Darker (47 page)

“I’m into delayed gratification, too,” she whispers, and gives me a shy smile.

She
is
torturing me!

I tug her hand and pull her into my arms, and my fingers wrap around her nape and I angle her head so I can look into her eyes. “What can I do to make you say yes?” I beg her.

“Give me some time, please,” she says. I groan and my lips are on hers, my tongue seeking hers. The elevator doors open and we shuffle in, maintaining our embrace. And she’s lit from within. Her hands are on me. Everywhere. In my hair. Around my face. On my ass. And she’s kissing me back with such passion.

I burn for her.

Pushing her against the wall, reveling in the fervor of her kiss, I pin her with my hips and my erection. I have one hand in her hair and one on her chin.

“You own me,” I whisper against her mouth. “My fate is in your hands, Ana.”

She pushes my jacket off my shoulders and the elevator stops and opens and we are in the foyer. I notice that the usual flowers are missing from the foyer table.

Fucking A.

Foyer table, surface number one!

I press Ana against the wall and she finishes the job and pushes my jacket off me onto the floor. My hand runs up her thigh, taking the hem of her dress with it while we kiss. I boost her skirt higher.

“First surface here,” I murmur, and lift her suddenly. “Wrap your legs around me.”

She does as she’s told and I lay her down on the hall table. From my jeans pocket I fish out a condom and hand it to Ana and undo my fly.

Her fingers impatiently open the packet.

Her enthusiasm is arousing.

“Do you know how much you turn me on?”

“What? No. I…” She’s breathless.

“Well, you do. All the time.” I grab the packet from her hands and roll on the condom while staring at her. Her hair is cascading over the edge of the table and she’s staring up at me, her eyes brimming with want.

I move between her legs and lift her ass off the table, spreading her legs farther apart. “Keep your eyes open. I want to see you.” I take both her hands and slowly sink into her.

It takes all my willpower to keep my eyes open on hers. She’s exquisite.

Every fucking inch of her.

She closes her eyes and I thrust hard into her. “Open,” I urge, and I tighten my hold on her hands.

She cries out but opens her eyes. They are wild and blue and beautiful. Slowly I pull out of her, then sink into her again. She watches me.

Her eyes on me.

God, I love her.

I move faster. Loving her. The only way I really know how.

Her mouth opens, slack, wide, beautiful. And her legs tense around me.

This is going to be quick.

And she comes around me, taking me with her.

She calls out through her climax.

“Yes, Ana!” I cry. And come and come and come.

I collapse on her, release her hands, and rest my head on her chest. I close my eyes. She cradles my head, running her fingers through my hair as I catch my breath. I look up at her. “I’m not finished with you yet,” I whisper, and I kiss her and disengage myself.

Hastily, I do up my fly and lift her off the table.

We stand in the foyer holding each other. We’re under the careful watch of the women in my Madonna and Child paintings that line the walls.

I think they approve of my girl.

“Bed,” I whisper.

“Please,” she says. And I take her to bed and make love to her once more.

SHE COMES, RIDING ME
hard, and I hold her upright as I watch her spiral out of control.

Fuck, it’s erotic.

She’s naked, her breasts bouncing, and I let go, climaxing inside her, my head back, my fingers digging into her hips. She flops down on my chest, panting hard.

As I recover my breath, I run my fingers down her back, dewy with her sweat.

“Satisfied, Miss Steele?”

She mumbles her agreement. Then she looks up at me; her expression is a little dazed, but she angles her head.

Shit.
She’s going to kiss my chest.

I take a deep breath and she plants a soft, warm kiss on my chest.

It’s okay. The darkness is quiet. Or gone. I don’t know.

I relax and roll us onto our sides.

“Is sex like this for everyone? I’m surprised anyone ever goes out,” she says, with a sated smile.

She makes me feel ten feet tall. “I can’t speak for everyone, but it’s pretty damned special with you, Anastasia.” My lips touch hers.

“That’s because you’re pretty damned special, Mr. Grey.” She caresses my face.

“It’s late. Go to sleep.” I kiss her and pull her to me so that we’re spooning, her back to my front, and I tug up the comforter.

“You don’t like compliments.” Her voice is drifting. She’s tired.

No. I’m not used to them.

“Go to sleep, Anastasia.”

“I loved the house,” she mutters.

That means she might say yes. I grin into her hair and nuzzle her. “I love you. Go to sleep.”

And I close my eyes as her scent fills my nostrils.

A house. A wife. What more do I need? Please say yes, Ana.

A
na’s cry drags me from my sleep. Opening my eyes, I wake. She’s beside me and I think she’s asleep. “Flying too close,” she whimpers. The early-morning light bleeds pink and bright between the blinds, illuminating her hair. “Icarus,” she says.

Leaning up on my elbow, I check to see if she’s asleep. I haven’t heard her talk in her sleep for a while. She turns over so that she’s facing me. “Benefit of the doubt,” she says. And her face relaxes.

Benefit of the doubt?

Is this about me?

She said it yesterday. She said she was going to give me the benefit of the doubt.

It’s more than I deserve.

Much more than you deserve, Grey.

I plant a chaste kiss on her forehead, switch off the alarm before it wakes her, and get out of bed. I have an early-morning meeting to discuss Kavanagh’s fiber-optic requirements.

In the shower, I think about my schedule for the day. I have Kavanagh. Then I fly down to WSU via Portland with Ros. Drinks in the evening with Ana and her photographer friend.

And I’ll put an offer on that house today. Ana says she loved it. I grin as I rinse the shampoo from my hair.

Just give her time, Grey.

IN MY CLOSET, I
slip on my pants and notice my jacket from yesterday slung over the chair. I fish through the pockets and grab Ana’s present. It still produces a tantalizing rattle.

I slip it into my inside pocket, pleased that it will rest close to my heart.

You’re getting sentimental in your old age, Grey.

SHE’S STILL CURLED UP
asleep when I check on her before I leave. “Gotta go, baby.” I kiss her neck. She opens her eyes and turns over to face me. In her drowsy state, she smiles up at me, then her expression changes.

“What time is it?”

“Don’t panic. I have a breakfast meeting.”

“You smell good,” she whispers. She stretches out beneath me and encircles my neck with her hands. Her fingers trail in my hair. “Don’t go.”

“Miss Steele, are you trying to keep a man from an honest day’s work?”

She gives me a sleepy nod, her eyes a little dazed. Desire blooms in my body; she looks so damn sexy. Her smile is captivating and it takes all my self-control not to strip off my clothes and slip back into bed. “As tempting as you are, I have to go.” I kiss her and stand. “Laters, baby.” I leave before I change my mind and cancel the meeting.

Taylor looks troubled when I join him in the garage.

“Mr. Grey. I have a problem.”

“What is it?”

“My ex-wife called. My daughter may have appendicitis.”

“Is she in the hospital?”

“They’re admitting her now.”

“You should go.”

“Thank you. I’ll drop you at work first.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it.”

TAYLOR IS DEEP IN
thought when we pull up outside Grey House.

“Let me know how she is.”

“I may not be back until tomorrow morning.”

“It’s fine. Go. I hope Sophie’s okay.”

“Thank you, sir.”

I watch him zoom off. He’s seldom preoccupied…but this is family. Yes. Family comes first. Always.

Andrea is waiting for me when I step out of the elevator.

“Good morning, Mr. Grey. Taylor called. I’ll arrange a driver for you here and in Portland.”

“Good. Everyone here?

“Yes. In your boardroom.”

“Great. Thanks, Andrea.”

THE MEETING GOES WELL.
Kavanagh looks refreshed, no doubt from his recent vacation in Barbados, where he met my brother for the first time. He says he likes him. Considering Elliot’s fucking his daughter, that’s a good thing.

When they left, Kavanagh and his people seemed satisfied with our conversation. Now all that remains is to haggle over the price of the contract. Ros will have to take the lead on that with cost projections from Fred’s division.

Andrea has laid out the usual breakfast spread; I grab a croissant and head back to my office with Ros. “What time do you want to leave?” Ros asks me.

“Our driver will pick us up at ten.”

“I’ll see you in the foyer downstairs,” Ros confirms. “I’m excited. I’ve never been in a helicopter.”

Her grin is infectious.

“I found a house yesterday and I want to buy it. Will you handle the details?”

“As your lawyer, sure, of course I will.”

“Thanks. I owe you.”

“You will.” She laughs. “See you downstairs.”

I stand alone inside my office, feeling elated. I’m buying a house. The Kavanagh contract will be a great boost to the company. And I had a wonderful evening with my girl. At my desk, I send her an e-mail.

From:
Christian Grey

Subject:
Surfaces

Date:
June 17 2011 08:59

To:
Anastasia Steele

I calculate that there are at least 30 surfaces to go. I am looking forward to each and every one of them. Then there’s the floors, the walls—and let’s not forget the balcony.

After that there’s my office…

Miss you. x

Christian Grey

Priapic CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

I take a look around my office. Yes, there’s a lot of potential here: the sofa, the desk. Andrea knocks on the door and enters with my coffee. I marshal my wayward thoughts, and my body.

She places the coffee on my desk. “More coffee.”

“Thank you. Can you get the realtor for the house I saw yesterday on the line?”

“Sure thing, sir.”

My discussion with Olga Kelly is brief. We agree on a price to take back to the seller, and I give her Ros’s details so we can move quickly with inspections if the offer is accepted.

I check my e-mail. And I’m pleased to see a response from Ana to my earlier missive.

From:
Anastasia Steele

Subject:
Romance?

Date:
June 17 2011 09:03

To:
Christian Grey

Mr. Grey

You have a one-track mind.

I missed you at breakfast.

But Mrs. Jones was very accommodating.

A x

Accommodating?

From:
Christian Grey

Subject:
Intrigued

Date:
June 17 2011 09:07

To:
Anastasia Steele

What was Mrs. Jones accommodating about?

What are you up to, Miss Steele?

Christian Grey

Curious CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

From:
Anastasia Steele

Subject:
Tapping Nose

Date:
June 17 2011 09:10

To:
Christian Grey

Wait and see—it’s a surprise.

I need to work…let me be.

Love you.

A x

From:
Christian Grey

Subject:
Frustrated

Date:
June 17 2011 09:12

To:
Anastasia Steele

I hate it when you keep things from me.

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

From:
Anastasia Steele

Subject:
Indulging you

Date:
June 17 2011 09:14

To:
Christian Grey

It’s for your birthday.

Another surprise.

Don’t be so petulant.

A x

Another surprise? When I pat down my jacket pocket, I’m reassured by the presence of the box that Ana’s given me.

She’s spoiling me.

ROS AND I ARE
in the car on the way to Boeing Field. My phone flashes. It’s a text from Elliot.

ELLIOT

Hey, asshole. Bar. This evening.

Kate’s getting in touch with Ana.

You’d better be there.

Where are you?

ELLIOT

Layover Atlanta

Missed me?

No.

ELLIOT

Yeah you have. Well I’m back and

you’re getting your beer on tonight Bro.

It’s been a while since I went drinking with my brother and at least I won’t be alone with Ana and her photographer friend.

If you insist.

Safe travels.

ELLIOT

Laters dude.

Our flight to Portland is uneventful, though it’s a revelation how giddy Ros can be. She’s like a kid in a candy store during the flight. Fidgeting. Pointing. Nonstop commentary on everything she sees. It’s a side of Ros I never knew existed. Where’s the cool, collected lawyer I know? I’m reminded how quietly appreciative Ana was when I first took her up in
Charlie Tango
.

When we land, I pick up a voice mail from the realtor. The seller has accepted my offer. They must want a quick sale.

“What?” asks Ros.

“I’ve just bought that house.”

“Congratulations.”

AFTER A LENGTHY MEETING
with the president and vice president of economic development at WSU in Vancouver, Ros and I are in conversation with Professor Gravett and her postgraduate team. The professor is in full flow. “We’ve been able to isolate the DNA of the microbe that’s responsible for nitrogen fixation.”

“What does that mean, exactly?” I ask.

“In layman’s terms, Mr. Grey, nitrogen fixation is essential for soil diversity, and as you know, diverse soils recover from shocks like drought far more quickly. We can now study how to activate the DNA in the microbes that live in the soil in the sub-Saharan region. In a nutshell, we’ll be able to get the soil to hold its nutrients for far longer, making it more productive per hectare.”

“Our results will be published in the
Soil Science Society of America Journal
in a couple of months. We’re sure to double our funding once the article comes out,” Professor Choudury says. “And we’ll need to get your input on potential funding sources that align with your philanthropic objectives.”

“Of course,” I say, offering my support. “As you know, I think your work here should be shared broadly to benefit as many people as possible.”

“We’ve kept that goal front and center in all that we’re doing.”

“Good to hear.”

The president of the university nods in agreement. “We’re very excited about this discovery.”

“It is quite the achievement. Congratulations, Professor Gravett, and to your team.”

She glows in response to the compliment. “Thanks to you.”

Embarrassed, I glance at Ros, and it’s as if she can read my mind. “We should be going,” she says to the group, and we push our chairs back.

The president shakes my hand. “Thank you for your continued support, Mr. Grey. As you’ve seen, your contribution to the environmental sciences department makes a huge difference to us.”

“Keep up the good work,” I say. I’m anxious to get back to Seattle. The photographer will be delivering those photographs to Escala, and then seeing Ana. I’m fighting my jealous impulses and, so far, successfully keeping them under control. But I will be happier when we set back down at Boeing Field and I join them both at the bar. In the meantime, I have a surprise for Ros.

OUR TAKEOFF IS SMOOTH;
I pull back the collective and
Charlie Tango
ascends like a graceful bird into the air above the Portland heliport. Ros smiles with girlish delight. I shake my head; I had no idea she could be this excitable, but then again, I always feel a rush on takeoff. Once I’ve finished talking to the tower, Ros’s disembodied voice asks over my headset, “How is your private merger going?”

“Good, thanks.”

“Hence the house?”

“Yeah. Something like that.”

She nods and we fly in silence over Vancouver and WSU, homebound toward my goal.

“Did you know Andrea was getting married?” I ask her. This has bothered me since I found out.

“No. When?”

“Last weekend.”

“She kept that quiet.” Ros sounds surprised.

“She says that she didn’t tell me because of our non-fraternization policy. I didn’t know we had one.”

“It’s a standard clause within our employment contracts.”

“Seems a little harsh.”

“She’s married someone in-house?”

“Damon Parker.”

“Engineering?”

“Yes. Can we help him with a green card? I believe he’s on an H-1B visa at the moment.”

“I’ll look into it. Though I’m not sure there are any shortcuts.”

“I’d appreciate it, and I have a surprise for you.” I veer a few degrees northeast and we fly for about ten minutes. “There!” I point toward the barnacle on the horizon that will become Mount St. Helens as we get closer.

Ros actually squeals with delight. “You changed the flight plan?”

“Just for you.”

As we fly nearer, the mountain looms over the landscape. It looks like a child’s drawing of a volcano, tipped with snow, craggy at the top, and nestled within the lush green forest of Gifford National Park.

“Wow! It’s so much bigger than I thought,” says Ros as we get nearer.

It’s an impressive sight.

I bank slowly and we circle the crater, which is no longer complete. The north wall has gone, a casualty of the 1980 eruption. It looks eerily deserted and otherworldly from up here; the scars of the last eruption are still obvious, running down the mountain, displacing the forest and defacing the landscape beneath it.

“This is amazing. Gwen and I have been meaning to bring the kids to see this place. I wonder if it will erupt again?” Ros speculates, as she snaps photos with her phone.

“I have no idea, but let’s head home now that you’ve seen it.”

“Good idea, and thank you.” Ros gives me a grateful smile, her eyes shining.

I veer west following the South Fork Toutle River. We should be back at Boeing Field in forty-five minutes, which will give me plenty of time to join Ana, the photographer, and Elliot for drinks.

Out of the corner of my eye I see the master caution light flicker.

What the fuck?

The fire light in the engine T-handle flashes, and
Charlie Tango
dips.

Shit.
We have a fire in engine one. I take a deep breath but smell nothing. Quickly, I execute an S-turn to see if I can see smoke. A trail of gray fog lingers in our flight path.

“What’s wrong? What is it?” Ros asks.

“I don’t want you to panic. We have a fire in one of the engines.”

“What!” She clutches her purse and her seat. I shut engine number one down and blow the first fire bottle while deciding whether to land or carry on with one engine.
Charlie Tango
is equipped to fly with a single engine…

I want to get home.

I give the landscape a quick sweep, looking for a safe place to land, should we need to. We’re a little low, but I can see a lake in the distance—Silver Lake, I think. It’s clear of trees at the southeast end.

I’m about to radio a distress signal when the second engine fire light flashes.

Motherfucking hell!

My anxiety balloons and I clench my fingers around the collective.

Fuck. Focus, Grey.

Smoke filters into the cabin and I open my windows and quickly check all the instrument stats. The dash is lighting up like fucking Christmas. And it may be that the electronics are failing. I have no choice. We’re going to have to land. And I have a split second to decide whether to kill the engine or keep it going to get us down.

I hope to Christ I can do this. Sweat beads on my brow and I dash it away with my hand. “Hang on, Ros. This is going to get rough.”

Ros makes a wailing sound, but I ignore her.

We’re low. Too low.

But maybe we have time. That’s all I need. Some time. Before she blows.

I lower the collective and reduce the throttle to idle and we autorotate, diving down, and I’m trying to maintain speed to keep the rotors spinning. We hurtle toward the ground.

Ana. Ana? Will I see her again?

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

We’re close to the lake. There’s a clearing. My muscles burn as I fight to hold the collective in place.

Fuck.

I see Ana in a kaleidoscope of images like the photographer’s portraits: laughing, pouting, pensive, stunning, beautiful.
Mine.

I can’t lose her.

Now! Do it, Grey.

I flare—pitching
Charlie Tango
’s nose up and dipping the tail to reduce the forward speed. The tail clips some treetops. By some miracle,
Charlie Tango
stays in line as I increase the throttle. We crash-land, tail first, on the edge of the clearing, the EC135 skidding and bumping across the terrain before she comes to a complete stop, in the middle of the clearing, the rotors whipping branches off some nearby fir trees. I activate the second fire bottle, shut down the engine and the fuel valves, and apply the rotor brake. I switch off all electrics, lean across and punch the buckle on Ros’s harness so it releases, lean farther, and open the door. “Get out! Stay low!” I roar, and push her so that she scuttles out of her seat and falls out to the ground. I grab the fire extinguisher beside me, scramble out my side, and run to the back of the cabin to spray CO
₂
over the smoking engines. The fires are quickly subdued and I take a step back.

Ros, bedraggled and deeply shaken, stumbles over to me as I stand and stare with horror at
Charlie Tango,
my pride and joy. In an uncharacteristic show of emotion, Ros throws her arms around me and I freeze. It’s only then that I notice she’s sobbing.

“Hey. Hey. Hush. We’re down. We’re safe. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” I hold her for a moment to calm her down.

“You did it,” she chokes out. “You did it. Fuck. Christian. You got us down.”

“I know.” And I can’t quite believe we’re both in one piece. I step away from her and hand her a handkerchief from my pocket.

“What the hell happened?” she says as she wipes away her tears.

“I don’t know.” I’m stumped. What the fuck happened? Both engines? But I’ve no time for this now. She could blow. “Let’s move away. I’ve done an emergency shutdown on all the systems, but there’s enough fuel on board to give Mount St. Helens a run for her money should it go up.”

“But my stuff—”

“Leave it.”

We’re in a small clearing, the tops of some of the fir trees now missing. The smell of fresh pine, jet fuel, and acrid smoke is in the air. We shelter under the trees at what I assume is a safe distance from
Charlie Tango,
and I scratch my head.

Both engines?

It’s rare for both to go. Bringing
Charlie Tango
down intact and using the fire extinguisher means her engines are preserved and we can find out what went wrong.

But a postmortem and crash analysis is for another time, and for the FAA. Right now, Ros and I have to decide what to do.

I wipe my forehead with my jacket sleeve, and I realize I’m sweating like a fucking pig.

“At least I have my purse and my phone,” Ros mutters. “Shit. I don’t have a signal.” She holds her phone skyward, searching for service. “Do you? Will someone come and rescue us?”

“I didn’t have time for a distress call.”

“That’s a no, then.” Her face falls.

I grab my phone from my inside pocket, and I’m cheered when I hear the rattle of Ana’s gift, but I don’t have time to think about that, now. I just know I have to get back to her.

“When I don’t report in, they’ll know we’re missing. The FAA has our flight plan.” My phone has no signal either but I check the GPS on the off chance that it’s working and set to our current position.

“Do you want to stay or go?”

Ros looks nervously around at our rugged surroundings. “I’m a city girl, Christian. There are all kinds of wild animals out here. Let’s go.”

“We’re on the south side of the lake. We’re a couple of hours from the road. Maybe we can get help there.”

Ros starts in heels but is barefoot by the time we hit the road and it makes our progress slow. Fortunately, the ground is soft, but not so the road.

“There’s a visitors’ center along here.” I inform her. “We could get help there.”

“They’re probably closed. It’s after five,” Ros says, her voice wavering. We’re both sweating and in need of water. She’s had enough, and I’m beginning to wish we’d stayed near
Charlie Tango.
But who knows how long it would have taken for the authorities to find us?

My watch says 5:25 p.m.

“Do you want to stay here and wait?” I ask Ros.

“No way.” She hands me her shoes. “Can you?” She makes a snapping-twig motion with her fists.

“You want me to break the heels off? They’re Manolos.”

“Please, just do it.”

“Okay.” Feeling that my manhood is on trial, I use all my strength to snap off the first heel. It gives after a moment or two, as does the second. “Here. I’ll get you a new pair when we’re home.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

She puts on her shoes once more and we set off down the road.

“How much money do you have?” I ask.

“On me? About two hundred dollars.”

“I have about four hundred. Let’s see if we can hitch a ride.”

WE MAKE FREQUENT STOPS
to rest Ros’s feet. I offer to carry her at one point, but she refuses. She’s quiet but resilient. I’m grateful that she’s held it together and not succumbed to panic, but I don’t know how long that will last.

We’re taking a rest break when we hear the thumping rumble of a semi. I stick my thumb out in the hopes that the vehicle will stop. Sure enough, we hear a grinding of gears and the gleaming rig comes to a standstill a few feet away, the engine rumbling on, growling, waiting for us.

“Looks like we got a ride.” I flash a grin at Ros, trying to keep her buoyant. Her smile is thin, but it’s a smile. I help her to her feet and almost carry her to the passenger door. A bearded young guy in a Seahawks cap opens the passenger door from the inside. “You folks okay?” he asks.

“We’ve had better days. Where you heading?”

“I’m taking this empty box back to Seattle.”

“That’s where we’re going. Will you give us a ride?”

“Sure thing. Climb aboard.”

Ros frowns and whispers, “I would never do this if I was on my own.” I help Ros to scramble up and I follow her into the cab. It’s clean and smells of new car and pine forest, though I suspect that’s from the air freshener hanging from a hook on the dash.