Darker (21 page)

She doesn’t know me.

Baby, I’m sorry. I inhale her scent and it offers me some solace. Closing my eyes, I commit it to my memory so I’ll always be able to recall it once she’s gone.

Ana.

The song finishes and she gives me a winsome smile.

“I need to go to the restroom,” she says. “I won’t be long.”

“Okay.” I watch her leave with Taylor following and note the other three security officers standing at the edges of the dance floor. One of them peels off to trail after Taylor.

I spot Dr. Flynn talking with his wife.

“John.”

“Hello again, Christian. You’ve met my wife,
Rhian.”

“Of course. Rhian,” I say as we shake hands.

“Your parents know how to throw a party,” she says.

“That they do,” I respond.

“If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to run to the powder room. John. Behave,” she warns, and I have to laugh.

“She knows me well,” Flynn remarks dryly.

“So what the fuck was all that about?” I ask. “Are you having some fun at my expense?”

“Definitely at your expense. I love to see you parted with your money.”

“You’re lucky that she’s worth every single penny.”

“I had to do something to make you see that you’re not afraid of commitment.” Flynn shrugs.

“That was the reason you bid against me, to test me? It’s not my lack of commitment that scares me.” I give him a bleak look.

“She seems well equipped to deal with you,” he says.

I’m not so sure.

“Christian, just tell her. She knows you have issues. It’s not because of anything I’ve said.” He holds his hands up. “And this isn’t really the time or the place to have this discussion.”

“You’re right.”

“Where is she?” Flynn glances around.

“Powder room.”

“She’s a lovely young woman.”

I nod in agreement.

“Have some faith,” he says.

“Mr. Grey.” We’re interrupted by Reynolds, from the security team.

“What is it?” I ask him.

“Could I have a private word?”

“You can speak freely,” I answer. This is my shrink, for fuck’s sake.

“Taylor wanted you to know that Elena Lincoln is talking to Miss Steele.”

Shit.

“Go,” says Flynn, and from the look he gives me, I know he’d like to be a fly on the wall for that conversation.

“Laters,” I mutter, and follow Reynolds to the pavilion.

Taylor is standing by the tented doorway. Beyond him, inside the large tent, Ana and Elena are in a tense discussion. Ana suddenly whirls around and storms toward me.

“There you are,” I say, trying to gauge her mood when she reaches us. She completely ignores me and brushes past both Taylor and me.

This is not good.

I give Taylor a quick look, but he remains impassive.

“Ana,” I call, and hurry to catch up with her. “What’s wrong?”

“Why don’t you ask your ex?” she seethes. She’s furious.

I check to make sure that no one is in listening distance. “I’m asking you,” I persist.

She glares at me.

What the hell have I done?

She squares her shoulders. “She’s threatening to come after me if I hurt you again—probably with a whip,” she snarls.

And I don’t know if she’s being intentionally funny, but the image of Elena threatening Ana with a riding crop is ridiculous. “Surely the irony of that isn’t lost on you,” I tease Ana in an attempt to lighten her mood.

“This isn’t funny, Christian!” she snaps.

“No, you’re right. I’ll talk to her.”

“You will do no such thing.” She crosses her arms.

What the hell am I supposed to do?

“Look,” she says, “I know you’re tied up with her financially, forgive the pun, but—” She stops and huffs because she seems at a sudden loss for words. “I need the restroom,” she growls. Ana is pissed. Again.

I sigh. What can I do? “Please don’t be mad,” I urge. “I didn’t know she was here. She said she wasn’t coming.” I reach up and Ana lets me run my thumb across her bottom lip. “Don’t let Elena ruin our evening, please, Anastasia. She’s really old news.” I tip her chin up and plant a gentle kiss on her lips.

She relents with a sigh and I think our fight is over. I take her elbow. “I’ll accompany you to the powder room so you don’t get interrupted again.”

I fish out my phone as I wait for her outside the portable luxury restrooms that my mother has rented for the event. There’s an e-mail from Dr. Greene saying she can see Ana tomorrow.

Good. I’ll deal with that later.

I punch Elena’s number into my phone and walk several steps away to a quiet corner of the backyard. She answers on the first ring.

“Christian.”

“Elena, what the hell are you doing?”

“That girl is unpleasant and rude.”

“Well, maybe you should leave her alone.”

“I thought I should introduce myself,” Elena says.

“What for? I thought you said you weren’t coming. Why did you change your mind? I thought we’d agreed.”

“Your mother called and begged me to come, and I was curious about Anastasia. I need to know she’s not going to hurt you again.”

“Well, leave her alone. This is the first regular relationship I’ve ever had, and I don’t want you jeopardizing it through some misplaced concern for me. Leave. Her. Alone.”

“Chris—”

“I mean it, Elena.”

“Have you turned your back on who you are?” she asks.

“No, of course not.” I look up, and Ana is watching me. “I have to go. Good night.” I hang up on Elena, probably for the first time in my life.

Ana raises a brow. “How’s the old news?”

“Cranky.” I decide a change of subject is for the best. “Do you want to dance some more? Or would you like to go?” I check my watch. “The fireworks start in five minutes.”

“I love fireworks,” she says, and I know she’s being conciliatory.

“We’ll stay and watch them, then.” I fold her in my arms and pull her close. “Don’t let her come between us, please.”

“She cares about you,” Ana says.

“Yes, and I her, as a friend.”

“I think it’s more than a friendship to her.”

“Anastasia, Elena and I—” I stop. What can I tell Ana to reassure her? “It’s complicated. We have a shared history. But it is just that, history. As I’ve said to you time and time again, she’s a good friend. That’s all. Please, forget about her.” I kiss her hair and she says no more.

I take her hand, and we wander back to the dance floor.

“Anastasia,” my father says in his smooth tone. He’s standing behind us. “I wondered if you’d do me the honor of the next dance.” Carrick holds his hand out to her.

I give him a smile and watch him lead my date onto the dance floor as the band starts “Come Fly with Me.”

They’re soon enjoying a spirited conversation and I wonder again if it’s about me.

“Hello, darling.” My mother sidles up to me, holding a glass of champagne.

“Mother, what were you trying to say?” I ask without any preamble.

“Christian, I—” She stops and looks anxiously at me, and I know she’s prevaricating. She never likes to give bad news.

My anxiety level rises. “Grace. Tell me.”

“I spoke with Elena. She told me that you and Ana had split up and that you were heartbroken.”

What?

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she continues. “I know you run a business together, but I was upset hearing it from her.”

“Elena is exaggerating. I wasn’t heartbroken. We had a falling-out. That’s all. I didn’t tell you because it was temporary. It’s fine now.”

“I hate to think of you being hurt, darling. I hope she’s with you for the right reasons.”

“Who? Ana? What are you implying, Mother?”

“You’re a wealthy man, Christian.”

“You think she’s a gold-digger?” And it’s like she’s struck me.

Fuck.

“No, that’s not what I said—”

“Mom. She’s not like that at all.” I’m trying not to lose my temper.

“I hope so, darling. I’m just watching out for you. Be careful. Most young people experience heartbreak during their adolescence.” She gives me a knowing look.

Oh, please. My heart was broken way, way before I hit puberty.

“Darling, you know we only want you happy, and I have to say, on the evidence of this evening, I’ve never seen you happier.”

“Yeah. Mother, I appreciate the concern, but it’s all good.” I almost cross my fingers behind my back. “Now I’m going to rescue my gold-digging girlfriend from the clutches of my father.” My voice is arctic.

“Christian—” My mother tries to call me back, but frankly she can fuck off. How dare she think that of Ana. And why the hell is Elena gossiping about me and Ana to Grace?

“That’s enough dancing with old men,” I announce to Ana and my dad.

Carrick laughs. “Less of the ‘old,’ son. I’ve been known to have my moments.” He winks at Ana and swaggers away to join his distressed-looking wife.

“I think my dad likes you,” I mutter, feeling murderous.

“What’s not to like?” Ana says with a coy smile.

“Good point well made, Miss Steele.” I pull her into an embrace as the band starts to play “It Had to Be You.”

“Dance with me.” My voice is low and husky.

“With pleasure, Mr. Grey,” she replies. We dance and my thoughts of gold-diggers, overanxious parents, and interfering ex-Dommes are forgotten.

A
t midnight, the MC declares that we can remove our masks. We stand on the banks of the bay and watch the astonishing fireworks display, Ana in front of me, cloaked in my arms. Her face is lit by a kaleidoscope of colors as the fireworks explode in the sky above us. She marvels at each dazzling burst, a huge grin on her face. The display is perfectly timed to the music,
Handel’s “Zadok the Priest.”

It’s stirring.

My parents have gone overboard for their guests, and it makes me feel a little less annoyed with them. The final volley of rockets bursts into golden stars that light up the bay. The crowd spontaneously applauds as sparks rain down from the sky, illuminating the black water.

It’s spectacular.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the MC calls out as the cheers and whistles fade. “Just one note to add at the end of this wonderful evening: your generosity has raised a total of one million eight hundred and fifty-three thousand dollars!” The news is met with rousing cheers from the crowd. It’s an impressive total. I imagine my mother has been busy all evening extracting money from her wealthy friends and guests. My contribution of $600,000 has helped. The applause is deafening, and on the pontoon where the fireworks technicians have been busy, the words “Thank You from Coping Together” light up in silver sparklers and shimmer over the dark mirror of the bay.

“Oh, Christian, that was wonderful,” Ana exclaims, and I kiss her. I suggest to her that it’s time to go. I can’t wait to get home and curl up with her. It’s been a long day. I’m hoping that I don’t need to persuade her to stay the night. For a start, Leila is still at large. Also, in spite of everything, I’ve enjoyed today, and I want more. I want her to stay through Sunday, and maybe next week, too.

Tomorrow Ana can see Dr. Greene and, depending on the weather, we could either go soaring or go sailing. I could show her
The Grace.

Spending more time with Ana is appealing.

Very appealing.

Taylor approaches, shaking his head, and I know he wants us to stay put until the crowd disperses. He’s been vigilant all evening and must be exhausted. I follow his direction and ask Ana to wait with me.

“So, Aspen?” I ask, to divert her.

“Oh, I haven’t paid for my bid,” she says.

“You can send a check. I have the address.”

“You were really mad.”

“Yes, I was.”

“I blame you and your toys.”

“You were quite overcome, Miss Steele. A most satisfactory outcome, if I recall. Incidentally, where are they?”

“The silver balls? In my bag.”

“I’d like them back. They are far too potent a device to be left in your innocent hands.”

“Worried I might be quite overcome again, maybe with somebody else?” she says, with a wicked gleam in her eye.

Ana, don’t tease me about these things.

“I hope that’s not going to happen. But no, Ana, I want all your pleasure.”

Always.

“Don’t you trust me?” she asks.

“Implicitly. Now, can I have them back?”

“I’ll think about it.”

Miss Steele is playing hardball.

In the distance, the DJ has started his set.

“Do you want to dance?” I ask.

“I’m really tired, Christian. I’d like to go, if that’s okay.”

I motion to Taylor. He nods and talks into his sleeve microphone to the other security personnel, and we make our way across the lawn. Mia gallops toward us with her shoes in hand. “You’re not going, are you? The real music’s just beginning. Come on, Ana.” She grabs Ana’s free hand.

“Mia, Anastasia’s tired. We’re going home. Besides, we have a big day tomorrow.”

Ana looks at me in surprise.

Mia pouts because she’s not getting her way, but she doesn’t push it. “You must come by sometime next week. Maybe we can hit the mall?”

“Sure, Mia,” Ana replies, and I hear the fatigue in her voice. I must get her home. Mia kisses Ana good-bye, then grabs me and hugs me, hard. Her face shines as she stares up at me.

“I like seeing you this happy,” she says, and she kisses me on the cheek. “Bye. You guys have fun.” She runs off to her waiting friends, who start making their way to the dance floor.

My parents are nearby, and I’m now feeling guilty about the outburst with my mother. “We’ll say good night to my parents before we leave. Come.” We stroll toward them. Grace’s face lights up when she sees us. Reaching up, she touches my face, and I try not to scowl at her. She smiles. “Thank you for coming and bringing Anastasia. It was wonderful watching the two of you together.”

“Thanks for a great evening, Mom,” I manage. I don’t want to bring up our earlier conversation in front of Ana.

“Good night, son. Ana,” says Carrick.

“Please do come again, Anastasia, it’s been lovely having you here,” Grace enthuses. She seems sincere, and the sting of her gold-digger comment begins to fade. Perhaps she is just looking out for me. But they don’t know Ana at all. She’s the least acquisitive woman I’ve ever met.

We walk around to the front of the house. Ana runs her hands up and down her arms. “Are you warm enough?” I ask.

“Yes, thank you.”

“I really enjoyed this evening, Anastasia. Thank you.”

“Me, too…Some parts more than others.” And clearly she’s thinking about our tryst in my childhood bedroom.

“Don’t bite your lip,” I warn.

“What did you mean about a big day tomorrow?” she asks. I tell her that Dr. Greene will make a house call and that I have a surprise for her.

“Dr. Greene?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I hate condoms.”

“It’s my body,” she grumbles.

“It’s mine, too,” I whisper.

Ana. Please. I. Hate. Them.

Her eyes shine in the soft glow of paper lanterns that are strung up over the front yard, and I wonder if she’s going to continue this argument. She raises her hand, and I still. She tugs the corner of my bow tie, and it unravels. With gentle fingers, she undoes the top button of my shirt. Fascinated, I watch her, and stay rooted to the ground.

“You look hot like this,” she says quietly, surprising me.

I think she’s moved on from Dr. Greene. “I need to get you home. Come.”

The Q7 pulls up, and the valet gets out and gives the keys to Taylor. One of our security guys, Sawyer, hands me an envelope. It’s addressed to Ana.

“Where did this come from?” I ask him.

“One of the servers gave it to me, sir.”

Is it from an admirer? The handwriting seems familiar. Taylor ushers Ana into the car and I slide in beside her, handing her the note. “It’s addressed to you. One of the staff gave it to Sawyer. No doubt from yet another ensnared heart.”

Taylor follows the line of cars out of my parents’ driveway. Ana rips the envelope open and casts her eyes over the note inside.

“You told her?” she exclaims.

“Told who what?”

“That I call her Mrs. Robinson.”

“It’s from Elena? This is ridiculous.” I told Elena to leave Ana alone. Why is she ignoring me? And what has she said to Ana? What the hell is her problem? “I’ll deal with her tomorrow. Or Monday.” I want to read the note, but Ana doesn’t give me the opportunity. She stuffs it in her purse but fishes out the kegel balls.

“Until next time,” she says, handing them back to me.

Next time?

Now, that is good news. I squeeze her hand and she returns the gesture as she stares out of the window into the darkness.

Midway across the 520 bridge, she’s asleep. I take a moment to relax. So much has happened today. I’m tired, so I put my head back and close my eyes.

Yeah. It’s been quite a day.

Ana and the check. Her bad temper. Her willfulness. The lipstick. The sex.

Yes. The sex.

And of course I will have to deal with my mother’s anxiety and her offensive concern that Ana is an opportunist who’s after my fortune.

And then there’s Elena, interfering, behaving badly. What the hell am I going to do about her?

I look at my image reflected in the car window. The sallow, ghoulish figure stares back at me and disappears only when we exit I-5 onto a well-lit Stewart Street. We are close to home.

Ana is still asleep when we pull up outside. Sawyer jumps out of the car and opens my door.

“Do I need to carry you in?” I ask Ana, squeezing her hand. She wakes and sleepily shakes her head. With Sawyer in front of us, keeping vigil, we walk into the building together as Taylor takes the car into the garage.

Ana leans on me in the elevator and closes her eyes.

“It’s been a long day, eh, Anastasia?”

She nods.

“Tired?”

She nods.

“You’re not very talkative,” I observe.

She nods once more, making me smile.

“Come. I’ll put you to bed.” My fingers curl around hers, and we follow Sawyer out of the elevator and into the foyer. Sawyer halts in front of us and holds up his hand. I tighten my grip on Ana’s fingers.

What the hell?

“Will do, T,” Sawyer says, and turns to face us. “Mr. Grey, the tires on Ms. Steele’s Audi have been slashed and paint thrown all over it.”

Ana gasps.

What?

My immediate thought is that some mindless vandal has broken into the garage…then I remember Leila.

What the hell has she done?

Sawyer continues. “Taylor is concerned that the perp may have entered the apartment and may still be there. He wants to make sure.”

How can anyone be in the apartment?

“I see. What’s Taylor’s plan?”

“He’s coming up in the service elevator with Ryan and Reynolds. They’ll do a sweep, then give us the all-clear. I’m to wait with you, sir.”

“Thank you, Sawyer.” I tighten my hold on Ana. “This day just gets better and better.” There’s no way Leila could be in the apartment. Is there?

And I recall those moments when I thought I saw something move at the periphery of my vision…and when I woke because I thought someone had ruffled my hair, only to find Ana fast asleep beside me. A shiver of doubt runs down my spine.

Shit.

If Leila’s here, I need to know. I don’t think she’ll hurt me. I kiss Ana’s hair. “Listen, I can’t stand here and wait. Sawyer, take care of Miss Steele. Don’t let her in until you have the all-clear. I’m sure Taylor is overreacting. She can’t get into the apartment.”

“No, Christian.” Ana tries to stop me, her fingers clasping my lapels. “You have to stay with me.”

“Do as you’re told, Anastasia. Wait here.” I sound sterner than I mean to, and she releases me. “Sawyer?” He’s standing in my way, uncertain. I raise a brow, and after a moment’s hesitation he opens the double doors into the apartment and lets me go through. He closes them behind me.

In the hallway outside the living room it’s dark and quiet. I stand and listen, straining my ears for anything unusual. All I hear is the sigh of the wind as it wraps itself around the building, and the hum of the electrical appliances from the kitchen. Far below in the street there’s a police siren, but apart from that, Escala is still and quiet, as it should be.

If Leila were here, where would she go?

My first thought is the playroom, and I’m about to dash upstairs when there’s a rumble and a ping from the service elevator, and Taylor and the two other security guys spill out into the corridor wielding guns, as if they’re in some macho action movie.

“Are those strictly necessary?” I ask Taylor, who’s leading the charge.

“We’re taking the necessary precautions, sir.”

“I don’t think she’s here.”

“We’ll do a quick sweep.”

“Okay,” I reply, resigned. “I’ll check upstairs.”

“I’ll come with you, Mr. Grey.” I suspect that Taylor is being unduly concerned for my safety.

He issues swift instructions to the other two and they scatter to search the apartment. I switch on all the lights so that the living room and corridor are well lit and bright, and I head upstairs with Taylor.

He’s thorough. He checks under the four-poster bed, the table, and even the couch in the playroom. He does the same in the sub’s room and in each of the spare rooms. No sign of any intruder. He proceeds into his and Mrs. Jones’s quarters, and I head downstairs. My bathroom and walk-in closet are clear, as is my bedroom. Standing in the middle of the room, I feel like a fool, but I squat down and check under the bed.

Nothing.

Not even dust. Mrs. Jones is doing a stellar job.

The balcony door is locked, but I open it. Outside, the breeze is cool and the city is laid out, dark and somber, at my feet. There’s the hum of distant traffic and the faint moan of the wind, but that’s it. Inside again, I lock the door.

Taylor comes back downstairs. “She’s not here,” he says.

“You think it’s Leila?”

“Yes, sir.” His mouth forms a hard, flat line. “Do you mind if I search your room?”

Though I’ve already done this, I’m too tired to argue. “Sure.”

“I want to check all the closets and cupboards, sir,” he says.

“Fine.” I shake my head at the preposterous situation we’re in, and I open the foyer doors to find Ana. Sawyer brandishes his gun but lowers it when he sees it’s me.

“All clear,” I tell him. He holsters his pistol and stands aside. “Taylor is overreacting,” I say to Ana. She looks exhausted, and she doesn’t move—she just stares at me pale-faced, and I realize she’s scared. “It’s all right, baby.” I fold her in my arms and kiss her hair. “Come on, you’re tired. Bed.”

“I was so worried,” she says.

“I know. We’re all jumpy.”

Sawyer has disappeared, presumably into the apartment.

“Honestly, your exes are proving to be very challenging, Mr. Grey,” she asserts.

“Yes. They are.” They really are. I lead her into the living room. “Taylor and his crew are checking all the closets and cupboards. I don’t think she’s here.”

“Why would she be here?” Ana sounds bewildered, and I reassure her that Taylor is thorough and that we’ve searched everywhere, including the playroom. To calm her, I offer her a drink, but she declines. She’s tired. “Come. Let me put you to bed. You look exhausted.”