Darker (24 page)

She’s mine.

She grasps my arms and tilts her chin up, her mouth open in a wide
o
of pleasure. Gently, I slide into her again, my arms and hands on either side of her face.

“You make me forget everything. You are the best therapy.” I ease out of her again, and ease back inside her.

“Please, Christian, faster.” She pushes her pelvis up to meet me.

“Oh no, baby. I need this slow.”

Please. Let’s do this slowly.

I kiss her and tug her bottom lip. She twines her fingers in my hair and holds me and lets me continue at my slow, tender pace. On and on and on. She begins to build, her legs stiffening, and she throws her head back as she comes, taking me with her.

“Oh, Ana,” I call, and her name is a prayer on my lips. That unfamiliar feeling is back, swelling in my chest, fighting to get out. And I know what it is. I’ve known forever. I want to tell her I love her.

But I can’t.

The words burn to ashes in my throat.

I swallow and rest my head on her belly, my arms coiled around her. Her fingers tangle in my hair. “I will never get enough of you. Don’t leave me.” I kiss her belly.

“I’m not going anywhere, Christian, and I seem to remember that I wanted to kiss your belly,” she says. And she sounds a little grumpy.

“Nothing stopping you now, baby.”

“I don’t think I can move. I’m so tired.”

I stretch out beside her and pull the comforter over us. She looks radiant but exhausted.

Let her sleep, Grey.

“Sleep now, sweet Ana.” I kiss her hair and hold her.

I never want to let her go.

I WAKE TO BRILLIANT
sunshine filtering through the sheers that shroud the windows and Ana soundly asleep beside me. In spite of our late night I feel refreshed; I sleep well when I’m with her.

I climb out of bed, grab my jeans and my T-shirt, and drag them on. If I stay in bed, I know I’ll wake her. She’s too tempting to leave alone, and I know she needs sleep.

In the main room, I sit down at the escritoire and take my laptop out of the bag. My first job is to e-mail Dr. Greene. I ask her if she can come to the hotel to attend to Ana. She responds that the only time she can do is ten fifteen.

Great.

I confirm the time and then call Mac, who’s the first mate on my yacht.

“Mr. Grey.”

“Mac. I’d like to take
The Grace
out this afternoon.”

“You’ll have fine weather.”

“Yes. I’d like to head out to Bainbridge Island.”

“I’ll get her ready, sir.”

“Great. We’ll see you at around lunchtime.”

“We?”

“Yes, I’m bringing my girlfriend, Anastasia Steele.”

There’s a slight hesitation in Mac’s voice before he says, “Look forward to it.”

“Me, too.”

I hang up, excited that I can show
The Grace
to Ana. I think she’ll love sailing. She loved the soaring and the flight in
Charlie Tango.

I call Taylor for an update, but his phone goes to voice mail. I hope he’s getting some well-deserved sleep or having Ana’s wrecked Audi removed from the garage as he promised. It reminds me that I need to replace her car. I wonder if Taylor has spoken to the Audi dealership. It’s a Sunday, so maybe not.

My phone buzzes. It’s a text from my mother.

GRACE

Darling, it was so lovely to see you and Anastasia last night.

As ever, thank you, and Ana, for your generosity.

Mom X

I’m still smarting over her gold-digger comments. It’s obvious she doesn’t know Ana well. But then, she’s only met Ana three times. It was Elliot who was always bringing girls around…not me. Grace couldn’t keep up.

“Elliot, darling, we get attached to them and then they’re history. It’s heartbreaking.”

“Don’t get attached.” He shrugs, chewing with his mouth open. “I don’t,” he mutters so only I can hear him.

“One day someone will break your heart, Elliot,” Grace says as she hands Mia a plate of mac and cheese.

“Whatever, Mom. At least I bring girls home.” He eyes me with disdain.

“Lots of my friends want to marry Christian. Ask them,” Mia pipes up in my defense.

Ugh. What an unpleasant thought—her poisonous little eighth-grade friends.

“Don’t you have exams to study for, douchebag?” I give Elliot the finger.

“Study. Not me, dickless. I’m out tonight,” he brags.

“Boys! Enough! This is your first night home from college. You haven’t seen each other in ages. Stop arguing. Eat up.”

I take a bite of mac and cheese. Tonight I get to see Mrs. Lincoln…

It’s 9:40 so I order breakfast for Ana and me, knowing it will take at least twenty minutes. I turn back to my e-mails and decide to ignore my mother’s text for now.

Room service arrives just after ten. I ask the young man to keep everything in the cart’s warming drawers and, after he’s set the table, I dismiss him.

Time to wake Ana.

She’s still fast asleep. Her hair is a mess of mahogany on the pillow, her skin luminous in the light, and her face soft and sweet in repose. I lie down beside her and watch her, drinking in every detail. She blinks and opens her eyes.

“Hi.”

“Hi.” She tugs the comforter up to her chin as her cheeks turn rosy. “How long have you been watching me?”

“I could watch you sleep for hours, Anastasia. But I’ve only been here about five minutes.” I kiss her temple. “Dr. Greene will be here shortly.”

“Oh.”

“Did you sleep well?” I ask. “Certainly seemed like it to me, with all that snoring.”

“I do not snore!”

I put her out of her misery, grinning. “No. You don’t.”

“Did you shower?” she asks.

“No. Waiting for you.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“What time is it?”

“Ten fifteen. I didn’t have the heart to wake you earlier.”

“You told me you didn’t have a heart at all.”

That at least is true. But I ignore her comment.

“Breakfast is here. Pancakes and bacon for you. Come, get up, I’m getting lonely out here.” I swat her behind, clamber off the bed, and leave her to get up.

In the dining room I remove the dishes from the cart and lay out the plates. I sit down and within moments my toast and scrambled eggs are history. I pour myself some coffee, wondering whether to hurry Ana along, but decide against it and open
The
Seattle Times
.

She shuffles into the dining room wearing an oversized robe and sits down beside me.

“Eat up. You’re going to need your strength today,” I say.

“And why is that? You going to lock me in the bedroom?” she teases.

“Appealing as that idea is, I thought we’d go out today. Get some fresh air.” I’m excited about
The Grace.

“Is it safe?” she quips.

“Where we’re going it is,” I mutter, unamused by her comment. “And it’s not a joking matter,” I add.

I want to keep you safe, baby.

Her mouth sets in that stubborn way she has and she stares down at her breakfast.

Eat, Ana.

As if she can read my mind, she grabs her fork and starts picking at her breakfast, allowing me to relax a little.

A few minutes later there’s a knock on the door. I glance at my watch.

“That’ll be the good doctor,” I say, and stroll to the door to answer it.

“Good morning, Dr. Greene, come in. Thank you for coming at such short notice.”

“Again, Mr. Grey, thank you for making it worth my while. Where’s the patient?” Dr. Greene is all business.

“She’s having her breakfast and will be ready in a minute. Do you want to wait in the bedroom?”

“That’ll be fine.”

I show her into the master, and soon after Ana wanders in and gives me a disapproving look. I choose to ignore it and close the door, leaving her with Dr. Greene. She can be as annoyed as she likes, but she stopped taking her pills. And she knows I hate condoms.

My phone buzzes.

At last.

“Good morning, Taylor.”

“Good morning, Mr. Grey. You called?”

“What news?”

“Sawyer has been through the CCTV footage from the garage and I can confirm it was Leila who vandalized the car.”

“Shit.”

“Quite, sir. I’ve updated Welch on the situation, and the Audi has been removed.”

“Good. Have you checked the apartment CCTV?”

“We’re doing that now, but we haven’t found anything yet.”

“We need to know how she got in.”

“Yes, sir. She’s not here now. We’ve done a thorough check, but I understand that until we’re certain that she can’t get in again you should stay away. I’m having all the locks changed. Even on the fire escape.”

“The fire escape. I always forget about that.”

“It’s easily done, sir.”

“I’m taking Ana to
The Grace.
We’ll stay on board if we need to.”

“I’d like to do a security check of
The Grace
before you get there,” Taylor says.

“Okay. I can’t imagine we’ll be there before one.”

“We can collect your luggage from the hotel after that.”

“Great.”

“And I’ve e-mailed Audi about a replacement vehicle.”

“Okay. Let me know how that goes.”

“Will do, sir.”

“Oh, and Taylor, in the future, we only need a one-bedroom suite.”

Taylor hesitates. “Very good, sir,” he says. “Will that be all for now?”

“No, one more thing. When Gail returns, can you ask her to move all of Miss Steele’s clothes and belongings into my room?”

“Certainly, sir.”

“Thanks.”

I hang up and sit back down at the dining table to finish the newspaper. I note with displeasure that Ana has hardly touched her breakfast.

Plus ça change, Grey. Plus ça change.

HALF AN HOUR LATER
Ana and Dr. Greene emerge from the bedroom. Ana looks subdued. We exchange good-byes with the doctor and I close the suite door behind her.

“Everything okay?” I ask Ana as she stands, looking sullen, in the hallway. She nods but won’t look at me. “Anastasia, what is it? What did Dr. Greene say?”

She shakes her head. “You’re good to go in seven days.”

“Seven days?”

“Yes.”

“Ana, what’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing to worry about. Please, Christian, just leave it.”

Normally I have no idea what she’s thinking, but something is troubling her, and because it’s troubling her, it’s troubling me. Maybe Dr. Greene warned her away from me. I tilt her chin back so we’re eye to eye. “Tell me,” I persist.

“There’s nothing to tell. I’d like to get dressed.” She jerks her chin out of my hand.

Fuck. What’s wrong?

I run my hands through my hair in an effort to remain calm.

Perhaps it’s the Leila scare?

Or maybe the doctor gave her some bad news?

She gives nothing away.

“Let’s shower,” I suggest eventually. She agrees but is hardly enthusiastic. “Come.” I take her hand and move into the bathroom with a reluctant Ana trailing behind me. I turn on the shower and strip out of my clothes while she stands in the middle of the bathroom sulking.

Ana, what the hell is wrong?

“I don’t know what’s upset you, or if you’re just bad-tempered through lack of sleep,” I say quietly as I unfasten her robe. “But I want you to tell me. My imagination is running away with me, and I don’t like it.”

She rolls her eyes, but before I can rebuke her she says, “Dr. Greene scolded me about missing the pill. She said I could be pregnant.”

“What?”

Pregnant!

And I’m free-falling. Fuck.

“But I’m not,” she says. “She did a test. It was a shock, that’s all. I can’t believe I was that stupid.”

Oh, thank God.

“You’re sure you’re not?”

“Yes.”

I exhale. “Good. Yes, I can see that news like that would be very upsetting.”

“I was more worried about your reaction.”

“My reaction? Well, naturally, I’m relieved. It would be the height of carelessness and bad manners to knock you up.”

“Then maybe we should abstain,” she snaps.

What the hell?

“You are in a bad temper this morning.”

“It was just a shock, that’s all,” she says, sullen again.

I haul her into my embrace. She’s tense and stiff with indignation. I kiss her hair and hold her. “Ana, I’m not used to this,” I whisper. “My natural inclination is to beat it out of you, but I seriously doubt you want that.”

She could cry it out if I did. In my experience, women feel better after a good cry.

“No, I don’t,” she responds. “This helps.” And she puts her arms around me and hugs me tighter, her warm cheek against my chest. I rest my chin on the top of her head. We stand like this for an age and slowly she relaxes in my arms.

“Come, let’s shower.” I strip her out of her robe and she follows me into the hot water. It’s welcome. I’ve felt grimy all morning. I shampoo my hair and hand the bottle to Ana. She looks happier now, and I’m glad the showerhead is big enough for both of us. She surrenders herself to the water, tipping up her lovely face, and begins to wash her hair.

I take the body wash, lather up my hands, then begin washing Ana. Her earlier bad mood has rattled me. I feel responsible. She’s tired and she had a trying evening. As she rinses her hair, I massage and wash her shoulders, arms, underarms, back, and her beautiful breasts. Turning her around, I continue with her stomach and belly, between her legs, and her ass. She makes a noise of approval deep in her throat.

My smile is broad.

That’s better.

I turn her to face me. “Here.” I give her the body wash. “I want you to wash off the remains of the lipstick.”

Her eyes flicker open and her expression is serious and earnest.

“Don’t stray far from the line, please,” I add.

“Okay.”

She squeezes soap onto her palm and rubs her hands together to make a frothy lather. Placing her hands on my shoulders, she begins to wash away the line with a gentle circular motion. I close my eyes and take a deep breath.

Can I do this?

My breathing shallows, and panic wells in my throat. She continues down my side, her nimble fingers tenderly administering to me. But it’s unbearable. Like tiny razor blades on my skin. Every muscle in my body is tense. I stand like a hollow bronze, counting the seconds until she’s finished.

It’s taking an eternity.

My teeth are clenched.

Suddenly her hands are no longer on my body and that alarms me more. I open my eyes and she’s soaping her hands again. She glances up at me and I see my pain reflected in her eyes and on her sweet, anxious face. And I know it’s not pity but compassion. My agony is her agony.

Oh Ana.

“Ready?” she asks, her voice hoarse.

“Yes,” I whisper, determined not to let the fear win, and I close my eyes.

She touches my side and I freeze, as fear fills my gut, my chest, and my throat, leaving nothing but the darkness. It’s a gaping, aching void that consumes me, all of me.

Ana sniffles and I open my eyes.

She’s crying, her tears lost in the cascade of hot water, her nose pink. Her compassion is spilling down her face—her compassion and her anger as she washes away my sins.

No. Don’t cry, Ana.

I’m just a fucked-up man.

Her lip trembles.

“No. Please, don’t cry.” I fold her into my arms and hold her. “Please don’t cry for me.”

She starts sobbing. Really sobbing. And I cradle her head in my hands and lean down to kiss her. “Don’t cry, Ana, please,” I whisper against her mouth. “It was long ago. I am aching for you to touch me, but I just can’t bear it. It’s too much. Please, please don’t cry.”

“I…want to touch you, too…” she stutters between sobs. “More than you’ll ever know. To see you like this. So hurt and afraid, Christian. It wounds me deeply. I love you so much.”

I run my thumb across her bottom lip. “I know. I know.”

And she squints at me with a look of dismay, because she knows my words have no conviction.

“You’re very easy to love. Don’t you see that?” she says, as the water falls around us.

“No, baby, I don’t.”

“You are. And I do,” she stresses. “And so does your family. So do Elena and Leila. They have a strange way of showing it, but they do. You are worthy.”

“Stop.”

I can’t bear it. I put my finger over her lips and shake my head. “I can’t hear this. I’m nothing, Anastasia.” I’m a lost boy, standing before you. Unloved. Abandoned by the one person who was supposed to protect me, because I’m a monster.

That’s me, Ana.

That’s all I am.

“I’m a husk of a man. I don’t have a heart.”

“Yes, you do,” she cries passionately. “And I want it, all of it. You’re a good man, Christian, a really good man. Don’t ever doubt that. Look at what you’ve done. What you’ve achieved.” She continues to sob. “Look what you’ve done for me. What you’ve turned your back on, for me. I know. I know how you feel about me.” Her blue, blue eyes, filled with love, filled with compassion, leave me as raw and exposed as they did the first time I met her.

She sees me. She thinks she knows me.

“You love me,” she says.

Every ounce of oxygen evaporates from my lungs.

Time suspends and all I can hear is my own blood thrumming in my ears and the splash of the water as it washes the darkness away.

Answer her, Grey. Tell her the truth.