Fifty Shades Trilogy Bundle: Fifty Shades of Grey; Fifty Shades Darker; Fifty Shades Freed (80 page)

Well, that accounts for the number of crystal glasses in every size that crowd my place setting. Our waiter is back, offering wine and water. Behind me, the sides of the tent through which we entered are being closed, while at the front, two servers pull back the canvas, revealing the sunset over Seattle and Meydenbauer Bay.

It’s an absolutely breathtaking view, the twinkling lights of Seattle in the distance and the orange, dusky calm of the bay reflecting the opal sky. Wow. It’s so calm and peaceful.

Ten servers, each holding a plate, come to stand between us. On a silent cue, they serve us our starters in complete synchronization, then vanish again. The salmon looks delicious, and I realize I am famished.

“Hungry?” Christian murmurs so only I can hear. I know he’s not referring to the food, and the muscles deep in my belly respond.

“Very,” I whisper, boldly meeting his gaze, and Christian’s lips part as he inhales.

Ha! See … two can play at this game
.

Christian’s grandfather engages me in conversation immediately. He’s a wonderful old man, so proud of his daughter and three grandchildren.

It is weird to think of Christian as a child. The memory of his burn scars come unbidden to my mind, but quickly I quash it. I don’t want to think about that now, though ironically it’s the reason behind this party.

I wish Kate were here, with Elliot. She would fit in so well—the sheer number of forks and knives laid out before her wouldn’t daunt Kate—and she would command the table. I imagine her duking it out with Mia over who should be table head. The thought makes me smile.

The conversation at the table ebbs and flows. Mia is entertaining, as usual, and quite eclipses poor Sean, who mostly stays quiet, like me. Christian’s grandmother is the most vocal. She, too, has a biting sense of humor, usually at the expense of her husband. I begin to feel a little sorry for Mr. Trevelyan.

Christian and Lance talk animatedly about a device Christian’s company is developing inspired by E. F. Schumacher’s Small Is Beautiful principle. It’s hard to keep up. Christian seems intent on empowering impoverished communities all over the world with windup technology—devices that need no electricity or batteries, and minimal maintenance.

Watching him in full flow is astonishing. He’s passionate and committed to improving the lives of the less fortunate. Through his telecommunications company he’s intent on being first to market with a windup mobile phone.

Whoa. I had no idea. I mean, I knew about his passion about feeding the world, but this …

Lance seems unable to comprehend Christian’s plan to give the technology away and not patent it. I wonder vaguely how Christian made all his money if he’s so willing to give it all away.

Throughout dinner a steady stream of men in smartly tailored dinner jackets and dark masks stop by the table, keen to meet Christian, shake his hand, and exchange pleasantries. He introduces me to some but not others. I’m intrigued to know how and why he makes the distinction.

During one such conversation, Mia leans across and smiles.

“Ana, will you help in the auction?”

“Of course,” I respond, only too willing.

By the time dessert is served, night has fallen, and I’m really uncomfortable. I need to get rid of the balls. Before I can excuse myself, the master of ceremonies appears at our table, and with him—if I’m not mistaken—is Miss European Pigtails.

What’s her name? Hansel, Gretel … Gretchen
.

She’s masked, of course, but I know it’s her when her gaze doesn’t move beyond Christian. She blushes, and selfishly I’m beyond pleased that Christian doesn’t acknowledge her at all.

The MC asks for our envelope and with a very practiced and eloquent flourish, asks Grace to pull out the winning bill. It’s Sean’s, and the silk-wrapped basket is awarded to him.

I applaud politely, but I’m finding it impossible to concentrate on any more of the proceedings.

“If you’ll excuse me,” I murmur to Christian.

He looks at me intently.

“Do you need the powder room?”

I nod.

“I’ll show you,” he says darkly.

When I stand, all the other men around the table stand with me.
Oh, such manners
.

“No, Christian! You’re not taking Ana—I will.”

Mia is on her feet before Christian can protest. His jaw tenses; I know he’s not pleased. Quite frankly, neither am I.
I have … needs
. I shrug apologetically at him, and he sits down quickly, resigned.

On our return, I feel a little better, though the relief of removing the balls has not been as instantaneous as I’d hoped. They’re now stashed safely in my clutch purse.

Why did I think I could last the whole evening? I am still yearning—perhaps I can persuade Christian to take me to the boathouse later. I flush at the thought and glance at him as I take my seat. He stares at me, the ghost of a smile crossing his lips.

Phew … he’s no longer mad at a missed opportunity, though maybe I am
. I feel frustrated—irritable even. Christian squeezes my hand, and we both listen attentively to Carrick, who is back on
stage talking about Coping Together. Christian passes me another card—a list of the auction prizes. I scan them quickly.

Holy shit
. I blink up at Christian.

“You own property in Aspen?” I hiss. The auction is under way, and I have to keep my voice down.

He nods, surprised at my outburst and irritated, I think. He puts his finger to his lips to silence me.

“Do you have property elsewhere?” I whisper.

He nods again and inclines his head to one side in a warning.

The whole room erupts with cheering and applause; one of the prizes has gone for $12,000.

“I’ll tell you later,” Christian says quietly. “I wanted to come with you,” he adds rather sulkily.

Well, you didn’t
. I pout and I realize that I’m still querulous, and no doubt, it’s the frustrating effect of the balls. My mood darkens after seeing Mrs. Robinson on the list of generous donors.

I glance around the tent to see if I can spot her, but I can’t see her telltale hair. Surely Christian would have warned me if she was invited tonight. I sit and stew, applauding when necessary, as each lot is sold for astonishing amounts of money.

The bidding moves to Christian’s place in Aspen and reaches $20,000.

“Going once, going twice,” the MC calls.

And I don’t know what possesses me, but I suddenly hear my own voice ringing out clearly over the throng.

“Twenty-four thousand dollars!”

Every mask at the table turns to me in shocked amazement, the biggest reaction of all coming from beside me. I hear his sharp intake of breath and feel his wrath washing over me like a tidal wave.

“Twenty-four thousand dollars, to the lovely lady in silver, going once, going twice … Sold!”

H
oly shit, did I really just do that? It must be the alcohol. I’ve had champagne plus four glasses of four different wines. I glance up at Christian, who’s busy applauding.

Crap, he’s going to be so angry, and we’ve been getting along so well. My subconscious has finally decided to make an appearance, and she’s wearing her Edvard Munch
The Scream
face.

Christian leans over to me, a large, fake smile plastered across his face. He kisses my cheek and then moves closer to whisper in my ear in a very cold, controlled voice.

“I don’t know whether to worship at your feet or spank the living shit out of you.”

Oh, I know what I want right now. I gaze up at him, blinking through my mask. I just wish I could read what’s in his eyes.

“I’ll take option two, please,” I whisper frantically as the applause dies down. His lips part as he inhales sharply.
Oh, that chiseled mouth—I want it on me, now
. I ache for him. He gives me a radiant sincere smile that leaves me breathless.

“Suffering, are you? We’ll have to see what we can do about that,” he murmurs as he runs his fingers along my jaw.

His touch resonates deep, deep inside where that ache has spawned and grown. I want to jump him right here, right now, but we sit back to watch the auction of the next lot.

I can barely sit still. Christian drapes an arm around my shoulders, his thumb rhythmically stroking my back, sending delicious tingles down my spine. His free hand clasps mine, bringing it to his lips, then letting it rest on his lap.

Slowly and surreptitiously, so I don’t realize his game until it’s too late, he eases my hand up his leg and against his erection. I
gasp, and my eyes dart in panic around the table, but all eyes are fixed on the stage.
Thank heavens for my mask
.

Taking full advantage, I slowly caress him, letting my fingers explore. Christian keeps his hand over mine, hiding my bold fingers, while his thumb skates softly over the nape of my neck. His mouth opens as he gasps softly, and it’s the only reaction I can see to my inexperienced touch. But it means so much. He wants me. Everything south of my navel contracts. This is becoming unbearable.

A week by Lake Adriana in Montana is the final lot for auction. Of course Mr. and Dr. Grey have a house in Montana, and the bidding escalates rapidly, but I am barely aware of it. I feel him growing beneath my fingers, and it makes me feel so powerful.