fifty shades darker (59 page)

“I loved the house,” I murmur.

He says nothing for a moment, but I sense his grin.

“I love you. Go to sleep.” He nuzzles my hair, and I drift into sleep, safe in his arms, dreaming of sunsets and French doors and wide staircases . . . and a small copper-haired boy running through a meadow, laughing and giggling as I chase him.

“Gotta go, baby.” Christian kisses me just below my ear.

I open my eyes and it’s morning. I turn to face him, but he’s up and dressed and fresh and delicious, leaning over me.

“What time is it?”
Oh no . . . I don’t want to be late.

“Don’t panic. I have a breakfast meeting.” He rubs his nose against mine.

“You smell good,” I murmur, stretching out beneath him, my limbs pleasurably tight and creaky from all our exploits yesterday. I wrap my arms around his neck.

“Don’t go.”

He cocks his head to one side and raises his eyebrow. “Miss Steele—are you trying to keep a man from an honest day’s work?”

I nod sleepily at him, and he smiles his new shy smile.

“As tempting as you are, I have to go.” He kisses me and stands. He’s wearing a really sharp dark navy suit, white shirt and navy tie, and he looks every inch the CEO . . . the hot CEO.“Laters, baby,” he murmurs and he’s off.

Glancing at the clock I note it’s already seven—I must have slept through the alarm.

Well, time to get up.

In the shower, inspiration hits me. I’ve thought of another birthday present for Christian.

It’s so difficult to buy something for the man who has everything. I’ve already given him my main present, and I still have the other item I bought at the tourist shop, but this is one present that will really be for me. I hug myself in anticipation as I switch off the shower. I just have to prepare it.

In the walk-in closet, I put on a dark red fitted dress with a square neckline, cut quite low. Yes, this will do for work.

Now for Christian’s present.
I start rummaging through his drawers, looking for his ties. In the bottom drawer I find those faded, ripped jeans, the ones he wears in the playroom—the ones he looks so hot in. I stroke them gently, using my whole hand. Oh my, the material is so soft.

Beneath them, I find a large, black, flat cardboard box. It piques my interest immediately. What’s in here? I stare at it, feeling like I’m trespassing again. Taking it out, I shake it. It’s heavy as if it holds papers or manuscripts. I cannot resist, I open the lid—and quickly shut it again. Holy fuck—photographs from the Red Room. The shock makes me sit back on my heels as I try to wipe the image from my brain.
Why did I open the box? Why has
he kept them?

I shudder. My subconscious scowls at me—this is before you. Forget them.

She’s right. Standing up I notice his ties are hanging at the end of his clothes rail. I find my favorite and exit quickly.

I try to tell myself those photos are BA—Before Ana. My subconscious nods with approval, but it’s with a heavier heart that I head into the main room for breakfast. Mrs. Jones smiles at me warmly and then frowns.

“Everything all right, Ana?” she asks kindly.

“Yes,” I murmur, distracted. “Do you have a key to the . . . um, playroom?”

She pauses momentarily, surprised.

“Yes, of course.” She unclips a small bunch of keys from her belt. “What would you like for breakfast, dear?” she asks as she hands me the keys.

“Just granola. I won’t be long.”

I feel more ambivalent about this gift now but only since the discovery of those photographs.
Nothing’s changed,
my subconscious barks at me again, glaring at me over her half-moon winged glasses. That picture was hot, my inner goddess chips in, and mentally I scowl at her. Yes it was—too hot for me.

What else does he have hidden away? Quickly I ferret through the museum chest, take what I need, and lock the playroom door behind me. Wouldn’t do for José to discover this!

I hand the keys back to Mrs. Jones and sit down to devour my breakfast, feeling odd that Christian is absent. The photograph image dances unwelcome around my mind. I wonder who it was? Leila perhaps?

On my drive in to work, I debate whether or not to tell Christian I found his photographs.

No,
screams my subconscious, her Edvard Munch face on. I decide she’s probably right.

As I sit down at my desk, my Blackberry buzzes.

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.

His e-mail makes me smile, and all my earlier reservations evaporate. It’s me he wants now, and memories of last night’s sexcapades flood my mind
. . . the elevator, the foyer, the
bed.
Priapic is right. I wonder idly what the female equivalent might be?

From:
Anastasia Steele

Subject:
Romance?

Date:
June 17, 2011 09:03

To:
Christian Grey

Mr. GreyYou have a one-track mind.

I missed you at breakfast

But Mrs. Jones was very accommodating.

Ax

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.

How does he know?

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.