Christian nods and opens the hood of the R8. Inside are a wicker picnic basket and the tartan blanket we bought in London.
"Come," he says, taking the basket and blanket in one hand and holding the other out to me. Together we walk into the meadow.
"Sure, Ros, go for it." Christian hangs up. That's the third call he's taken during our picnic. He's kicked off his shoes and socks, and is watching me, arms on his raised knees. His jacket lies discarded on top of mine, as we're warm in the sun. I lie beside him, stretched out on the picnic blanket, both of us surrounded by tall golden and green grass far from the noise at the house and hidden from the prying eyes of the construction workers. We are in our own bucolic haven. He feeds me another strawberry, and I chew and suck it gratefully, gazing at his darkening eyes.
"Tasty?" he whispers.
"Very."
"Had enough?"
"Of strawberries, yes."
His eyes glitter dangerously, and he grins. "Mrs. Jones packs a mighty fine picnic," he says.
"That she does," I whisper.
Shifting suddenly, he lies down so his head is resting on my belly. He closes his eyes and seems content. I tangle my fingers in his hair.
He sighs heavily, then scowls and checks the number on the screen of his buzzing BlackBerry. He rolls his eyes and takes the call.
"Welch," he snaps. He tenses, listens for a second or two, then suddenly bolts upright.
"24-7 . . . Thanks," he says through gritted teeth and hangs up. The change in his mood is instant. Gone is my teasing, flirtatious husband, replaced by a cold, calculating master of the universe. He narrows his eyes for a moment then gives me a cool, chilling smile. A shiver runs down my back. He picks up his BlackBerry and presses a speed dial.
"Ros, how much stock do we own in Lincoln Timber?" He kneels up.
My scalp prickles. Oh no, what's this?
"So, consolidate the shares into GEH, then fire the board . . . except the CEO . . . I don't give a f*ck . . . I hear you, just do it . . . thank you . . . keep me informed." He hangs up, and gazes at me impassively for a moment.
Holy shit! Christian is mad.
"What's happened?"
"Linc," he murmurs.
"Linc? Elena's ex?"
"The same. He's the one who posted Hyde's bail."
I gape at Christian in shock. His mouth is pressed in a hard line.
"Well—he'll look like an idiot," I murmur, dismayed. "I mean, Hyde com-mitted another crime while out on bail."
Christian's eyes narrow and he smirks. "Fair point well made, Mrs. Grey."
"What did you just do?" I kneel, facing him.
"I f*cked him over."
Oh! "Um . . . that seems a little impulsive," I murmur.
"I'm an in-the-moment kind of guy."
"I'm aware of that."
His eyes narrow and his lips thin. "I've had this plan in my back pocket for a while," he says dryly.
I frown. "Oh?"
He pauses, seeming to weigh something in his mind, then takes a deep breath.
"Several years back, when I was twenty-one, Linc beat his wife to a pulp. He broke her jaw, her left arm, and four of her ribs because she was f*cking me." His eyes harden. "And now I learn he posted bail for a man who tried to kill me, kidnapped my sister, and fractured my wife's skull. I've had enough. I think it's payback time."
I blanch. Holy shit. "Fair point well made, Mr. Grey," I whisper.
"Ana, this is what I do. I'm not usually motivated by revenge, but I cannot let him get away with this. What he did to Elena . . . well, she should have pressed charges, but she didn't. That was her prerogative.
"But he's seriously crossed the line with Hyde. Linc's made this personal by going after my family. I'm going to crush him, break up his company right under his nose, and sell the pieces to the highest bidder. I am going to bankrupt him."
Oh . . .
"Besides." Christian smirks. "We'll make good money out of the deal."
I stare into blazing gray eyes that soften suddenly.
"I didn't mean to frighten you," he whispers.
"You didn't," I lie.
He arches a brow, amused.