreacting. My subconscious sucks her teeth, wearing her harpy face. Okay, I’m glad he’s back, so maybe it’s irrelevant. But still—Christian must have had one hell of a shock when he landed. No wonder he’s so confused today. His earlier words come back to me.
“I am still fucking mad at you, Anastasia. You’re making me question my judgment.”

I have to know—did he come back because of Cocktailgate or because of the fucking lunatic?

I stare at my screen. There’s no response. I glance at the clock on my computer. One forty-five and still no response.

I hit “send.”
There—stick that in your pipe and smoke it, Grey
. I take a deep breath. I have worked myself up into quite a rage. Here I was feeling sorry and guilty for behaving badly. Well, no longer.

Watch my language!
I scowl at my computer, realizing this is getting me nowhere. I don’t respond, but pick up a manuscript recently received from a promising new author and begin to read.

MY MEETING WITH DETECTIVE
Clark is uneventful. He is less growly than the night before, maybe because he’s managed some sleep. Or maybe he just prefers working during the day.

“Thank you for your statement, Mrs. Grey.”

“You’re welcome, Detective. Is Hyde in police custody yet?”

“Yes, ma’am. He was released from the hospital earlier this morning. With what he’s charged with, he should be with us for a while.” He smiles, his dark eyes crinkling in the corners.

“Good. This has been an anxious time for my husband and me.”

“I spoke at length with Mr. Grey this morning. He’s very relieved. Interesting man, your husband.”

You have no idea
.

“Yes, I think so.” I offer him a polite smile, and he knows he’s being dismissed.

“If you think of anything, you can call me. Here’s my card.” He wrestles a card out of his wallet and hands it to me.

“Thank you, Detective. I’ll do that.”

“Good day to you, Mrs. Grey.”

“Good day.”

As he leaves, I wonder exactly what Hyde has been charged with. No doubt Christian won’t tell me. I purse my lips.

WE RIDE IN SILENCE
to Escala. Sawyer is driving this time, Prescott at his side, and my heart grows heavier and heavier as we head back. I know Christian and I are going to have an almighty fight, and I don’t know if I have the energy.

As I ride in the elevator from the garage with Prescott beside me, I try to marshal my thoughts. What do I want to say? I think I said it all in my e-mail. Perhaps he’ll give me some answers. I hope so. I can’t help my nerves. My heart is pounding, my mouth is dry, and my palms are sweaty. I don’t want to fight. But sometimes he’s so difficult, and I need to stand my ground.

The elevator doors slide open, revealing the foyer, and it’s once more neat and tidy. The table is upright and a new vase is in place with a gorgeous array of pale pink and white peonies. I quickly check the paintings as we wander through—the Madonnas all look to be intact. The broken foyer door is fixed and operational once more, and Prescott kindly opens it for me. She’s been so quiet today. I think I prefer her this way.

I drop my briefcase in the hall and head into the great room. I stop.
Holy fuck
.

“Good evening, Mrs. Grey,” Christian says softly. He’s standing by the piano, dressed in a tight black T-shirt and jeans … 
those
jeans—the ones he wore in the playroom.
Oh my
. They are overwashed pale blue denim, snug, ripped at the knee, and hot. He saunters over to me, his feet bare, the top button of the jeans undone, his smoldering eyes never leaving mine.

“Good to have you home. I’ve been waiting for you.”

H
ave you now?” I whisper. My mouth goes drier still, my heart pounding in my chest. Why’s he dressed like this? What does it mean? Is he still sulking?

“I have.” His voice is kitten soft, but he’s smirking as he strolls closer to me.

He looks hot—his jeans hanging that way from his hips. Oh no, I’m not going to be distracted by Mr. Sex-on-Legs. I try to gauge his mood as he stalks toward me. Angry? Playful? Lustful?
Gah!
It’s impossible to tell.

“I like your jeans,” I murmur. He grins a disarming wolfish grin that doesn’t reach his eyes.
Shit—he’s still mad
. He’s wearing these to distract me. He halts in front of me, and I’m seared by his intensity. He gazes down, wide unreadable eyes burning into mine. I swallow.

“I understand you have issues, Mrs. Grey,” he says silkily, and he pulls something from the back pocket of his jeans. I can’t tear my gaze from his, but hear him unfold a piece of paper. He holds it up, and glancing briefly in its direction, I recognize my e-mail. My gaze returns to his, as his eyes blaze bright with anger.

“Yes, I have issues,” I whisper, feeling breathless. I need distance if we’re going to discuss this. But before I can step back, he leans down and runs his nose along mine. My eyes flutter to a close as I welcome his unexpected, gentle touch.

“So do I,” he whispers against my skin, and I open my eyes at his words. He straightens and gazes intently at me once more.

“I think I’m familiar with your issues, Christian.” My voice is wry, and he narrows his eyes, suppressing the amusement that sparks there momentarily. Are we going to fight? I take a precautionary
step back. I must physically distance myself from him—from his smell, his look, his distracting body in those hot jeans. He frowns as I move away.

“Why did you fly back from New York?” I whisper. Let’s get this over and done with.

“You know why.” His tone carries a warning ring.

“Because I went out with Kate?”

“Because you went back on your word, and you defied me, putting yourself at unnecessary risk.”

“Went back on my word? Is that how you see it?” I gasp, ignoring the rest of his sentence.

“Yes.”

Holy crap. Talk about overreaction!
I start to roll my eyes but stop when he scowls at me. “Christian, I changed my mind,” I explain slowly, patiently, as if he’s a child. “I’m a woman. We’re renowned for it. That’s what we do.”

He blinks at me as if he doesn’t comprehend this.

“If I had thought for one minute that you would cancel your business trip …” Words fail me. I realize I don’t know what to say. I am momentarily catapulted back to the argument over our vows.
I never promised to obey you, Christian
. But I hold my tongue, because deep down I’m glad he came back. In spite of his fury, I’m glad he’s here in one piece, angry and smoldering in front of me.

“You changed your mind?” He can’t hide his contemptuous disbelief.

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t think to call me?” He glares at me, incredulous, before continuing. “What’s more, you left the security detail short here and put Ryan at risk.”

Oh. I hadn’t thought about that.

“I should have called, but I didn’t want to worry you. If I had, I’m sure you would have forbidden me to go, and I’ve missed Kate. I wanted to see her. Besides, it kept me out of the way when Jack was here. Ryan shouldn’t have let him in.” This is so confusing. If Ryan hadn’t, Jack would still be at large.

Christian’s eyes gleam wildly, then shut, his face tightening as if in pain.
Oh no
. He shakes his head, and before I know it he has folded me in his arms, pulling me hard against him.

“Oh, Ana,” he whispers as he tightens his hold on me so that I can barely breathe. “If something were to happen to you—” His voice is barely a whisper.

“It didn’t,” I manage to say.