“Good night.”
Taylor leaves and I head into my study. I’m wired. I can’t possibly sleep. I contemplate calling Welch just to keep him up-to-date, but it is too late. Slipping off my jacket, I hang it on my chair, then sit down at my computer and write him an e-mail.
As I press send my phone buzzes. Elena Lincoln’s name flashes up on the screen.
What now?
I answer. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Christian!” She’s surprised.
“I don’t know why you’re calling at this hour. I have nothing to say to you.”
She sighs. “I just wanted to tell you—” She stops and changes tack. “I was hoping to leave a message.”
“Well, you can tell me now. You don’t have to leave a message.” I’m finding it impossible to keep my composure.
“You’re angry. I can tell. If it’s about the note, listen—”
“No, you listen. I asked you, and now I am telling you. Leave her alone. She has nothing to do with you. Do you understand?”
“Christian, I only have your best interests at heart.”
“I know you do. But I mean it, Elena. Leave her the fuck alone. Do I need to put it in triplicate for you? Are you hearing me?”
“Yes. Yes. I’m sorry.” I’ve never heard her so contrite. It goes some way to cooling my anger.
“Good. Good night.” I slam my phone down on the desk. Interfering woman. I put my head in my hands.
I’m so fucking tired.
There’s a knock on my door.
“What?” I shout. I look up. It’s Ana. She’s dressed in my T-shirt, and she’s all legs and big fearful eyes. She’s bearding the lion in his den.
Oh, Ana.
“You should be in satin or silk, Anastasia. But even in my T-shirt you look beautiful.”
“I missed you. Come to bed.” Her voice is sexy and cajoling.
How can I sleep with all this shit going on? I stand and walk around my desk to gaze down at her. What if Leila wants to hurt her? What if she succeeds? How could I live with that?
“Do you know what you mean to me? If something happened to you, because of me…” I’m overwhelmed by a familiar, uncomfortable feeling that expands in my chest, becoming a lump in my throat that I have to swallow.
“Nothing’s going to happen to me,” she says in a soothing tone. She strokes my cheek, her fingers scratching my stubble. “Your beard grows quickly.” There’s wonder in her voice. I love her tender touch on my cheek. It’s soothing and sensual. It tames the darkness. She caresses my bottom lip with her thumb, her eyes following her fingers. Her pupils are large and the small v has appeared between her brows as she concentrates. She traces a line from my bottom lip, down my chin, down my throat, to the base of my neck, where my shirt is open.
What is she doing?
She runs her finger along what I can only assume is the lipstick line. I close my eyes, waiting for the darkness to constrict my chest. Her finger touches my shirt.
“I’m not going to touch you. I just want to undo your shirt,” she says.
Opening my eyes, I keep my panic in check and focus on her face. I don’t stop her. The material of my shirt lifts and she unfastens a second button. Keeping the fabric off my skin, her fingers move to the next button down and she undoes that one, then the next. I don’t move. I daren’t. My breathing is shallow as I suppress my fear; my whole body is tense and waiting.
Don’t touch me.
Please, Ana.
She opens the next button down and smiles up at me. “Back on home territory,” she says, and her fingers trail along the line she made much, much earlier in the day and I tense my diaphragm as her fingers skim across my skin.
She undoes the final button and opens my shirt fully and I let out the breath I’m holding. Next she grabs my hand and, grasping my shirt cuff, removes my left cuff link, followed by the right. “Can I take your shirt off?” she asks.
I nod, totally disarmed, and she lifts my shirt up off my shoulders and pulls it from my body. She’s done. She looks pleased with herself, and I’m standing half naked in front of her.
Slowly I relax.
That wasn’t so bad.
“What about my pants, Miss Steele?” I manage a lascivious smirk.
“In the bedroom. I want you in your bed.”
“Do you, now? Miss Steele, you are insatiable.”
“I can’t think why,” she says, taking my hand. I let her lead me across the living room, through the corridor, and into my bedroom. It’s cold. My nipples pucker against the chill in the room.
“You opened the balcony door?” I ask.
“No,” Ana replies, looking at the open door with a bewildered expression. Then she turns to me, her face ashen. She’s alarmed.
“What?” I ask, as every hair on my body stands on end—not from cold but from fear.
“When I woke,” she whispers, “there was someone in here. I thought it was my imagination.”
“What?” I scan the room quickly, then dash to the balcony and look outside. No one there—but I distinctly remember locking this door during the search. And I know Ana’s never been on the balcony. I lock it again.
“Are you sure?” I ask her. “Who?”
“A woman, I think. It was dark. I’d only just woken up.”
Fuck!
“Get dressed. Now!” I order. Why the hell didn’t she tell me when she came into my office? I have to get her out of here.
“My clothes are upstairs,” she whimpers.
From my chest of drawers I pull out some sweatpants. “Put these on.” I toss them at her, pull out a T-shirt, and dress quickly.
I pick up the phone at my bedside.
“Mr. Grey?” Taylor answers.
“She’s still fucking here,” I bark.
“Shit,” says Taylor, and he hangs up.
Moments later he barrels into the bedroom with Ryan.
“Ana says she saw someone in the room. A woman. She came to see me in my study and neglected to tell me this.” I give her a pointed look. “Then when we got back here the balcony door was open. I remember closing and locking it myself during the search. It’s Leila. I know it is.”
“How long ago?” Taylor asks Ana.
“About ten minutes,” she answers.
“She knows the apartment like the back of her hand. I’m taking Anastasia away now. She’s hiding here somewhere. Find her. When is Gail back?”
“Tomorrow evening, sir.”
“She’s not to return until this place is secure. Understand?”
“Yes, sir. Will you be going to Bellevue?”
“I’m not taking this problem to my parents. Book me somewhere.”
“Yes. I’ll call you.”
“Aren’t we all overreacting slightly?” Ana asks.
“She may have a gun,” I growl.
“Christian, she was standing at the end of the bed. She could have shot me then if that’s what she wanted to do.”
I take a deep breath, because now isn’t the time to lose it. “I’m not prepared to take the risk. Taylor, Anastasia needs shoes.” Taylor leaves, but Ryan stays to watch over Ana.