Freed

by James, E L

  Ana gasps, distracted by my teasing lips. “What?”

  “The paintings—where would you put them?” I graze her earlobe with my teeth.

  “Kitchen,” she breathes.

  “Hmm. Nice idea, Mrs. Grey.”

  “They’re really expensive!”

  “So?” I kiss the spot behind her ear. “Get used to it, Ana.” I release her and approach the sales assistant to purchase all three of the paintings and give her my credit card and our address in Escala for shipping.

  “Merci, monsieur,” she simpers, with a flirtatious smile.

  Sweetheart, I’m married.

  I raise my left hand to stroke my chin, making my ring obvious, then return to Ana, who is looking at the nudes.

  “Changed your mind?” I ask.

  She laughs. “No. They’re good, though. And the photographer’s female.”

  I cast my eye over them again. One catches my attention: a woman kneels up on a chair, her back to the camera. She’s naked, except for hooker heels, her long, dark hair loose. A memory I don’t want stirs in the back of my mind and I’m reminded of the bleak black-and-white photo on my bulletin board.

  The crack whore.

  Fuck.

  I look away and take Ana’s hand. “Let’s go. Are you hungry?”

  “Sure,” she says with an uncertain look as I open the door and step out into the fresh air. I’m grateful to get back outside where I can breathe again.

  What the hell is wrong with me?

  Protected from the fierce Mediterranean sun, we sit beneath bright red parasols on an archaic stone terrace at a hotel restaurant. We’re surrounded by geraniums and ancient ivied walls. It really is stunning. The food is off the charts, too. Damn, but the French can cook. I hope Mia’s learned some of these skills. I’ll have to persuade her to make dinner for us someday.

  When I pay the check, I give the waiter a hefty tip.

  Ana is sipping coffee, admiring the view. She’s been quiet, and I wonder once more what she’s thinking about.

  Yesterday?

  I shift in my seat.

  I’m still trying to shake off my nightmare. Fragments keep haunting me and it’s unsettling. I’m reminded of Ana’s question yesterday evening about braids. Did it stir something from my subconscious?

  Communicate and compromise. Flynn’s words circle my brain.

  Maybe I should talk to Ana. Tell her the truth. Perhaps that’s why I’m getting these vivid flashbacks. I take a deep breath. “You asked me why I braid your hair.”

  Ana looks up, expectant. “Yes.”

  “The crack whore used to let me play with her hair, I think. I don’t know if it’s a memory or a dream.”

  Ana blinks, in that way she does when she’s processing information, but her eyes are wide and clear, and all I see in them is her compassion. “I like it when you play with my hair,” she says, but her voice wavers, and I think she’s just trying to reassure me.

  “Do you?”

  “Yes!” The vehemence in her tone surprises me. She clasps my hand. “I think you loved your birth mother, Christian.”

  Time stills, and it’s like she’s knocked all the air out of my lungs.

  I’m in free-fall.

  Why does she say shit like this?

  She says she doesn’t want to hurt me.

  And yet…

  My eyes stay glued to hers, because in spite of what she’s just said, Ana’s my life raft, and I’m drowning in a wave of uncertainty that I don’t understand or know how to process.

  I can’t do this.

  I don’t want to think about the past.

  It’s been. It’s done.

  It’s too painful.

  My gaze drifts to her hand in mine and to the red mark around her wrist. It’s a stark reminder of what I did to her yesterday.

  I hurt her.

  “Say something,” she whispers.

  I need to get out of here. “Let’s go.”

  In the street, feeling adrift and unsure of myself, I reach for her hand once more. “Where do you want to go?” I ask, but it’s more to distract myself from what’s hovering at the edge of my memory. Whatever it is, it’s dredging up these unwanted and unsettling…feelings.

  She smiles. “I’m just glad you’re still speaking to me.”

  Only just! You mentioned “love” and the crack whore in the same sentence.

  “You know I don’t like talking about all that shit. It’s done. Finished.”

  I’m expecting her to sulk or berate me, but as I watch a kaleidoscope of emotions cross her face, what settles in her gaze is love.

  Her love.

  For me.

  I think.

  All the wrongs right themselves, and my world spins on its proper axis once more. I fold my arm around her and she slips her hand into my back pocket, her palm against my ass. It’s a possessive gesture, and I live for it.

  We walk down one of the cobbled streets, stalked by our security, when a fine jeweler’s store catches my eye. We pause outside, and I have a sudden urge to buy Ana a piece. Grasping her free hand, I rub my thumb along the red wheal left by the handcuff yesterday. “It’s not sore,” Ana says, correctly interpreting my look of concern. I shift so Ana has no choice but to take her other hand out of my pocket. Around that wrist, she’s wearing my wedding gift to her, which I purchased in the crazy rush to buy our rings from Astoria Fine Jewelry. It’s a white gold Omega De Ville with diamonds; I had it inscribed.

  Anastasia

  You Are My More

  My Love, My Life

  Christian

  And that was never truer than now.

  Yet beneath the strap lies a red mark.

  That I gave her.

  And all those hickeys, too.

  Because I was pissed at her.

  Damn. Releasing her, I gently grasp her chin and raise her eyes to mine. She stares back at me, as guileless as ever, and with the same look of love.

  “They don’t hurt,” she whispers, and I take her hand again, and plant a soft kiss on her wrist.

  I’m sorry, Ana.

  “Come.” We head into the shop because there’s a Chanel bracelet that’s caught my eye in the window. Once inside, I waste no time and purchase it. I know if I ask Ana, she’ll politely refuse. It’s pretty—white gold with small diamonds—and it’ll look lovely on her.

  “Here.” I fasten it around her wrist. It covers the red line. “There, that’s better,” I mutter.

  “Better?” Her brow creases a little.

  “You know why.”

  “I don’t need this.” She rotates her wrist and the diamonds on the bracelet sparkle in the sunlight, throwing little rainbows around the store.

  “I do,” I whisper.

  It’s an apology. I just don’t know how to do this, Ana.

  “No, Christian, you don’t. You’ve given me so much already. A magical honeymoon, London, Paris, the Côte d’Azur, and you. I’m a very lucky girl.”

  “No, Anastasia, I’m a very lucky man.”

  “Thank you.” She stretches up and puts her arms around my neck and kisses me, properly. In front of everyone.

  Oh, baby.

  I love you.

  “Come. We should head back,” I murmur against her lips. She slips her hand into my back pocket again, and together we make our way back to the car.

  The Mercedes cruises back to Cannes. Taylor is in the passenger seat up front and Ferreux is driving, but we’re hampered by the traffic. I stare out of the window, trying to figure out why I’m so agitated.

  It can’t have just been my dream.

  My argument with Ana, yesterday?

  The fact that I’ve marked her?

  I don’t understand why this feels so weird. I’ve ma
rked women before. Not permanently. Fuck, no. Never! That’s not my scene. Two of my submissives hated it, so that was fine, and I didn’t do it. And, of course, I never marked Elena. That was impossible. She was married. And then there was Susannah. She loved that shit. Whenever she was marked, she liked me to photograph her.

  Ana grips my hand, distracting me from my thoughts. She’s wearing a short skirt that exposes her legs. I look across at her and caress her knee. She has such lovely legs.

  Her ankles!

  They’re probably marked, too.

  Shit.

  Reaching down, I grasp her ankle and gently ease her foot onto my lap. She swivels in her seat and faces me. “I want the other one, too.” I need to see for myself. She looks toward Taylor and Ferreux.

  She’s shy?

  What does she think I’m going to do?

  I press the privacy screen button and it slowly rises out of the panel in front of us until we’re partitioned off from them. “I want to look at your ankles.”

  She frowns and places her other foot in my lap. I skim my thumb up her instep and she squirms.

  She’s ticklish. I don’t know why I haven’t registered this before.

  I undo the strap on her sandal. And there it is. Another mark. Darker than those on her wrists. “Doesn’t hurt,” she says.

  I’m an inconsiderate asshole.

  I massage the line in the hope that it will disappear, and look back out of the window at the passing countryside. She wriggles her foot, and her sandal falls into the footwell. But I ignore it.

  “Hey. What did you expect?” she asks.

  She’s gazing at me as if I’ve beamed down from Mars.

  I shrug. “I didn’t expect to feel like I do looking at these marks.”

  “How do you feel?”

  Shitty.

  “Uncomfortable,” I mutter.

  And I don’t really know why.

  Suddenly she unbuckles her seat belt and scoots closer to me and grabs both of my hands. “It’s the hickeys I don’t like,” she hisses. “Everything else…what you did”—her voice drops lower—“with the handcuffs, I enjoyed that. Well, more than enjoyed. It was mind-blowing. You can do that to me again anytime.”

  Oh.

  “Mind-blowing?” Her words are a small boost to my mood and my libido.

  “Yes.” She grins and curls her toes around my more-than-interested dick.

  “You should really be wearing your seat belt, Mrs. Grey.”

  She teases me with her toes once more.

  I glance at the glass. Could we…? But my lascivious thoughts are interrupted by my phone vibrating. Shit. I remove it from my shirt pocket.

  It’s work. I check my watch. It’s early in Seattle.

  “Barney,” I answer, while Ana tries to withdraw her feet from the close proximity of my dick. I tighten my hold on her feet.

  “Mr. Grey. There’s been a fire in the server room.”

  What? “In the server room?” How the hell did that happen?

  “Yes, sir.”

  The servers? Fuck! “Did it activate the fire-suppression system?”

  Ana removes her feet from my lap, and this time I let her.

  “Yes, sir. It did.”

  I hit the button to lower the privacy glass so Taylor can hear me. “Anyone injured?”

  “No, sir,” Barney responds.

  “Damage?”

  “Very little, from what I’ve been told.”

  “I see.”

  “Security were quick to call.”

  “When?” I glance at my watch again.

  “Just now. The fire’s out, but they want to know if we should call the fire department.”

  “No, not the fire department or the police. Not yet anyway.”

  I need to think.

  “Welch has just called me on the other line,” Barney says.

  “Has he?”

  “He’s probably trying to get ahold of you. I’ll text him.”

  “Good.”

  “I’m heading to Grey House now.”

  “Okay. I want a detailed damage report. And a complete rundown of everyone who had access over the last five days, including the cleaning staff.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Get ahold of Andrea and get her to call me.”

  “Will do. It was a good move to change from the outdated suppression system,” Barney says as he blows out a breath.

  “Yeah, sounds like the argon is just as effective, worth its weight in gold.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I realize it’s early.”

  “I was awake. There’ll be no traffic now,” Barney continues. “I’ll be there in no time. And I’ll see what’s up.”

  “E-mail me in two hours.”

  “I hope you don’t mind that I called.”

  “No, I need to know. Thank you for calling me.” I hang up and call Welch, who is heading to Grey House as we speak. During a brief exchange, we agree to increase security at the off-site data center as a precaution, and that we’ll talk in an hour. When I end my call with him, I direct Philippe to get us back on board as soon as possible.

  “Monsieur.” Ferreux speeds up.

  I wonder what could have gone wrong in the server room? An electrical fault? Something overheated? Arson?

  Ana looks wary. “Anyone hurt?” she asks.

  I shake my head. “Very little damage.” Though I haven’t had a damage report, I want to reassure her. Reaching over, I take her hand and give it a comforting squeeze. “Don’t worry about this. My team is on it.”

  “Where was the fire?”

  “Server room.”

  “Grey House?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why so little damage?”

  “The server room is fitted with a state-of-the-art fire-suppression system. Ana, please, don’t worry.”

  “I’m not worried,” she whispers, but I’m not convinced.

  “We don’t know for sure that it was arson.” And that’s my biggest fear.

  I’m in the small study aboard Fair Lady. Welch and Barney are at GEH and Andrea is making her way into the office early. Now that Welch has inspected the damage, he’s advised that we get the fire department in so an expert can establish what started the fire. He doesn’t want a stream of people in the server room contaminating any evidence. We run through a list of protocols, and as I feared, he’s not ruling out arson. He’s compiling lists of everyone who has had access to the server room in advance of the fire department’s report.

  Andrea calls when she arrives at the office and I pace the floor as I talk her through what’s happened. I’m leaning against the desk when there’s a knock on the door. It’s my wife. “Andrea, hold please.”

  Ana’s expression is one of determination—it’s a look I know well, the one she wears when we’re going to fight. My shoulders tense in preparation for a showdown. “I’m going shopping. I’ll take security with me,” she says with a too-bright smile.

  Is that it? “Sure, take one of the twins and Taylor, too,” I reply. She doesn’t leave. “Anything else?”

  “Can I get you anything?”

  “No, baby, I’m good. The crew will look after me.”

  “Okay.” She hesitates, then strides toward me, places her hands on my chest, and gives me a quick peck on my lips.

  “Andrea, I’ll call you back.”

  “Yes, Mr. Grey,” Andrea says, and I’m sure she’s smiling on the other end of the phone. Hanging up, I place my phone on the desk, pull Ana into my arms, and kiss her. Properly. Her mouth is sweet and wet and warm, and a welcome diversion. She’s breathless when I stop. “You’re distracting me,” I whisper, staring down into dazed eyes. “I need to sort this out, so I can get back to my honeymoon.” I run my fi
nger down her cheek and clasp her chin.

  “Okay. I’m sorry.”

  “Please don’t apologize, Mrs. Grey. I love your distractions.” I kiss the corner of her mouth. “Go spend some money.” I step back, letting her go.

  “Will do.” With a girlish smile, she sashays to the door and is gone, though there’s something about her demeanor that makes me pause.

  What isn’t she telling me?

  Dismissing the thought, I call Andrea back.

  “Mr. Grey, while I have you on the phone, Ros mentioned that you might go to New York next week. If so, I wanted to remind you that the Telecommunications Alliance Organization fundraiser is on Thursday in Manhattan. They really want you there.”

  “That trip’s not definite. But let them know that I’m considering their invitation, and if I accept it, it will be for two. We might want to think about any other meetings I could do in New York while I’m there.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I think that’s all for now. Can you put me through to Ros?”

  “Will do.”

  I update Ros and ask her to liaise with Barney and Welch.

  From somewhere close to the yacht, the sound of a Jet Ski starting up sidetracks me. It stalls. It starts and stalls again. I peer through the windows on the starboard side and Ana is on one of the Jet Skis. Fully clothed.

  I thought she was going shopping.

  “Ros. I’ll call you back!” I hang up and scramble out of the study to the starboard walkway, but she’s gone. I dash around to the port side, and Ana’s tearing across the water on the Jet Ski with the tender in hot pursuit. She waves at me.

  No. Ana! Don’t let go. My heart leaps into my mouth.

  Hesitantly, I raise my hand and wave back.

  This was her plan?

  I watch as she races toward the marina with the tender in her wake. I pull out my phone and call Taylor.

  “Sir.”

  “What the hell are you and Anastasia playing at!” I shout.

  “Mr. Grey, Mrs. Grey wanted to try the Jet Ski.”

  “But she could fall. Drown—fuck!” Words fail me.

  “She’s quite competent on it, sir.”

  “For fuck’s sake, don’t let her come back on it!”

  I hear Taylor’s sigh. But I don’t give a fuck. “Yes, sir.”

  “Thank you!” I press end call.