by E. L. James
"Do you think we should be concerned for Miss Steele's safety?" Welch inquires.
"I wouldn't have said so, but then I wouldn't have thought she could do this."
"I think you should consider additional security for her, sir."
"I don't know how that will go down." I look at Ana as she folds her arms, accentuating the outline of her breasts as they strain against the white cotton of my shirt.
"I'd like to increase your security, too, sir. Will you talk to Anastasia? Tell her of the danger she might be in?"
"Yes, I'll talk to her."
Ana bites her lip. I wish she'd stop. It's distracting.
Welch continues, "I'll brief Mr. Taylor and Mrs. Jones at a more reasonable hour."
"Yes."
"In the meantime, I'm going to need more personnel on the ground."
"I know." I sigh.
"We'll start with the stores in the vicinity of SIP. See if anyone saw anything. This could be the lead we've been waiting for."
"Follow it up and let me know. Just find her, Welch. She's in trouble. Find her." I hang up and look at Ana. Her tangled hair tumbles over her shoulders; her long legs are pale in the dim light from the hallway. I imagine them wrapped around me.
"Do you want some tea?" she asks.
"Actually, I'd like to go back to bed." And forget all this crap about Leila.
"Well, I need some tea. Would you like to join me for a cup?" She moves to the stove, picks up the kettle, and begins to fill it with water.
I don't want fucking tea. I want to bury myself in you and forget about Leila.
Ana gives me a pointed look and I realize she's waiting for an answer about tea.
"Yes. Please." Even to my own ears I sound surly.
What does Leila want with Ana?
And why the hell hasn't Welch found her?
"What is it?" Ana asks a few minutes later. She's holding a familiar-looking teacup.
Ana. Please. I don't want you to worry about this.
"You're not going to tell me?" she persists.
"No."
"Why?"
"Because it shouldn't concern you. I don't want you tangled up in this."
"It shouldn't concern me, but it does. She found me and accosted me outside my office. How does she know about me? How does she know where I work? I think I have a right to know what's going on."
She has an answer for everything.
"Please?" she presses.
Oh, Ana. Ana. Ana. Why do you do this?
Her bright blue eyes beseech me.
Fuck. I can't say no to that look.
"Okay." You win. "I have no idea how she found you. Maybe the photograph of us in Portland, I don't know." With some reluctance I continue, "While I was with you in Georgia, Leila turned up at my apartment unannounced and made a scene in front of Gail."
"Gail?"
"Mrs. Jones."
"What do you mean made a scene?"
I shake my head.
"Tell me." She puts her hands on her hips. "You're keeping something back."
"Ana, I--" Why is she so mad? I don't want her mixed up in this. She doesn't understand that Leila's shame is my shame. Leila chose to attempt suicide in my apartment and I wasn't there to help her; she cried out to me for a reason.
"Please?" Ana prompts again.
She won't give up. I sigh with exasperation and tell her that Leila made a haphazard attempt at suicide.
"Oh no!"
"Gail got her to the hospital. But Leila discharged herself before I could get there. The shrink who saw her called it a typical cry for help. He didn't believe her to be truly at risk--one step from suicidal ideation, he called it. But I'm not convinced. I've been trying to track her down since then to get her some help."
"Did she say anything to Mrs. Jones?"
"Not much."
"You can't find her? What about her family?"
"They don't know where she is. Neither does her husband."
"Husband?" she exclaims.
"Yes." That lying asshole. "She's been married for about two years."
"So she was with you while she was married?"
"No! Good God, no. She was with me nearly three years ago. Then she left and married this guy shortly afterward." I told you, baby, I don't share. I've only tangled with one married woman and that didn't end well.
"So why is she trying to get your attention now?"
"I don't know. All we've managed to find out is that she ran out on her husband about four months ago."
Ana picks up a teaspoon and waves it as she talks. "Let me get this straight. She hasn't been your submissive for three years?"
"About two and a half years."
"And she wanted more."
"Yes."
"But you didn't?"
"You know this."
"So she left you."
"Yes."
"So why is she coming to you now?"
"I don't know." She wanted more, but I couldn't give her that. Maybe she's seen me with you?
"But you suspect--"
"I suspect it has something to do with you." But I could be wrong.
Now can we go back to bed?
Ana studies me, surveying my chest. But I ignore her scrutiny and ask the question that's been nagging me since she told me she'd seen Leila. "Why didn't you tell me yesterday?"
Ana has the grace to look guilty. "I forgot about her. You know, drinks after work, at the end of my first week. You turning up at the bar and your testosterone rush with Jack." She gives me a shy smile. "And then when we were here. It slipped my mind. You have a habit of making me forget things."
I'd like to forget this now. Let's go back to bed.
"Testosterone rush?" I repeat, amused.
"Yes. The pissing contest."
"I'll show you a testosterone rush." My voice is low.
"Wouldn't you rather have a cup of tea?" She offers me a cup.
"No, Anastasia, I wouldn't." I want you. Now. "Forget about her. Come." I hold out my hand. She sets the teacup back on the counter and puts her hand in mine.
Back in her bedroom, I slide my shirt over her head. "I like you wearing my clothes," I whisper.
"I like wearing them. They smell of you."
I grasp her head between my hands and kiss her.
I want to make her forget about Leila.
I want to forget about Leila.
I pick her up and walk her to the concrete wall.
"Wrap your legs around me, baby," I order.
WHEN I OPEN MY eyes the room is bathed with light and Ana is awake beside me, tucked in the crook of my arm. "Hi," she says, grinning as if she's up to some mischief.
"Hi," I respond, cautiously. Something is off. "What are you doing?"
"Looking at you." She skims her hand down my belly. And my body comes to life.
Whoa!
I grab her hand.
Surely she's sore after yesterday.
She licks her lips and her guilty grin is replaced with a knowledgeable, carnal smile.
Maybe not.
Waking up beside Anastasia Steele has definite advantages. Rolling on top of her, I grab her hands and pin her to the bed as she wriggles beneath me. "I think you're up to no good, Miss Steele."
"I like being up to no good near you."
She may as well be addressing my groin directly.
"You do?" I give her a quick peck on the lips. She nods.
Oh, you beautiful girl. "Sex or breakfast?"
She tilts her hips to meet me and it takes all my self-control not to take what she's offering straightaway.
No. Make her wait.
"Good choice." I kiss her throat, her clavicle, her sternum, her breast.
"Ah," she breathes.
WE LIE IN THE afterglow.
I don't remember moments like this before Ana. I didn't lie in bed just...being. I nuzzle her hair. All that's changed.
She opens her eyes.
"Hi."
"Hi.
"
"Are you sore?" I ask.
Her cheeks pink. "No. Tired."
I stroke her cheek. "You didn't get much sleep last night."
"Neither did you." Her smile is one hundred percent coy Miss Steele, but her eyes cloud. "I haven't been sleeping well, recently."
Remorse--swift and ugly, flares in my gut. "I'm sorry," I reply.
"Don't apologize. It was my--"
I place my finger on her mouth. "Hush."
She purses her lips to kiss my finger.
"If it's any consolation," I confess, "I haven't slept well this past week, either."
"Oh, Christian," she says, and, taking my hand, kisses each knuckle in turn. It's an affectionate, humble gesture. My throat constricts as my heart expands. I'm on the edge of something unknown, a plain where the horizon disappears and the territory is new and unexplored.
It's terrifying.
It's confusing.
It's exciting.
What are you doing to me, Ana?
Where are you leading me?
I take a deep breath and focus on the woman beside me. She gives me a sexy smile and I can see us spending the entire day in bed, but I realize I'm hungry. "Breakfast?" I ask.
"Are you offering to make breakfast or demanding to be fed, Mr. Grey?" she teases.
"Neither. I'll buy you breakfast. I'm no good in the kitchen, as I demonstrated last night."
"You have other qualities," she says with a playful smirk.
"Why, Miss Steele, whatever do you mean?"
She narrows her eyes. "I think you know." She's teasing me. She sits up slowly, swinging her legs out of bed. "You can shower in Kate's bathroom. It's bigger than mine."
Of course it is.
"I'll use yours. I like being in your space."
"I like you being in my space, too." She winks, gets up, and struts out of the bedroom.
Brazen Ana.
WHEN I RETURN FROM the cramped shower, I find Ana dressed in jeans and a tight T-shirt that leaves little to my imagination. She's messing with her hair.
As I yank on my jeans I feel the Audi key in my pocket. I wonder how she'll react when I give it back to her. She seemed to take the iPad well.
"How often do you work out?" she asks, and I realize she's watching me in the mirror.
"Every weekday."
"What do you do?"
"Run, weights, kickboxing." Sprinting to and from your apartment for the past week.
"Kickboxing?" she queries.
"Yes, I have a personal trainer, an ex-Olympic contender who teaches me. His name is Claude. He's very good." I tell Ana that she'd like him as a trainer.
"Why would I need a personal trainer? I have you to keep me fit."
I walk over to where she stands, still fiddling with her hair, and I embrace her. Our eyes meet in the mirror. "But I want you fit, baby, for what I have in mind. I'll need you to keep up." That's if we ever get back into the playroom.
She arches a brow.
"You know you want to." I mouth the words at her reflection. She toys with her lip but then breaks our eye contact.
"What?" I ask, concerned.
"Nothing," she says, and shakes her head. "Okay, I'll meet Claude."
"You will?"
That was easy!
"Yes, jeez. If it makes you that happy," she says, and laughs.
I squeeze her and give her a peck on her cheek. "You have no idea." I kiss her behind her ear. "So what would you like to do today?"
"I'd like to get my hair cut, and, um, I need to bank a check and buy a car."
"Ah."
Here goes. From my jeans pocket I fish out the Audi key. "It's here," I inform her.
She looks blank, but then her cheeks pink and I realize she's upset.
"What do you mean it's here?"
"Taylor brought it back yesterday."
She steps out of my embrace, scowling at me.
Shit. She's pissed. Why?
From the back pocket of her jeans she brandishes an envelope. "Here, this is yours." I recognize it as the envelope that I put the check in for her ancient Beetle. I lift both hands and step away. "Oh no. That's your money."
"No, it isn't. I'd like to buy the car from you."
What. The. Hell.
She wants to give me money! "No, Anastasia. Your money, your car."
"No, Christian. My money, your car. I'll buy it from you."
Oh. No. You. Don't.
"I gave you that car for your graduation present." And you said you'd accept it.
"If you'd given me a pen, that would be a suitable graduation present. You gave me an Audi."
"Do you really want to argue about this?"
"No."
"Good. Here are the keys." I place her keys on the dresser.
"That's not what I meant!"
"End of discussion, Anastasia. Don't push me."
The look she's giving me now says it all. If I were dry tinder I would burst into flame, and not in a good way. She's mad. Really mad. Suddenly she narrows her eyes and gives me a wicked smile. Taking the envelope, she holds it aloft and, in a rather theatrical manner, rips it in half, and in half again. She drops the contents in her trash basket and gives me a victorious fuck-you look.
Oh. Game on, Ana.
"You are, as ever, challenging, Miss Steele." I echo the words she used yesterday and turn on my heel and head into the kitchen.
Now I'm pissed. Fucking pissed.
How dare she?
I find my phone and call Andrea.
"Good morning, Mr. Grey." She sounds a little breathless when she answers.
"Hi, Andrea."
In the background, on her side of the call, I hear a woman shouting, "Doesn't he realize you're getting married today, Andrea?" Andrea's voice comes through, "Excuse me, Mr. Grey."
Married!
There's the sound of muffled fumbling. "Mom, be quiet. It's my boss." The muffling ceases. "What can I do for you, Mr. Grey?" she says.
"You're getting married?"
"Yes, sir."
"Today?"
"Yes. What is it you want me to do?"
"I wanted you to deposit twenty-four thousand dollars into Anastasia Steele's bank account."
"Twenty-four thousand?"
"Yes, twenty-four thousand dollars. Directly."
"I'll take care of it. It will be in her account on Monday."
"Monday?"
"Yes, sir."
"Excellent."
"Anything else, sir?"
"No, that's all, Andrea."
I hang up, aggravated that I've disturbed her on her wedding day and more aggravated that she didn't tell me she was getting married.
Why wouldn't she tell me? Is she pregnant?
Will I have to find a new PA?
I turn to Miss Steele, who is fuming on the threshold.
"Deposited in your bank account Monday. Don't play games with me."
"Twenty-four thousand dollars!" she shouts. "And how do you know my account number?"
"I know everything about you, Anastasia," I reply, trying to keep my cool.
"There's no way my car was worth twenty-four thousand dollars," she counters.
"I would agree with you, but it's about knowing your market, whether you're buying or selling. Some lunatic out there wanted that deathtrap and was willing to pay that amount of money. Apparently, it's a classic. Ask Taylor if you don't believe me."
We glower at each other.
Impossible woman.
Impossible. Impossible.
Her lips part. She's breathless, her pupils dilated. Drinking me in. Consuming me.
Ana.
Her tongue licks her lower lip.
And it's there in the air between us.
Our attraction, a living force. Building. Building.
Fuck.
I grab her and push her against the door, my lips seeking and finding hers. I claim her mouth, kissing her greedily, my fingers closing around the nape of her neck, hol
ding her. Her fingers are in my hair. Pulling. Directing me while she kisses me back, her tongue in my mouth. Taking. Everything. I cup her behind and pull her against my erection and grind my body into hers. I want her. Again.
"Why, why do you defy me?" I say out loud as I kiss her neckline. She tilts her head back to give me full access to her throat.
"Because I can," she whispers.
Ah. She stole my line.
I'm panting when I lean my forehead against hers.
"Lord, I want to take you now, but I'm out of condoms. I can never get enough of you. You're a maddening, maddening woman."
"And you make me mad," she breathes. "In every way."
I take a deep breath and look down into dark, hungry eyes that promise me the world, and I shake my head.
Steady, Grey.
"Come. Let's go out for breakfast. And I know a place you can get your hair cut."
"Okay." She smiles.
And we fight no more.
WE WALK HAND IN hand up Vine Street and turn right on First Avenue. I wonder how normal it is to go from seething at each other to this casual calm I feel as we walk through the streets. Maybe most couples are like this. I look down at Ana beside me. "This feels so normal," I tell her. "I love it."
"Christian, I think Dr. Flynn would agree that you are anything but normal. Exceptional, maybe." She squeezes my hand.
Exceptional!
"It's a beautiful day," she adds.
"It is."
She briefly closes her eyes and turns her face to the morning sun.
"Come, I know a great place for brunch."
One of my favorite cafes is only a couple of blocks from Ana's on First. When we get there I open the door for Ana and pause to inhale the smell of fresh bread.
"What a charming place," she says when we sit down at a table. "I love the art on the walls."
"They support a different artist every month. I found Trouton here."
"Raising the ordinary to extraordinary," Ana says.
"You remembered."
"There's very little I could forget about you, Mr. Grey."
And I you, Miss Steele. You are extraordinary.
I chuckle and hand her a menu.
"I'LL GET THIS." Ana grabs the check before I do. "You have to be quick around here, Grey."
"You're right, I do," I grumble. Someone who owes more than fifty thousand dollars in student-loan debt should not be paying for my breakfast.
"Don't look so cross. I'm twenty-four thousand dollars richer than I was this morning. I can afford--" She inspects the bill. "Twenty-two dollars and sixty-seven cents for breakfast."
Short of wrestling the check from her, there's little I can do. "Thank you," I mutter.
"Where to now?" she asks.
"You really want your hair cut?"
"Yes, look at it."
Dark tendrils have escaped from her ponytail, framing her beautiful face. "You look lovely to me. You always do."