fifty shades darker (53 page)

“Sleep well?” he asks as his fingers continue their sensual torture. He’s smiling down at me—his dazzling, all-American-drop-dead-male-model-perfect-teeth smile. He takes my breath away.

My hips begin to sway to the rhythm of the dance his fingers have begun. He kisses me chastely on the lips and then moves down my neck, nipping slowly, kissing, and sucking as he goes. I moan. He’s gentle and his touch is light and heavenly. His intrepid fingers move down, and slowly he eases one inside me, hissing quietly in awe.

“Oh, Ana,” he murmurs reverentially against my throat. “You’re always ready.” He moves his finger in time with his kisses as his lips journey leisurely across my clavicle and then down to my breast. He torments first one, then the other nipple with teeth and lips, but oh-so-gently, and they tighten and lengthen in sweet response.

I groan.

“Hmm,” he growls softly and raises his head to give me a blazing gray-eyed look. “I want you now.” He reaches over to the bedside table. He shifts on top of me, taking his weight on his elbows, and rubs his nose along mine while easing my legs apart with his. He kneels up and rips open the foil packet.

“I can’t wait until Saturday,” he says, his eyes glowing with salacious delight.

“Your party?” I pant.

“No. I can stop using these fuckers.”

“Aptly named.” I giggle.

He smirks at me as he rolls on the condom. “Are you giggling, Miss Steele?”

“No.” I try and fail to straighten my face.

“Now is not the time for giggling.” He shakes his head in admonishment and his voice is low, stern, but his expression—
holy cow
—is glacial and volcanic at once.

My breath catches in my throat. “I thought you liked it when I giggle,” I whisper hoarsely, gazing into the dark depths of his stormy eyes.

“Not now. There’s a time and a place for giggling. This is neither. I need to stop you, and I think I know how,” he says ominously, and his body covers mine.

“What would you like for breakfast, Ana?”

“I’ll just have some granola. Thank you, Mrs. Jones.”

I flush as I take my place at the breakfast bar beside Christian. The last time I set eyes on the very prim and proper Mrs. Jones, I was being unceremoniously dragged into the bedroom over Christian’s shoulder.

“You look lovely,” Christian says softly. I’m wearing my gray pencil skirt and gray silk blouse again.

“So do you.” I smile shyly at him. He’s wearing a pale blue shirt and jeans, and he looks cool and fresh and perfect, as always.

“We should buy you some more skirts,” he says matter-of-factly. “In fact—I’d love to take you shopping.”

Hmm—shopping. I hate shopping. But with Christian, maybe it won’t be so bad. I decide on distraction as the best form of defense.

“I wonder what will happen at work today?”

“They’ll have to replace the sleazeball.” Christian frowns, scowling as if he’s just stepped in something extraordinarily unpleasant.

“I hope they take on a woman as my new boss.”

“Why?”

“Well, you’re less likely to object to me going away with her,” I tease him.

His lips twitch and he starts on his omelet.

“What’s so funny?” I ask.

“You are. Eat your granola, all of it, if that’s all you’re having.”

Bossy as ever. I purse my lips at him, but dig in.

“So, the key goes here.” Christian points out the ignition beneath the gearshift.

“Strange place,” I mutter. But I’m delighted with every little detail, practically bouncing like a small child in the comfortable leather seat. Christian has finally let me drive my car. He regards me coolly, though his eyes are alight with humor. “You’re quite excited about this, aren’t you?” he murmurs, amused.

I nod, grinning like a fool. “Just smell that new car smell. This is even better than the Submissive Special . . . um, the A3,” I add quickly, blushing.

Christian’s mouth twists. “Submissive Special, eh? You have such a way with words, Miss Steele.” He leans back with a faux look of disapproval, but he can’t fool me. I know he’s enjoying himself.

“Well, let’s go.” He waves his long-fingered hand toward the entrance of the garage.

I clap my hands, start the car, and the engine purrs to life. Putting the gearshift into drive, I ease my foot off the brake and the Saab moves smoothly forward. Taylor starts up the Audi behind us and once the garage barrier lifts, follows us out of Escala onto the street.

“Can we have the radio on?” I ask as we wait at the first stop sign.

“I want you to concentrate,” he says sharply.

“Christian, please, I can drive with music on.” I roll my eyes. He scowls for a moment and then reaches for the radio.

“You can play your iPod and mp3 discs as well as CDs on this,” he murmurs.

The too-loud dulcet tones of The Police suddenly fill the car. Christian turns the music down.
Hmm . . .
“King of Pain.”

“Your anthem,” I tease him, then instantly regret it when his mouth tightens in a thin line.
Oh no.
“I have this album, somewhere.” I continue hastily to distract him. Hmm . . .

somewhere in the apartment I have spent very little time in.

I wonder how Ethan is. I should try to call him today. I won’t have much to do at work.

Anxiety blooms in my stomach. What will happen when I get to the office? Will everyone know about Jack? Will everyone know of Christian’s involvement? Will I still have a job? Sheesh, if I have no job, what will I do?

Marry the gazillionaire, Ana!
My subconscious has her snarky face on. I ignore her—

rapacious bitch.

“Hey, Miss Smart Mouth. Come back.” Christian drags me into the here and now as I pull up at the next stoplight.

“You’re very distracted. Concentrate, Ana,” he scolds. “Accidents happen when you don’t concentrate.”

Oh, for heaven’s sake
—and suddenly I’m catapulted back in time to when Ray was teaching me to drive. I don’t need another father. A husband maybe, a kinky husband.

Hmm.

“I’m just thinking about work.”

“Baby, you’ll be fine. Trust me.” Christian smiles.

“Please don’t interfere—I want to do this on my own. Christian, please. It’s important to me,” I say as gently as I can. I don’t want to argue. His mouth sets once more into a hard stubborn line, and I think he’s going to berate me again.

Oh no.

“Let’s not argue, Christian. We’ve had such a wonderful morning. And last night was—” Words fail me, last night was—“Heaven.”

He says nothing. I glance over at him and his eyes are closed.

“Yes. Heaven,” he says softly. “I meant what I said.”

“What?”

“I don’t want to let you go.”

“I don’t want to go.”

He smiles and it’s this new, shy smile that dissolves everything in its path. Boy, it’s powerful.

“Good,” he says simply, and he visibly relaxes.

I drive into the parking lot half a block from SIP.

“I’ll walk you to work. Taylor will take me from there,” Christian offers. I clamber out of the car, restricted by my pencil skirt while Christian climbs out gracefully, at ease with his body or giving the impression of someone at ease with his body. Hmm . . . someone who can’t bear to be touched can’t be that at ease. I frown at my errant thought.

“Don’t forget we’re seeing Flynn at seven this evening,” he says as he holds his hand out to me. I press the remote door lock and take his hand.

“I won’t forget. I’ll compile a list of questions for him.”

“Questions? About me?”

I nod.

“I can answer any questions you have about me.” Christian looks affronted.

I smile at him. “Yes, but I want the unbiased, expensive charlatan’s opinion.”

He frowns and suddenly pulls me into his embrace, holding both my hands tightly behind my back.

“Is this a good idea?” he says, his voice low and husky. I lean back to see the anxiety looming large and wide in his eyes. It tears at my soul.

“If you don’t want me to, I won’t.” I stare at him, blinking, wanting to caress the concern out of his face. I tug on one of my hands and he frees it. I touch his cheek tenderly—

it’s smooth from shaving this morning.

“What are you worried about?” I ask, my voice soft and soothing.

“That you’ll go.”

“Christian, how many times do I have to tell you—I’m not going anywhere. You’ve already told me the worst. I’m not leaving you.”

“Then why haven’t you answered me?”

“Answered you?” I murmur disingenuously.

“You know what I’m talking about, Ana.”

I sigh. “I want to know that I’m enough for you, Christian. That’s all.”

“And you won’t take my word for it?” he says exasperated, releasing me.

“Christian, this has all been so quick. And by your own admission, you’re fifty shades of fucked-up. I can’t give you what you need,” I mutter. “It’s just not for me. But that makes me feel inadequate, especially seeing you with Leila. Who’s to say that one day you won’t meet someone who likes doing what you do? And who’s to say you won’t, you know . . . fall for her? Someone much better suited to your needs.” The thought of Christian with anyone else sickens me. I stare down at my knotted fingers.

“I knew several women who like doing what I like to do. None of them appealed to me the way you do. I’ve never had an emotional connection with any of them. It’s only ever been you, Ana.”

“Because you never gave them a chance. You’ve spent too long locked up in your fortress, Christian. Look, let’s discuss this later. I have to go to work. Maybe Dr. Flynn can offer us his insight.” This is all far too heavy a discussion for a parking lot at eight fifty in the morning, and Christian, for once, seems to agree. He nods but his eyes are wary.

“Come,” he orders, holding out his hand.

When I reach my desk, I find a note asking me to go straight to Elizabeth’s office. My heart leaps into my mouth. Oh, this is it. I’m going to get fired.

“Anastasia.” Elizabeth smiles kindly, waving me into a chair before her desk. I sit and gaze at her expectantly, hoping that she can’t hear my thumping heart. She smoothes her thick black hair and regards with me with somber, clear blue eyes.

“I have some rather sad news.”

Sad! Oh no.

“I’ve called you in to inform you that Jack has left the company rather suddenly.”

I flush. This isn’t sad for me. Should I tell her that I know?

“His rather hasty departure has left a vacancy, and we’d like you to fill it for now, until we find a replacement.”

What? I feel the blood rush from my head.
Me?

“But, I’ve only been here for a week or so.”

“Yes, Anastasia, I understand but Jack was always a champion of your abilities. He had high hopes for you.”

I stop breathing. He had high hopes of getting me on my back, sure.

“Here’s a detailed job description. Have a good look through it, and we can discuss it later today.”

“But—”

“Please, I know this is sudden, but you’ve already made contact with Jack’s key authors. Your chapter notes haven’t gone unnoticed by the other commissioning editors. You have a shrewd mind, Anastasia. We all think you can do it.”

“Okay.”
This is unreal.

“Look, think about it. In the meantime, you can take Jack’s office.”

She stands, effectively dismissing me, and holds out her hand. I shake it in a complete daze.“I’m glad he’s gone,” she whispers and a haunted look crosses her face.
Holy shit.

What did he do to her?

Back at my desk, I grab my Blackberry and call Christian.

He answers on the second ring. “Anastasia. You okay?” he asks concerned.

“They’ve just given me Jack’s job to mind, temporarily,” I blurt out.

“You’re kidding,” he whispers, shocked.

“Did you have anything to do with this?” My voice is sharper than I mean it to be.

“No—no, not at all. I mean, with all due respect, Anastasia, you’ve only been there for a week or so—and I don’t mean that unkindly.”

“I know.” I frown. “Apparently Jack really rated me.”

“Did he now?” Christian’s tone is frosty and then he sighs.

“Well, baby, if they think you can do it, I’m sure you can. Congratulations. Perhaps we should celebrate after we’ve seen Flynn.”

“Hmm. Are you sure you had nothing to do with this?”

He is silent for a moment, and then he says in a low menacing voice. “Do you doubt me? It angers me that you do.”

I swallow. Boy, he gets mad so easily. “I’m sorry,” I breathe, chastened.

“If you need anything, let me know. I’ll be here. And Anastasia?”

“What?”

“Use your Blackberry,” he adds tersely.

“Yes, Christian.”

He doesn’t hang up as I expect him to but takes a deep breath.

“I mean it. If you need me, I’m here.” His words are much softer, conciliatory. Oh, he’s so mercurial . . . his mood swings are like a metronome set at presto.

“Okay,” I murmur. “I’d better go. I have to move offices.”

“If you need me. I mean it,” he murmurs.

“I know, thank you, Christian. I love you.”

I sense his grin at the other end of the phone. I’ve won him back.

“I love you, too, baby.” Oh, will I ever tire of him saying those words to me?

“I’ll talk to you later.”

“Laters, baby.”

I hang up and glance at Jack’s office. My office. Holy cow—Anastasia Steele, Acting Commissioning Editor. Who would have thought? I should ask for more money.

What would Jack think if he knew? I shudder at the thought and wonder idly how he’s spent his morning, not in New York as he expected. I stroll into his—my office—sit down at the desk, and start reading the job description.

At twelve thirty, Elizabeth buzzes me.

“Ana, we need you in a meeting at one o’clock in the boardroom. Jerry Roach and Kay Bestie will be there—you know, the company president and vice president? All the commissioning editors will be attending.”

Shit!

“Do I need to prepare anything?”

“No, this is just an informal gathering we do once a month. Lunch will be provided.”

“I’ll be there.” I hang up.

Holy shit!
I check through the current roster of Jack’s authors. Yes, I’ve pretty much got those nailed. I have the five manuscripts he’s championing, plus two more, which should really be considered for publication. I take a deep breath—I cannot believe it’s lunchtime already. The day has flown by, and I’m loving it. There has been so much to absorb this morning. A ping from my calendar announces an appointment.

Oh no—Mia! In all the excitement I have forgotten about our lunch. I fish out my Blackberry and try frantically to find her phone number.

My phone buzzes.

“It’s him, in reception.” Claire’s voice is hushed.

“Who?” For a moment, I think it might be Christian.

“The blond god.”

“Ethan?”

Oh, what does he want? I immediately feel guilty for not having called him.

Ethan, dressed in a checked blue shirt, white T-shirt, and jeans, beams at me when I appear.

“Wow! You look hot, Steele,” he says, nodding appreciatively. He gives me a quick hug.“Is everything okay?” I ask.

He frowns. “Everything’s fine, Ana. I just wanted to see you. I’ve not heard from you in a while, and I wanted to check how Mr. Mogul was treating you.”

I flush and can’t help my smile.

“Okay!” Ethan exclaims, holding up his hands. “I can tell by the secret smile. I don’t want to know any more. I came by on the off chance you could do lunch. I’m enrolling at Seattle for psych courses in September. For my master’s.”

“Oh Ethan. So much has happened. I have a ton to tell you, but right now, I can’t. I have a meeting.” An idea hits me hard. “And I wonder if you can do me a really, really, really big favor?” I clasp my hands together in supplication.

“Sure,” he says, bemused by my pleading.

“I’m supposed to be having lunch with Christian and Elliot’s sister—but I can’t get hold of her, and this meeting’s just been sprung on me. Please will you take her for lunch?

Please?”

“Aw, Ana! I don’t want to babysit some brat.”

“Please, Ethan.” I give him the biggest-bluest-longest-eye-lashed look that I can manage. He rolls his eyes and I know I’ve got him.

“You’ll cook me something?” he mutters.

“Sure, whatever, whenever.”

“So where is she?”

“She’s due here now.” And as if on cue, I hear her voice.

“Ana!” she calls from the front door.

We both turn, and there she is—all curvaceous and tall with her sleek black bob—

wearing a short mint-green minidress and matching high-heeled pumps with straps around her slim ankles. She looks stunning.

“The brat?” he whispers, gaping at her.

“Yes. The brat that needs babysitting,” I whisper back. “Hi, Mia.” I give her a quick hug as she stares rather blatantly at Ethan.

“Mia—this is Ethan, Kate’s brother.”

He nods, his eyebrows raised in surprise. Mia blinks several times as she gives him her hand.