He sighs. "I don't want anything to happen to you. You being hurt... the thought fills me with dread. I can't promise not to interfere, not if I think you'll come to harm." He pauses and takes a deep breath. "I love you, Anastasia. I will do everything in my power to protect you. I cannot imagine my life without you."
Holy cow. My inner goddess, my subconscious, and I all gape at Fifty in shock.
Jeez, three little words. My world stands still, tilts, then spins on a new axis; and I savor the moment, gazing into his sincere, beautiful gray eyes.
"I love you, too, Christian." I lean over and kiss him, and the kiss deepens.
Entering unseen, Taylor clears his throat. Christian pulls back, gazing intently at me.
He stands, his arm around my waist.
"Yes?" he snaps at Taylor.
"Mrs. Lincoln is on her way up, sir."
"What?"
Taylor shrugs apologetically. Christian sighs heavily and shakes his head.
"Well, this should be interesting," he mutters and gives me a crooked grin of resigna-tion. F*ck! Why can't that damned woman leave us alone?
"Did you talk to her today?" I ask Christian as we wait for Mrs. Robinson's arrival.
"Yes."
"What did you say?"
"I said that you didn't want to see her, and that I understood your reasons why. I also told her that I didn't appreciate her going behind my back." His gaze is impassive, giving nothing away.
Oh, good. "What did she say?"
"She brushed it off in a way that only Elena can." His mouth flattens to a crooked line.
"Why do you think she's here?"
"I have no idea." Christian shrugs.
Taylor enters the great room again. "Mrs. Lincoln," he announces.
And here she is... Why is she so damned attractive? She's dressed entirely in black: tight jeans, a shirt that emphasizes her perfect figure, and a halo of bright, glossy hair.
Christian pulls me close. "Elena," he says, his tone puzzled.
She gapes at me in shock, frozen to the spot. She blinks before finding her soft voice.
"I'm sorry. I didn't realize you had company, Christian. It's Monday," she says as if this explains why she's here.
"Girlfriend," he says by way of explanation and tilts his head to one side and smirks.
She smiles, a slow, beaming smile directed entirely at him. It's unnerving.
"Of course. Hello, Anastasia. I didn't know you'd be here. I know you don't want to talk to me. I accept that."
"Do you?" I assert quietly, gazing at her and taking all of us by surprise. With a slight frown, she moves farther into the room.
"Yes, I get the message. I'm not here to see you. Like I said, Christian rarely has company during the week." She pauses. "I have a problem, and I need to talk to Christian about it." "Oh?" Christian straightens up. "Do you want a drink?"
"Yes, please," she murmurs gratefully.
Christian fetches a glass while Elena and I stand awkwardly gazing at each other. She fidgets with a large silver ring on her middle finger, while I don't know where to look.
Finally, she gives me a small tight smile and approaches the kitchen island and sits on the bar stool at the end. She obviously knows the place well and feels comfortable moving around here.
Do I stay? Do I go? Oh, this is so difficult. My subconscious scowls at the woman with her most hostile harpy face.
There's so much I want to say to this woman, and none of it complimentary. But she's Christian's friend - his only friend - and for all my loathing of this woman, I am innately polite. Deciding to stay, I sit as gracefully as I can manage on the stool Christian's vacated.
Christian pours wine into each of our glasses and sits between us at the breakfast bar. Can't he feel how weird this is?
"What's up?" he asks her.
Elena looks nervously at me, and Christian reaches over and clasps my hand.
"Anastasia's with me now," he says to her silent query and squeezes my hand. I flush, and my subconscious beams at him, harpy face forgotten.
Elena's face softens as if she's pleased for him. Really pleased for him. Oh, I don't understand this woman at all, and I'm uncomfortable and edgy in her presence.
She takes a deep breath and shifts, perching on the edge of her bar stool and looking agitated. She glances nervously down at her hands and starts manically twisting the large silver ring around and around on her middle finger.
Jeez, what's wrong with her? Is it my presence? Do I have that effect on her? Because I feel the same way - I don't want her here. She raises her head and looks Christian squarely in the eye.
"I'm being blackmailed."
Holy shit. Not what I expected out of her mouth. Christian stiffens. Has someone found out about her penchant for beating and f*cking underage boys? I suppress my revulsion, and a fleeting thought about chickens coming home to roost crosses my mind. My subconscious rubs her hands together with ill-disguised glee. Good.
"How?" Christian asks, his horror clear in his voice.
She reaches into her oversized, patent-leather, designer purse, pulls out a note, and hands it to him.
"Put it down, lay it out." Christian points to the breakfast bar counter with his chin.
"You don't want to touch it?'
"No. Fingerprints."
"Christian, you know I can't go to the police with this."
Why am I listening to this? Is she f*cking some other poor boy?
She lays the note out for him, and he bends to read it.
"They're only asking for five thousand dollars," he says almost absentmindedly. "Any idea who it might be? Someone in the community?"
"No," she says in her soft sweet voice.
"Linc?"
Linc? Who's that?
"What - after all this time? I don't think so," she grumbles.
"Does Isaac know?"
"I haven't told him."
Who's Isaac?
"I think he needs to know," Christian says. She shakes her head, and now I feel I'm intruding. I want none of this. I try to retrieve my hand from Christian's grasp, but he just tightens his hold and turns to gaze at me.
"What?" he asks.
"I'm tired. I think I'll go to bed."
His eyes search mine, looking for what? Censure? Acceptance? Hostility? I keep my expression as bland as possible.
"Okay," he says. "I won't be long."
He releases me and I stand. Elena watches me warily. I stay tightlipped and return her gaze, giving nothing away.
"Goodnight, Anastasia." She gives me a small smile.
"Goodnight," I mutter, my voice sounds cold. I turn to leave. The tension is too much for me to bear. As I exit the room they continue their conversation.
"I don't think there's a great deal I can do, Elena," Christian says to her. "If it's a question of money." His voice trails off. "I could ask Welch to investigate."
"No, Christian, I just wanted to share," she says.
When I am out of the room, I hear her say, "You look very happy."
"I am," Christian responds.
"You deserve to be."
"I wish that were true."
"Christian," she scolds.
I freeze, listening intently. I can't help it.
"Does she know how negative you are about yourself? About all your issues."
"She knows me better than anyone."
"Ouch! That hurts."
"It's the truth, Elena. I don't have to play games with her. And I mean it, leave her alone."
"What is her problem?"
"You... What we were. What we did. She doesn't understand."
"Make her understand."
"It's in the past, Elena, and why would I want to taint her with our f*cked-up relationship? She's good and sweet and innocent, and by some miracle she loves me."
"It's no miracle, Christian," Elena scoffs good-naturedly. "Have a little faith in yourself. You really are quite a catch. I've told you often enough. And she seems lovely, too.
Strong. Someone to stand up to you."
I can't hear Christian's response. So I'm strong, am I? I certainly don't feel that way.
"Don't you miss it?" Elena continues.
"What?"
"Your playroom."
I stop breathing.
"That really is none of your f*cking business," Christian snaps.
Oh.
"I'm sorry." Elena snorts insincerely.
"I think you'd better go. And please, call before you come again."
"Christian, I am sorry," she says, and from her tone, this time she means it. "Since when are you so sensitive?" She's scolding him again.
"Elena, we have a business relationship which has profited us both immensely. Let's keep it that way. What was between us is part of the past. Anastasia is my future, and I won't jeopardize it in any way, so cut the f*cking crap."
His future!
"I see."
"Look, I'm sorry for your trouble. Perhaps you should ride it out and call their bluff."
His tone is softer.
"I don't want to lose you, Christian."
"I'm not yours to lose, Elena," he snaps again.
"That's not what I meant."
"What did you mean?" He's brusque, angry.
"Look, I don't want to argue with you. Your friendship means a lot to me. I'll back off from Anastasia. But I'm here if you need me. I always will be."
"Anastasia thinks that you saw me last Saturday. You called, that's all. Why did you tell her otherwise?"
"I wanted her to know how upset you were when she left. I don't want her to hurt you."
"She knows. I've told her. Stop interfering. Honestly, you're like a mother hen." Christian sounds more resigned, and Elena laughs, but there's a sad tone to her laugh.
"I know. I'm sorry. You know I care about you. I never thought you'd end up falling in love, Christian. It's very gratifying to see. But I couldn't bear it if she hurt you."
"I'll take my chances," he says dryly. "Now are you sure you don't want Welch to sniff around?"
She sighs heavily. "I suppose it wouldn't do any harm."
"Okay. I'll call him in the morning."
I listen to them bickering, trying to figure this out. They do sound like old friends, as Christian says. Just friends. And she cares about him - maybe too much. Well, who wouldn't, if they knew him?
"Thank you, Christian. And I am sorry. I didn't mean to intrude. I'll go. Next time I'll call.""Good."
She's going! Shit! I scamper up the hallway to Christian's bedroom and sit down on the bed. Christian enters a few moments later.
"She's gone," he says warily, gauging my reaction.
I gaze up at him, trying to frame my question. "Will you tell me all about her? I am trying to understand why you think she helped you." I pause, thinking carefully about my next sentence. "I loathe her, Christian. I think she did you untold damage. You have no friends.
Did she keep them away from you?"
He sighs and runs his hand through his hair.
"Why the f*ck do you want to know about her? We had a very long-standing affair, she beat the shit out of me often, and I f*cked her in all sorts of ways you can't even imagine, end of story."
I pale. Shit, he's angry - with me. I blink at him. "Why are you so angry?"
"Because all of that shit is over!" he shouts, glowering at me. He sighs in exasperation and shakes his head.
I blanch. Shit. I look down at my hands, knotted in my lap. I just want to understand.
He sits down beside me. "What do you want to know?" he asks wearily.
"You don't have to tell me. I don't mean to intrude."
"Anastasia, it's not that. I don't like talking about this shit. I've lived in a bubble for years with nothing affecting me and not having to justify myself to anyone. She's always been there as a confidante. And now my past and my future are colliding in a way I never thought possible."
I glance at him and he's staring at me, his eyes wide.
"I never thought I had a future with anyone, Anastasia. You give me hope and have me thinking about all sorts of possibilities." He drifts off.
"I was listening," I whisper and stare back down at my hands.
"What? To our conversation?"
"Yes."
"Well?" He sounds resigned.
"She cares for you."
"Yes, she does. And I for her in my own way, but it doesn't come close to how I feel about you. If that's what this is about."
"I'm not jealous." I'm wounded that he would think that - or am I? Shit. Maybe that's what this is. "You don't love her," I murmur.
He sighs again. He really is pissed. "A long time ago, I thought I loved her," he says through gritted teeth.
Oh. "When we were in Georgia... you said you didn't love her."
"That's right."
I frown.
"I loved you then, Anastasia," he whispers. "You're the only person I'd fly three thousand miles to see."
Oh my. I don't understand. He still wanted me as a sub then. My frown deepens.
"The feelings I have for you are very different from any I ever had for Elena," he says by way of explanation.
"When did you know?"
He shrugs. "Ironically, it was Elena who pointed it out to me. She encouraged me to go to Georgia."
I knew it! I knew it in Savannah. I gaze at him, blankly.
What do I make of this? Maybe she is on my side and just worried that I'll hurt him.
The thought is painful. I would never want to hurt him. She's right - he's been hurt enough.
Perhaps she's not so bad. I shake my head. I don't want to accept his relationship with her. I disapprove. Yes, that's what this is. She's an unsavory character who preyed on a vulnerable adolescent, robbing him of his teenage years, no matter what he says.
"So you desired her? When you were younger."
"Yes."
Oh.
"She taught me a great deal. She taught me to believe in myself."
Oh. "But she also beat the shit out of you."
He smiles fondly. "Yes, she did."
"And you liked that?"
"At the time I did."
"So much that you wanted to do it to others?"
His eyes grow wide and serious. "Yes."
"Did she help you with that?"
"Yes."
"Did she sub for you?"
"Yes."
Holy f*ck. "Do you expect me to like her?" My voice sounds brittle and bitter.
"No. Though it would make my life a hell of a lot easier," he says wearily. "I do understand your reticence."
"Reticence! Jeez, Christian - if that were your son, how would you feel?"
He blinks at me as though he doesn't comprehend the question. He frowns. "I didn't have to stay with her. It was my choice, too, Anastasia," he murmurs.
This is getting me nowhere.
"Who's Linc?"
"Her ex-husband."
"Lincoln Timber?"
"The very same," he smirks.
"And Isaac?"
"Her current submissive."
Oh no.
"He's in his mid-twenties, Anastasia. You know - a consenting adult," he adds quickly, correctly deciphering my look of disgust.
I flush. "Your age," I mutter.
"Look, Anastasia, as I said to her, she's part of my past. You are my future. Don't let her come between us, please. And quite frankly, I'm really bored of this subject. I'm going to do some work." He stands and gazes down at me. "Let it go. Please."
I stare mulishly up at him.
"Oh, I almost forgot," he adds. "Your car arrived a day early. It's in the garage. Taylor has the key."
Whoa... the Saab? "Can I drive it tomorrow?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"You know why not. And that reminds me. If you are going to leave your office, let me know. Sawyer was there, watching you. It seems I can't trust you to look after yourself at all." He scowls down at me, making me feel like an errant child - again. And I would argue with him, but he's pretty worked up over Elena, and I don't want to push him any further, but I can't resist one comment.
"Seems I can't trust you either," I mutter. "You could have told me Sawyer was watching me."
"Do you want to fight about that, too?" he snaps.
"I wasn't aware we were fighting. I thought we were communicating," I mumble petulantly.
He closes his eyes briefly as he struggles to contain his temper. I swallow and watch anxiously. Jeez, this could go either way.
"I have to work," he says quietly, and with that, he leaves the room.
I exhale. I hadn't realized I'd been holding my breath. I flop back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling.
Can we ever have a normal conversation without it disintegrating into an argument?
It's exhausting.
We just don't know each other that well. Do I really want to move in with him? I don't even know if I should make him a cup of tea or coffee while he's working. Should I disturb him at all? I have no idea of his likes and dislikes.
Evidently he's bored with the whole Elena thing - he's right, I need to move on. Let it go. Well, at least he's not expecting me to be friends with her, and I hope that she'll now stop hassling me for a meeting.
I get off the bed and wander to the window. Unlocking the balcony door, I open it and stroll over to the glass railing. Its transparency is unnerving. The air's chilly and fresh, as I'm up so high.
I gaze out over the twinkling lights of Seattle. He's so far removed from everything up here in his fortress. Answerable to no one. He'd just told me he loves me, then all this crap comes up because of that dreadful woman. I roll my eyes. His life is so complicated.
He's so complicated.
With a heavy sigh and a last glance at Seattle spread like cloths of gold at my feet, I decide to call Ray. I haven't spoken to him for a while. It's a brief conversation as per usual, but I ascertain he's fine and that I'm interrupting an important soccer match.
"Hope all is well with Christian," he says casually, and I know he's fishing for information but doesn't really want to know.
"Yeah. We're cool." Sort of, and I'm moving in with him. Though we haven't discussed a timetable.
"Love you, Dad."
"Love you, too, Annie."
I hang up and check my watch. It's only ten. Because of our discussion, I am feeling strangely innervated and restless.
I shower quickly, and back in the bedroom, decide to wear one of the nightdresses that Caroline Acton procured for me from Neiman Marcus. Christian's always moaning about my T-shirts. There are three. I choose the pale pink and put it on over my head. The fabric skims across my skin, caressing and clinging to me as it falls around my body. It feels luxurious - the finest, thinnest satin. Holy crap. In the mirror, I look like a 1930s movie star. It's long, elegant - and very un-me.
I grab the matching robe and decide to hunt out a book in the library. I could read on my iPad - but right now, I want the comfort and reassurance of a physical book. I'll leave Christian alone. Perhaps he'll recover his good humor once he's finished working.
There are so many books in Christian's library. Scanning every title will take forever.
I glance occasionally at the billiard table and flush as I recall our previous evening. I smile when I see that the ruler is still on the floor. Picking it up, I swat my palm. Ow! It stings.
Why can't I take a little more pain for my man? Disconsolately, I place it on the desk and continue my hunt for a good read.
Most of the books are first editions. How can he have amassed a collection like this in such a short time? Perhaps Taylor's job description includes book buying. I settle on Rebecca by Daphne Du Maurier. I haven't read this for a long time. I smile as I curl up in one of the overstuffed armchairs and read the first line: Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again...
I am jostled awake as Christian lifts me in his arms.
"Hey," he murmurs, "you fell asleep. I couldn't find you." He nuzzles my hair. Sleepily, I put my arms around his neck and breathe in his scent - oh, he smells so good - as he carries me back to the bedroom. He lays me down on the bed and covers me.
"Sleep, baby," he whispers and he presses his lips against my forehead.
I wake suddenly from a disturbing dream and am momentarily disorientated. I find myself anxiously checking the end of the bed, but there's no one there. Drifting from the great room, I hear the faint strains of a complex melody from the piano.
What time is it? I check the alarm clock - two in the morning. Has Christian come to sleep at all? I disentangle my legs from my robe, which I'm still wearing, and clamber out of bed.
In the great room, I stand in the shadows, listening. Christian is lost to the music. He looks safe and secure in his bubble of light. And the tune he plays has a lilting melody, parts of which sound familiar, but so elaborate. Jeez, he's good. Why does this always take me by surprise?
The whole scene looks different somehow, and I realize that the piano lid is down, giving me an unhindered view. He glances up and our eyes lock, his gray and softly luminous in the diffuse glow of the lamp. He continues to play, not faltering at all, as I make my way over to him. His eyes follow me, drinking me in, burning brighter. As I reach him, he stops.
"Why did you stop? That was lovely."
"Do you have any idea how desirable you look at the moment?" he says, his voice soft.
Oh. "Come to bed," I whisper and his eyes heat as he holds out his hand. When I take it, he tugs unexpectedly so I fall into his lap. He wraps his arms around me and nuzzles my neck behind my ear, sending shivers down my spine.
"Why do we fight?" he whispers, as his teeth graze my earlobe.
Holy cow. My heart skips a beat, then starts pounding, coursing heat throughout my body."Because we're getting to know each other, and you're stubborn and cantankerous and moody and difficult," I murmur breathlessly, shifting my head to give him better access to my throat. He runs his nose down my neck, and I feel his smile.
"I'm all those things, Miss Steele. It's a wonder you put up with me." He nips my earlobe and I moan. "Is it always like this?" he sighs.
"I have no idea."
"Me neither." He yanks the sash of my robe so it falls open, and his hand skims down my body, over my breast. My nipples harden beneath his gentle touch and strain against the satin. He continues down to my waist, down to my hip.
"You feel so fine under this material, and I can see everything - even this." He tugs gently on my pubic hair through the fabric, making me gasp, while his other hand fists in my hair at my nape. Pulling my head back, he kisses me, his tongue urgent, relentless, needy. I moan in response and caress his dear, dear face. His hand gently pulls my nightdress up, slowly, tantalizingly until he's fondling my naked behind and then running his thumbnail down the inside of my thigh.
Suddenly he rises, startling me, and he lifts me bodily onto the piano. My feet rest on the keys, sounding discordant, disjointed notes, and his hands skim up my legs and part my knees. He grabs my hands.
"Lie back," he orders, holding my hands while I sink back on top of the piano. The lid is hard and uncompromising against my back. He lets go and pushes my legs open wider, my feet dancing over the keys, over the lower and higher notes.
Oh boy. I know what he's going to do, and the anticipation... I groan loudly as he kisses the inside of my knee, then kisses and sucks and nips his way higher up my leg to my thigh. The soft satin of my nightgown rises higher, skimming over my sensitized skin, as he pushes the fabric. I flex my feet and the chords sound again. Closing my eyes, I surrender myself to him as his mouth reaches the apex of my thighs.
He kisses me... there... Oh boy... then gently blows before his tongue circles my *oris. He pushes my legs wider. I feel so open - so exposed. He holds me in place, his hands just above my knees as his tongue tortures me, giving no quarter, no respite... no reprieve. Tilting my hips up, meeting and matching his rhythm, I am consumed.
"Oh, Christian, please." I moan.
"Oh no, baby, not yet," he teases, but I feel myself quicken as does he, and he stops.
"No," I whimper.
"This is my revenge, Ana," he growls softly. "Argue with me, and I am going to take it out on your body somehow." He trails kisses along my belly, his hands traveling up my thighs, stroking, kneading, tantalizing. His tongue circles my navel as his hands - and his thumbs... oh his thumbs - reach the summit of my thighs.
"Ah!" I cry out as he pushes one inside me. The other persecutes me, slowly, agonizingly, circling round and round. My back arches off the piano as I writhe beneath his touch.
It's almost unbearable.
"Christian!" I cry, spiraling out of control with need.
He takes pity on me and stops. Lifting my feet off the keys, he pushes me; and suddenly, I'm sliding effortlessly up the piano, gliding on satin, and he's following me up there, briefly kneeling between my legs to roll on a condom. He hovers over me and I'm panting, gazing up at him with raging need, and I realize he's naked. When did he take off his clothes?
He stares down at me, and there's wonder in his eyes, wonder and love and passion, and it's breathtaking.
"I want you so badly," he says and very slowly, exquisitely, he sinks into me.
I am sprawled on top of him, wrung out, my limbs heavy and languid, as we lie on top of his grand piano. Oh my. He's much more comfortable to lie on than the piano. Careful not to touch his chest, I rest my cheek against him and keep perfectly still. He doesn't object, and I listen to his breathing as it slows like mine. Gently he strokes my hair.
"Do you drink tea or coffee in the evening?" I ask sleepily.
"What a strange question," he says dreamily.
"I thought I could bring you tea in your study, and then I realized I didn't know what you would like."
"Oh, I see. Water or wine in the evening, Ana. Though maybe I should try tea."
His hand moves rhythmically down my back, stroking me tenderly.
"We really know very little about each other," I murmur.
"I know," he says, and his voice is mournful. I sit up to gaze at him.
"What is it?" I ask. He shakes his head as if to rid himself of some unpleasant thought, and raising his hand, he caresses my cheek, his eyes bright and earnest.
"I love you, Ana Steele," he says.
The alarm blasts on with the six am traffic news, and I am rudely awakened from my disturbing dream of over-blond and dark-haired women. I can't grasp what it's about, and I'm immediately distracted because Christian Grey is wrapped around me like silk, his unruly-haired head on my chest, his hand on my breast, his leg over me, holding me down. He's still asleep, and I am too warm. But I ignore my discomfort, tentatively reaching up to run my fingers gently through his hair, and he stirs. Raising bright gray eyes, he grins sleepily.
Holy cow... he's adorable.
"Good morning, beautiful," he says.
"Good morning, beautiful yourself." I smile back at him. He kisses me, disentangles himself, and leans up on his elbow, staring down at me.
"Sleep okay?" he asks.
"Yes, despite the interruption to my sleep last night."
His grin broadens. "Hmm. You can interrupt me like that anytime." He kisses me again.
"How about you? Did you sleep well?"
"I always sleep well with you, Anastasia."
"No more nightmares?"
"No."
I frown and chance a question. "What are your nightmares about?"
His brow creases and his grin fades. Shit - my stupid curiosity.
"They're flashbacks of my early childhood, or so Dr. Flynn says. Some vivid, some less so." His voice drops and a distant, harrowed look crosses his face. Absentmindedly, he begins to trace my collarbone with his finger, distracting me.