Fifty Shades Trilogy Bundle: Fifty Shades of Grey; Fifty Shades Darker; Fifty Shades Freed (161 page)

“And I don’t like feeling like this. You said on the
Fair Lady
that you hadn’t married a submissive.”

“I know. I know.” His voice is soft and raw.

“Well stop treating me like one. I’m sorry I didn’t call you. I won’t be so selfish again. I know you worry about me.”

He gazes at me, scrutinizing me closely, his eyes bleak and
anxious. “Okay. Good,” he says eventually. He leans down, but pauses before his lips touch mine, silently asking if it’s allowed. I raise my face to his, and he kisses me tenderly.

“Your lips are always so soft when you’ve been crying,” he murmurs.

“I never promised to obey you, Christian,” I whisper.

“I know.”

“Deal with it, please. For both our sakes. And I will try to be more considerate of your … controlling tendencies.”

He looks lost and vulnerable, completely at sea.

“I’ll try,” he murmurs, his voice burning with sincerity.

I sigh, a long shuddering sigh. “Please do. Besides, if I
had
been here …”

“I know,” he says and blanches. Lying back, he puts his free arm over his face. I curl around him and lay my head on his chest. We both lie silent for a few moments. His hand moves to the end of my braid. He pulls the tie from it, freeing my hair, and gently, rhythmically combs his fingers through it. This is what this is really about—his fear … his irrational fear for my safety. An image of Jack Hyde slumped on the floor in the apartment with a Glock comes to mind … well, maybe not so irrational, which reminds me …

“What did you mean earlier, when you said or?” I ask.

“Or?”

“Something about Jack.”

He peers down at me. “You don’t give up, do you?”

I rest my chin on his sternum, enjoying the soothing caress of his fingers in my hair.

“Give up? Never. Tell me. I don’t like being kept in the dark. You seem to have some overblown idea that I need protecting. You don’t even know how to shoot—I do. Do you think I can’t handle whatever it is you won’t tell me, Christian? I’ve had your stalker ex-sub pull a gun on me, your pedophile ex-lover harass me—and don’t look at me like that,” I snap when he scowls at me. “Your mother feels the same way about her.”

“You talked to my mother about Elena?” Christian’s voice raises a few octaves.

“Yes, Grace and I talked about her.”

He gapes at me.

“She’s very upset about it. Blames herself.”

“I can’t believe you spoke to my mother. Shit!” He lies down and puts his arm over his face again.

“I didn’t go into any specifics.”

“I should hope not. Grace doesn’t need all the gory details. Christ, Ana. My dad, too?”

“No!” I shake my head vehemently. I don’t have that kind of relationship with Carrick. His comments about the prenup still sting. “Anyway, you’re trying to distract me—again. Jack. What about him?”

Christian lifts his arm briefly and gazes at me, his expression unreadable. Sighing, he puts his arm back over his face.

“Hyde is implicated in
Charlie Tango
’s sabotage. The investigators found a partial print—just partial, so they couldn’t make a match. But then you recognized Hyde in the server room. He has convictions as a minor in Detroit, and the prints matched his.”

My mind reels as I try to absorb this information. Jack brought down
Charlie Tango
? But Christian is on a roll. “This morning, a cargo van was found in the garage here. Hyde was the driver. Yesterday, he delivered some shit to that new guy who’s moved in. The guy we met in the elevator.”

“I don’t remember his name.”

“Me neither.” Christian says. “But that’s how Hyde managed to get into the building legitimately. He was working for a delivery company—”

“And? What’s so important about the van?”

Christian says nothing.

“Christian, tell me.”

“The cops found … things in the van.” He stops again and tightens his hold around me.

“What things?”

He’s quiet for several moments, and I open my mouth to prompt him, but he speaks. “A mattress, enough horse tranquilizer to take down a dozen horses, and a note.” His voice has softened to barely a whisper while horror and revulsion roll off him.

Holy fuck
.

“Note?” My voice mirrors his.

“Addressed to me.”

“What did it say?”

Christian shakes his head, indicating he doesn’t know or that he won’t divulge its contents.

Oh
.

“Hyde came here last night with the intention of kidnapping you.” Christian freezes, his face taut with tension. As he says those words, I recall the duct tape, and a shudder runs through me, though deep down this is not news to me.

“Shit,” I mutter.

“Quite,” Christian says tightly.

I try to remember Jack in the office. Was he always insane? How did he think he could get away with this? I mean, he was pretty creepy, but this unhinged?

“I don’t understand why,” I murmur. “It doesn’t make sense to me.”

“I know. The police are digging further, and so is Welch. But we think Detroit is the connection.”

“Detroit?” I gaze at him, confused.

“Yeah. There’s something there.”

“I still don’t understand.”

Christian lifts his face and gazes at me, his expression unreadable. “Ana, I was born in Detroit.”

I
thought you were born here in Seattle,” I murmur. My mind races. What does this have to do with Jack? Christian raises the arm covering his face, reaches behind him, and grabs one of the pillows. Placing it under his head, he settles back and gazes at me with a wary expression. After a moment he shakes his head.

“No. Elliot and I were both adopted in Detroit. We moved here shortly after my adoption. Grace wanted to be on the West Coast, away from the urban sprawl, and she got a job at Northwest Hospital. I have very little memory of that time. Mia was adopted here.”

“So Jack is from Detroit?”

“Yes.”

Oh …
“How do you know?”

“I ran a background check when you went to work for him.”

Of course he did. “Do you have a manila file on him, too?” I smirk.

Christian’s mouth twists as he hides his amusement. “I think it’s pale blue.” His fingers continue to run through my hair. It’s soothing.

“What does it say in his file?”

Christian blinks. Reaching down he strokes my cheek. “You really want to know?”

“Is it that bad?”

He shrugs. “I’ve known worse,” he whispers.

No!
Is he referring to himself? And the image I have of Christian as a small, dirty, fearful, lost boy comes to mind. I curl around him, holding him tighter, pulling the sheet over him, and I lay my cheek against his chest.

“What?” he asks, puzzled by my reaction.

“Nothing,” I murmur.

“No, no. This works both ways, Ana. What is it?”

I glance up, assessing his apprehensive expression. Resting my cheek upon his chest once more, I decide to tell him. “Sometimes I picture you as a child … before you came to live with the Greys.”

Christian stiffens. “I wasn’t talking about me. I don’t want your pity, Anastasia. That part of my life is done. Gone.”

“It’s not pity,” I whisper, appalled. “It’s sympathy and sorrow—sorrow that anyone could do that to a child.” I take a deep steadying breath as my stomach twists and tears prick my eyes anew. “That part of your life is not done, Christian—how can you say that? You live every day with your past. You told me yourself—fifty shades, remember?” My voice is barely audible.

Christian snorts and runs his free hand through his hair, though he remains silent and tense beneath me.

“I know it’s why you feel the need to control me. Keep me safe.”

“And yet you choose to defy me,” he murmurs, baffled, his hand stilling in my hair.

I frown.
Holy cow! Do I do that deliberately?
My subconscious removes her half-moon glasses and chews the end, pursing her lips and nodding. I ignore her. This is confusing—I’m his wife, not his submissive, not some company he’s acquired. I’m not the crack whore who was his mother … 
Fuck
. The thought is sickening. Dr. Flynn’s words come back to me:

“Just keep doing what you’re doing. Christian is head over heels … It’s a delight to see.”

That’s it. I’m just doing what I’ve always done. Isn’t that what Christian found attractive in the first place?

Oh, this man is so confusing
.

“Dr. Flynn said I should give you the benefit of the doubt. I think I do—I’m not sure. Perhaps it’s my way of bringing you into the here and now—away from your past,” I whisper. “I don’t know. I just can’t seem to get a handle on how far you’ll overreact.”

He’s silent for a moment. “Fucking Flynn,” he mutters to himself.

“He said I should continue to behave the way I’ve always behaved with you.”

“Did he now?” Christian says dryly.

Okay. Here goes nothing. “Christian, I know you loved your mom, and you couldn’t save her. It wasn’t your job to do that. But I’m not her.”

He freezes again. “Don’t,” he whispers.

“No, listen. Please.” I raise my head to stare into wide eyes that are paralyzed with fear. He’s holding his breath.
Oh, Christian …
My heart constricts. “I’m not her. I’m much stronger than she was. I have you, and you’re so much stronger now, and I know you love me. I love you, too,” I whisper.

His brow creases as if my words were not what he expected. “Do you still love me?” he asks.

“Of course I do. Christian, I will always love you. No matter what you do to me.” Is this the reassurance he wants?

He exhales and closes his eyes, placing his arm over his face again, but hugging me closer, too.

“Don’t hide from me.” Reaching up, I grasp his hand and pull his arm away from his face. “You’ve spent your life hiding. Please don’t, not from me.”

He looks at me with incredulity and frowns. “Hiding?”

“Yes.”

He shifts suddenly, rolling over onto his side and moving me so that I am lying beside him on the bed. He reaches up, smoothes my hair off my face, and tucks it behind my ear.

“You asked me earlier today if I hated you. I didn’t understand why, and now—” He stops, staring down at me as if I’m a complete conundrum.

“You still think I hate you?” Now my voice is incredulous.

“No.” He shakes his head. “Not now.” He looks relieved. “But I need to know … why did you safe-word, Ana?”

I blanch. What can I tell him? That he frightened me. That I
didn’t know if he’d stop. That I begged him—and he didn’t stop. That I didn’t want things to escalate … like—like that one time in here. I shudder as I recall him whipping me with his belt.

I swallow. “Because … because you were so angry and distant and … cold. I didn’t know how far you’d go.”

His expression is unreadable.

“Were you going to let me come?” My voice is barely a whisper, and I feel a blush steal over my cheeks, but I hold his gaze.

“No,” he says eventually.

Holy crap
. “That’s … harsh.”

His knuckle gently grazes my cheek. “But effective,” he murmurs. He gazes down at me as if he’s trying to see into my soul, his eyes darkening. After an eternity, he murmurs, “I’m glad you did.”

“Really?” I don’t understand.

His lips twist in a sad smile. “Yes. I don’t want to hurt you. I got carried away.” He reaches down and kisses me. “Lost in the moment.” He kisses me again. “Happens a lot with you.”

Oh? And for some bizarre reason the thought pleases me … I grin. Why does that make me happy? He grins, too.

“I don’t know why you’re grinning, Mrs. Grey.”

“Me neither.”

He wraps himself around me and places his head on my chest. We are a tangle of naked and denim-clad limbs and satin red sheets. I stroke his back with one hand and run the fingers of my other hand through his hair. He sighs and relaxes in my arms.

“It means I can trust you … to stop me. I never want to hurt you,” he murmurs. “I need—” He halts.

“You need what?”

“I need control, Ana. Like I need you. It’s the only way I can function. I can’t let go of it. I can’t. I’ve tried … And yet, with you …” He shakes his head in exasperation.

I swallow. This is the heart of our dilemma—his need for control and his need for me. I refuse to believe these are mutually exclusive.

“I need you, too,” I whisper, hugging him tighter. “I’ll try, Christian. I’ll try to be more considerate.”

“I want you to need me,” he murmurs.

Holy cow!

“I do!” My voice is impassioned. I need him so much. I love him so much.

“I want to look after you.”

“You do. All the time. I missed you so much while you were away.”

“You did?” He sounds so surprised.

“Yes, of course. I hate you going away.”

I sense his smile. “You could have come with me.”

“Christian, please. Let’s not rehash that argument. I want to work.”

He sighs as I run my fingers gently through his hair.

“I love you, Ana.”

“I love you, too, Christian. I will always love you.”

We both lie still in the quiet after our storm. Listening to the steady beat of his heart, I drift exhausted into sleep.

I WAKE WITH A
start, disoriented. Where am I? The playroom. The lights are still on, softly illuminating the bloodred walls. Christian moans again, and I realize this is what woke me.

“No,” he groans. He’s sprawled out beside me, his head back, his eyes screwed shut, his face contorted in anguish.

Holy shit
. He’s having a nightmare.

“No!” he cries out again.

“Christian, wake up.” I struggle to sit up, kicking off the sheet. Kneeling beside him, I grab his shoulders and shake him as tears spring to my eyes.

“Christian, please. Wake up!”

His eyes spring open, gray and wild, his pupils enlarged with fear. He stares vacantly up at me.

“Christian, you’re having a nightmare. You’re home. You’re safe.”

He blinks, looks around frantically, and frowns as he takes in our surroundings. Then his eyes are back on mine. “Ana,” he breathes, and with no preamble whatsoever he grabs my face with both hands, pulls me down onto his chest, and kisses me. Hard. His tongue invades my mouth, and he tastes of desperation and need. Barely giving me a chance to breathe, he rolls over, his lips locked to mine so that he’s pressing me into the hard mattress of the four-poster. One of his hands clasps my jaw, the other spreads out on top of my head, keeping me still as his knee parts my legs and he nestles, still clothed in his jeans, between my thighs.