SATURDAY, JUNE 11, 2011

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Ana is beside me. Radiant. Lovely. Mine. She’s dressed in a white satin robe. We’re in Charlie Tango, chasing the dawn. Chasing the dusk. Chasing the dawn. The dusk. High above the clouds we fly. Night a dark shroud arching over us. Ana’s hair is burnished, titian, bright from the setting sun. We have the world at our feet and I want to give her the world. She’s entranced. I do a wingover and we’re in my glider. See the world, Ana. I want to show you the world. She laughs. Giggling. Happy. Her braids pointing to the ground when she’s upside down. Again, she calls. And I oblige. We roll and roll and roll. But this time she starts screaming. She’s staring at me in horror. Her face contorted. Horrified. Disgusted. At me.

Me?

No.

No.

She screams.

I WAKE AND MY heart is pounding. Ana is tossing and turning beside me, making an eerie, unworldly sound that rouses every hair follicle on my body. In the glow of the ambient streetlight I see she’s still asleep. I sit up and shake her gently.

“Jesus, Ana.”

She wakes suddenly. Gasping. Eyes wild. Terrified.

“Baby, are you okay? You were having a bad dream.”

“Oh,” she whispers, as she focuses on me, her lashes fluttering like the wings of a hummingbird. I reach over her and switch on her lamp. She squints in the half-light. “The girl,” she says, her eyes searching mine.

“What is it? What girl?” I resist the urge to gather her in my arms and kiss away her nightmares.

She blinks once more, and her voice is clearer, less fearful. “There was a girl outside SIP when I left this evening. She looked like me, but not really.”

My scalp tingles.

Leila.

“When was this?” I ask, sitting upright.

“When I left work this evening.” She’s shaken. “Do you know who she is?”

“Yes.” What the hell is Leila doing confronting Ana?

“Who?” Ana asks.

I should call Welch. During our update this morning, he had nothing to report on Leila’s whereabouts. His team is still trying to find her.

“Who?” Ana persists.

Damn. I know she won’t stop until she has some answers. Why the hell didn’t she tell me earlier?

“It’s Leila.”

Her frown deepens. “The girl who put ‘Toxic’ on your iPod?”

“Yes. Did she say anything?”

“She said, ‘What do you have that I don’t?’ and when I asked who she was, she said, ‘I’m nobody.’ ”

Christ, Leila, what are you playing at? I have to call Welch.

I stumble out of bed and slip on my jeans.

In the living room, I retrieve my phone from my jacket pocket. Welch answers in two rings and any hesitation I had about calling him at five in the morning disappears. He must have been awake.

“Mr. Grey,” he says, his voice hoarse as usual.

“I’m sorry to call you so early.” I begin pacing what space I have in the kitchen.

“Sleep’s not really my thing, Mr. Grey.”

“I figured. It’s Leila. She accosted my girlfriend, Anastasia Steele.”

“Was it at her office? Or at her apartment? When did it happen?”

“Yes. Outside SIP. Yesterday. Early evening.” I turn, and Ana, dressed only in my shirt, is standing by the kitchen counter, watching me. I study her as I continue my conversation, her expression a mixture of curious and haunted. She looks beautiful.

“What time, exactly?” Welch asks.

I repeat the question to Ana.

“About ten to six?” she says.

“Did you get that?” I ask Welch.

“No.”

“Ten to six,” I repeat.

“So she’s tracked Miss Steele to her work.”

“Find out how.”

“There are press photographs of the two of you together.”

“Yes.”

Ana tilts her head to one side and tosses her hair over her shoulder as she listens to my side of the conversation.

“Do you think we should be concerned for Miss Steele’s safety?” Welch inquires.

“I wouldn’t have said so, but then I wouldn’t have thought she could do this.”

“I think you should consider additional security for her, sir.”

“I don’t know how that will go down.” I look at Ana as she folds her arms, accentuating the outline of her breasts as they strain against the white cotton of my shirt.

“I’d like to increase your security, too, sir. Will you talk to Anastasia? Tell her of the danger she might be in?”

“Yes, I’ll talk to her.”

Ana bites her lip. I wish she’d stop. It’s distracting.

Welch continues, “I’ll brief Mr. Taylor and Mrs. Jones at a more reasonable hour.”

“Yes.”

“In the meantime, I’m going to need more personnel on the ground.”

“I know.” I sigh.

“We’ll start with the stores in the vicinity of SIP. See if anyone saw anything. This could be the lead we’ve been waiting for.”

“Follow it up and let me know. Just find her, Welch. She’s in trouble. Find her.” I hang up and look at Ana. Her tangled hair tumbles over her shoulders; her long legs are pale in the dim light from the hallway. I imagine them wrapped around me.

“Do you want some tea?” she asks.

“Actually, I’d like to go back to bed.” And forget all this crap about Leila.

“Well, I need some tea. Would you like to join me for a cup?” She moves to the stove, picks up the kettle, and begins to fill it with water.

I don’t want fucking tea. I want to bury myself in you and forget about Leila.

Ana gives me a pointed look and I realize she’s waiting for an answer about tea.

“Yes. Please.” Even to my own ears I sound surly.

What does Leila want with Ana?

And why the hell hasn’t Welch found her?

“What is it?” Ana asks a few minutes later. She’s holding a familiar-looking teacup.

Ana. Please. I don’t want you to worry about this.

“You’re not going to tell me?” she persists.

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because it shouldn’t concern you. I don’t want you tangled up in this.”

“It shouldn’t concern me, but it does. She found me and accosted me outside my office. How does she know about me? How does she know where I work? I think I have a right to know what’s going on.”

She has an answer for everything.

“Please?” she presses.

Oh, Ana. Ana. Ana. Why do you do this?

Her bright blue eyes beseech me.

Fuck. I can’t say no to that look.

“Okay.” You win. “I have no idea how she found you. Maybe the photograph of us in Portland, I don’t know.” With some reluctance I continue, “While I was with you in Georgia, Leila turned up at my apartment unannounced and made a scene in front of Gail.”

“Gail?”

“Mrs. Jones.”

“What do you mean made a scene?”

I shake my head.

“Tell me.” She puts her hands on her hips. “You’re keeping something back.”

“Ana, I—” Why is she so mad? I don’t want her mixed up in this. She doesn’t understand that Leila’s shame is my shame. Leila chose to attempt suicide in my apartment and I wasn’t there to help her; she cried out to me for a reason.

“Please?” Ana prompts again.

She won’t give up. I sigh with exasperation and tell her that Leila made a haphazard attempt at suicide.

“Oh no!”

“Gail got her to the hospital. But Leila discharged herself before I could get there. The shrink who saw her called it a typical cry for help. He didn’t believe her to be truly at risk—one step from suicidal ideation, he called it. But I’m not convinced. I’ve been trying to track her down since then to get her some help.”

“Did she say anything to Mrs. Jones?”

“Not much.”

“You can’t find her? What about her family?”

“They don’t know where she is. Neither does her husband.”

“Husband?” she exclaims.

“Yes.” That lying asshole. “She’s been married for about two years.”

“So she was with you while she was married?”

“No! Good God, no. She was with me nearly three years ago. Then she left and married this guy shortly afterward.” I told you, baby, I don’t share. I’ve only tangled with one married woman and that didn’t end well.

“So why is she trying to get your attention now?”

“I don’t know. All we’ve managed to find out is that she ran out on her husband about four months ago.”

Ana picks up a teaspoon and waves it as she talks. “Let me get this straight. She hasn’t been your submissive for three years?”

“About two and a half years.”

“And she wanted more.”

“Yes.”

“But you didn’t?”

“You know this.”

“So she left you.”

“Yes.”

“So why is she coming to you now?”

“I don’t know.” She wanted more, but I couldn’t give her that. Maybe she’s seen me with you?

“But you suspect—”

“I suspect it has something to do with you.” But I could be wrong.

Now can we go back to bed?

Ana studies me, surveying my chest. But I ignore her scrutiny and ask the question that’s been nagging me since she told me she’d seen Leila. “Why didn’t you tell me yesterday?”

Ana has the grace to look guilty. “I forgot about her. You know, drinks after work, at the end of my first week. You turning up at the bar and your testosterone rush with Jack.” She gives me a shy smile. “And then when we were here. It slipped my mind. You have a habit of making me forget things.”

I’d like to forget this now. Let’s go back to bed.

“Testosterone rush?” I repeat, amused.

“Yes. The pissing contest.”

“I’ll show you a testosterone rush.” My voice is low.

“Wouldn’t you rather have a cup of tea?” She offers me a cup.

“No, Anastasia, I wouldn’t.” I want you. Now. “Forget about her. Come.” I hold out my hand. She sets the teacup back on the counter and puts her hand in mine.

Back in her bedroom, I slide my shirt over her head. “I like you wearing my clothes,” I whisper.

“I like wearing them. They smell of you.”

I grasp her head between my hands and kiss her.

I want to make her forget about Leila.

I want to forget about Leila.

I pick her up and walk her to the concrete wall.

“Wrap your legs around me, baby,” I order.

WHEN I OPEN MY eyes the room is bathed with light and Ana is awake beside me, tucked in the crook of my arm. “Hi,” she says, grinning as if she’s up to some mischief.

“Hi,” I respond, cautiously. Something is off. “What are you doing?”

“Looking at you.” She skims her hand down my belly. And my body comes to life.

Whoa!

I grab her hand.

Surely she’s sore after yesterday.

She licks her lips and her guilty grin is replaced with a knowledgeable, carnal smile.

Maybe not.

Waking up beside Anastasia Steele has definite advantages. Rolling on top of her, I grab her hands and pin her to the bed as she wriggles beneath me. “I think you’re up to no good, Miss Steele.”

“I like being up to no good near you.”

She may as well be addressing my groin directly.

“You do?” I give her a quick peck on the lips. She nods.

Oh, you beautiful girl. “Sex or breakfast?”

She tilts her hips to meet me and it takes all my self-control not to take what she’s offering straightaway.

No. Make her wait.

“Good choice.” I kiss her throat, her clavicle, her sternum, her breast.

“Ah,” she breathes.

WE LIE IN THE afterglow.

I don’t remember moments like this before Ana. I didn’t lie in bed just…being. I nuzzle her hair. All that’s changed.

She opens her eyes.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

“Are you sore?” I ask.

Her cheeks pink. “No. Tired.”

I stroke her cheek. “You didn’t get much sleep last night.”

“Neither did you.” Her smile is one hundred percent coy Miss Steele, but her eyes cloud. “I haven’t been sleeping well, recently.”

Remorse—swift and ugly, flares in my gut. “I’m sorry,” I reply.

“Don’t apologize. It was my—”

I place my finger on her mouth. “Hush.”

She purses her lips to kiss my finger.

“If it’s any consolation,” I confess, “I haven’t slept well this past week, either.”

“Oh, Christian,” she says, and, taking my hand, kisses each knuckle in turn. It’s an affectionate, humble gesture. My throat constricts as my heart expands. I’m on the edge of something unknown, a plain where the horizon disappears and the territory is new and unexplored.

It’s terrifying.

It’s confusing.

It’s exciting.

What are you doing to me, Ana?

Where are you leading me?

I take a deep breath and focus on the woman beside me. She gives me a sexy smile and I can see us spending the entire day in bed, but I realize I’m hungry. “Breakfast?” I ask.

“Are you offering to make breakfast or demanding to be fed, Mr. Grey?” she teases.

“Neither. I’ll buy you breakfast. I’m no good in the kitchen, as I demonstrated last night.”

“You have other qualities,” she says with a playful smirk.

“Why, Miss Steele, whatever do you mean?”

She narrows her eyes. “I think you know.” She’s teasing me. She sits up slowly, swinging her legs out of bed. “You can shower in Kate’s bathroom. It’s bigger than mine.”

Of course it is.

“I’ll use yours. I like being in your space.”

“I like you being in my space, too.” She winks, gets up, and struts out of the bedroom.

Brazen Ana.

WHEN I RETURN FROM the cramped shower, I find Ana dressed in jeans and a tight T-shirt that leaves little to my imagination. She’s messing with her hair.

As I yank on my jeans I feel the Audi key in my pocket. I wonder how she’ll react when I give it back to her. She seemed to take the iPad well.

“How often do you work out?” she asks, and I realize she’s watching me in the mirror.

“Every weekday.”

“What do you do?”

“Run, weights, kickboxing.” Sprinting to and from your apartment for the past week.

“Kickboxing?” she queries.

“Yes, I have a personal trainer, an ex–Olympic contender who teaches me. His name is Claude. He’s very good.” I tell Ana that she’d like him as a trainer.

“Why would I need a personal trainer? I have you to keep me fit.”

I walk over to where she stands, still fiddling with her hair, and I embrace her. Our eyes meet in the mirror. “But I want you fit, baby, for what I have in mind. I’ll need you to keep up.” That’s if we ever get back into the playroom.

She arches a brow.

“You know you want to.” I mouth the words at her reflection. She toys with her lip but then breaks our eye contact.

“What?” I ask, concerned.

“Nothing,” she says, and shakes her head. “Okay, I’ll meet Claude.”

“You will?”

That was easy!

“Yes, jeez. If it makes you that happy,” she says, and laughs.

I squeeze her and give her a peck on her cheek. “You have no idea.” I kiss her behind her ear. “So what would you like to do today?”

“I’d like to get my hair cut, and, um, I need to bank a check and buy a car.”

“Ah.”

Here goes. From my jeans pocket I fish out the Audi key. “It’s here,” I inform her.

She looks blank, but then her cheeks pink and I realize she’s upset.

“What do you mean it’s here?”

“Taylor brought it back yesterday.”

She steps out of my embrace, scowling at me.

Shit. She’s pissed. Why?

From the back pocket of her jeans she brandishes an envelope. “Here, this is yours.” I recognize it as the envelope that I put the check in for her ancient Beetle. I lift both hands and step away. “Oh no. That’s your money.”

“No, it isn’t. I’d like to buy the car from you.”

What. The. Hell.

She wants to give me money! “No, Anastasia. Your money, your car.”

“No, Christian. My money, your car. I’ll buy it from you.”

Oh. No. You. Don’t.

“I gave you that car for your graduation present.” And you said you’d accept it.

“If you’d given me a pen, that would be a suitable graduation present. You gave me an Audi.”

“Do you really want to argue about this?”

“No.”

“Good. Here are the keys.” I place her keys on the dresser.

“That’s not what I meant!”

“End of discussion, Anastasia. Don’t push me.”

The look she’s giving me now says it all. If I were dry tinder I would burst into flame, and not in a good way. She’s mad. Really mad. Suddenly she narrows her eyes and gives me a wicked smile. Taking the envelope, she holds it aloft and, in a rather theatrical manner, rips it in half, and in half again. She drops the contents in her trash basket and gives me a victorious fuck-you look.

Oh. Game on, Ana.

“You are, as ever, challenging, Miss Steele.” I echo the words she used yesterday and turn on my heel and head into the kitchen.

Now I’m pissed. Fucking pissed.

How dare she?

I find my phone and call Andrea.

“Good morning, Mr. Grey.” She sounds a little breathless when she answers.

“Hi, Andrea.”

In the background, on her side of the call, I hear a woman shouting, “Doesn’t he realize you’re getting married today, Andrea?” Andrea’s voice comes through, “Excuse me, Mr. Grey.”

Married!

There’s the sound of muffled fumbling. “Mom, be quiet. It’s my boss.” The muffling ceases. “What can I do for you, Mr. Grey?” she says.

“You’re getting married?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Today?”

“Yes. What is it you want me to do?”

“I wanted you to deposit twenty-four thousand dollars into Anastasia Steele’s bank account.”

“Twenty-four thousand?”

“Yes, twenty-four thousand dollars. Directly.”

“I’ll take care of it. It will be in her account on Monday.”

“Monday?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Excellent.”

“Anything else, sir?”

“No, that’s all, Andrea.”

I hang up, aggravated that I’ve disturbed her on her wedding day and more aggravated that she didn’t tell me she was getting married.

Why wouldn’t she tell me? Is she pregnant?

Will I have to find a new PA?

I turn to Miss Steele, who is fuming on the threshold.

“Deposited in your bank account Monday. Don’t play games with me.”

“Twenty-four thousand dollars!” she shouts. “And how do you know my account number?”

“I know everything about you, Anastasia,” I reply, trying to keep my cool.

“There’s no way my car was worth twenty-four thousand dollars,” she counters.

“I would agree with you, but it’s about knowing your market, whether you’re buying or selling. Some lunatic out there wanted that deathtrap and was willing to pay that amount of money. Apparently, it’s a classic. Ask Taylor if you don’t believe me.”

We glower at each other.

Impossible woman.

Impossible. Impossible.

Her lips part. She’s breathless, her pupils dilated. Drinking me in. Consuming me.

Ana.

Her tongue licks her lower lip.

And it’s there in the air between us.

Our attraction, a living force. Building. Building.

Fuck.

I grab her and push her against the door, my lips seeking and finding hers. I claim her mouth, kissing her greedily, my fingers closing around the nape of her neck, holding her. Her fingers are in my hair. Pulling. Directing me while she kisses me back, her tongue in my mouth. Taking. Everything. I cup her behind and pull her against my erection and grind my body into hers. I want her. Again.

“Why, why do you defy me?” I say out loud as I kiss her neckline. She tilts her head back to give me full access to her throat.

“Because I can,” she whispers.

Ah. She stole my line.

I’m panting when I lean my forehead against hers.

“Lord, I want to take you now, but I’m out of condoms. I can never get enough of you. You’re a maddening, maddening woman.”

“And you make me mad,” she breathes. “In every way.”

I take a deep breath and look down into dark, hungry eyes that promise me the world, and I shake my head.

Steady, Grey.

“Come. Let’s go out for breakfast. And I know a place you can get your hair cut.”

“Okay.” She smiles.

And we fight no more.

WE WALK HAND IN hand up Vine Street and turn right on First Avenue. I wonder how normal it is to go from seething at each other to this casual calm I feel as we walk through the streets. Maybe most couples are like this. I look down at Ana beside me. “This feels so normal,” I tell her. “I love it.”

“Christian, I think Dr. Flynn would agree that you are anything but normal. Exceptional, maybe.” She squeezes my hand.

Exceptional!

“It’s a beautiful day,” she adds.

“It is.”

She briefly closes her eyes and turns her face to the morning sun.

“Come, I know a great place for brunch.”

One of my favorite cafés is only a couple of blocks from Ana’s on First. When we get there I open the door for Ana and pause to inhale the smell of fresh bread.

“What a charming place,” she says when we sit down at a table. “I love the art on the walls.”

“They support a different artist every month. I found Trouton here.”

“Raising the ordinary to extraordinary,” Ana says.

“You remembered.”

“There’s very little I could forget about you, Mr. Grey.”

And I you, Miss Steele. You are extraordinary.

I chuckle and hand her a menu.

“I’LL GET THIS.” Ana grabs the check before I do. “You have to be quick around here, Grey.”

“You’re right, I do,” I grumble. Someone who owes more than fifty thousand dollars in student-loan debt should not be paying for my breakfast.

“Don’t look so cross. I’m twenty-four thousand dollars richer than I was this morning. I can afford—” She inspects the bill. “Twenty-two dollars and sixty-seven cents for breakfast.”

Short of wrestling the check from her, there’s little I can do. “Thank you,” I mutter.

“Where to now?” she asks.

“You really want your hair cut?”

“Yes, look at it.”

Dark tendrils have escaped from her ponytail, framing her beautiful face. “You look lovely to me. You always do.”

“There’s your father’s function this evening.”

I remind her that it’s black tie and at my parents’ home. “They have a tent. You know, the works.”

“What’s the charity?”

“It’s a drug-rehab program for parents with young kids called Coping Together.” I hold my breath, hoping that she doesn’t start to ask me about the Grey connection to this cause. It’s personal and I don’t need her pity. I’ve told her all I want to tell her about that time in my life.

“Sounds like a good cause,” she says with compassion, and thankfully leaves it there.

“Come, let’s go.” I stand and hold out my hand, ending the conversation.

“Where are we going?” she asks, as we continue our walk down First Avenue.

“Surprise.”

I can’t tell her it’s Elena’s place. I know she’ll freak. From our conversation in Savannah, I know the mere mention of her name is a hot button for Ana. It’s Saturday and Elena doesn’t work on weekends, and when she does work it’s at the salon in the Bravern Center.

“Here we are.” I open the door at Esclava and usher Ana in. I haven’t been here for a couple of months; the last time was with Susannah.

“Good morning, Mr. Grey,” Greta greets us.

“Hello, Greta.”

“Is this the usual, sir?” she asks politely.

Fuck. “No.” I give Ana a nervous look. “Miss Steele will tell you what she wants.”

Ana’s eyes are on me, burning with insight. “Why here?” she demands.

“I own this place, and three more like it.”

“You own it?”

“Yes. It’s a sideline. Anyway—whatever you want, you can have it here, on the house.” I run through all the spa treatments available. “All that stuff that women like—everything. It’s done here.”

“Waxing?”

For a split second I think about recommending the chocolate wax for her pubic hair, but given our détente, I keep my suggestion to myself. “Yes, waxing, too…everywhere.”

Ana blushes.

How will I ever convince her that penetrative sex would be more pleasurable for her without the hair?

One step at a time, Grey.

“I’d like a haircut, please,” she says to Greta.

“Certainly, Miss Steele.”

Greta concentrates on her computer and punches a few keys. “Franco is free in five minutes.”

“Franco’s fine,” I confirm, but notice Ana’s demeanor has suddenly changed. I’m about to ask what’s wrong when I glance up and see Elena walking out of the back office.

Hell. What’s she doing here?

Elena has a quick word with one of her employees, then she spies me and lights up like Christmas, her expression one of wicked delight.

Shit.

“Excuse me,” I say to Ana, and hurry to meet Elena before she makes her way to us.

“Well, this is an unexpected pleasure,” Elena purrs in greeting as she kisses me on both cheeks.

“Good morning, Ma’am. I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

“My aesthetician called in sick. So, you have been avoiding me.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“I can see. Is that someone new?”

“That is Anastasia Steele.”

Elena beams at Ana, who is watching us intently. She knows that we’re talking about her, and she responds with a lukewarm smile.

Damn.

“Your little southern belle?” Elena asks.

“She’s not southern.”

“I thought you went to Georgia to see her.”

“Her mom lives there.”

“I see. She certainly looks like your type.”

“Yeah.” Let’s not go there.

“Are you going to introduce me?”

Ana is talking to Greta—grilling her, I think. What’s she asking?

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Elena looks disappointed. “Why not?”

“She’s named you Mrs. Robinson.”

“Oh, really? That’s funny. Though I’m surprised someone that young knows the reference.” Elena’s tone is wry. “I’m also astonished you told her about us. What happened to confidentiality?” She taps a scarlet fingernail against her lips.

“She’s not going to talk.”

“I hope so. Look, don’t worry. I’ll back off.” She holds her hands up in surrender.

“Thank you.”

“But is this a good idea, Christian? She’s hurt you once already.” Elena’s face is etched with concern.

“I don’t know. I missed her. She missed me. I’ve decided I’m going to try it her way. She’s willing.”

“Her way? Are you sure you can? Are you sure you want to?”

Ana is still staring at us. She’s alarmed.

“Time will tell,” I answer.

“Well, I’m here if you need me. Good luck.” She gives me a soft but calculated smile. “Don’t be a stranger.”

“Thanks. Are you going to my parents’ soirée this evening?”

“I don’t think so.”

“That’s probably a good idea.”

She looks momentarily surprised, but says, “Let’s catch up later this week when we can talk more freely.”

“Sure.”

She squeezes my arm and I head back to Ana, who is still waiting by the reception desk. Her face is pinched and her arms are folded across her body as she radiates her displeasure.

This is not good.

“Are you okay?” I ask, knowing full well that she isn’t.

“Not really. You didn’t want to introduce me?” she replies, in a tone that’s both sarcastic and indignant.

Christ. She knows it’s Elena. How? “But I thought—”

Ana interrupts me. “For a bright man, sometimes—” She stops midsentence, too angry to continue. “I’d like to go, please.” She taps her foot against the marble floor.

“Why?”

“You know why,” she snaps, and rolls her eyes as if I’m the biggest idiot she’s ever met.

You are the biggest idiot she’s ever met, Grey.

You know how she feels about Elena.

Everything was going so well.

Make this right, Grey.

“I’m sorry, Ana. I didn’t know she’d be here. She’s never here. She’s opened a new branch at the Bravern Center, and that’s where she’s normally based. Someone was sick today.”

Ana turns abruptly and storms to the door.

“We won’t need Franco, Greta,” I inform the receptionist, annoyed that she may have heard our exchange. Hastily, I go after Ana.

She wraps her arms around herself defensively and marches up the street with her head down. I’m forced to take longer strides to catch up with her.

Ana. Stop. You’re overreacting.

She simply doesn’t understand the nature of Elena’s and my relationship.

As I walk beside her, I’m floundering. What do I do? What do I say? Perhaps Elena is right.

Can I do this?

I’ve never tolerated this kind of behavior from any submissive; what’s more, none of them have been this petulant.

But I hate it when she’s angry with me.

“You used to take your subs there?” she asks, and I don’t know if it’s a rhetorical question or not. I chance a reply.

“Some of them, yes.”

“Leila?”

“Yes.”

“The place looks very new.”

“It’s been refurbished recently.”

“I see. So Mrs. Robinson met all your subs.”

“Yes.”

“Did they know about her?”

Not in the way you’re thinking. They never knew about our D/s relationship. They just thought we were friends. “No. None of them did. Only you.”

“But I’m not your sub.”

“No, you most definitely are not.” Because I certainly wouldn’t indulge this behavior from anyone else.

She stops suddenly and whirls around to face me, her expression bleak. “Can you see how fucked up this is?” she says.

“Yes. I’m sorry.” I didn’t know she was going to be there.

“I want to get my hair cut, preferably somewhere where you haven’t fucked either the staff or the clientele.” Her voice is hoarse and she’s on the verge of tears.

Ana.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me.” She turns to go.

“You’re not running. Are you?” Panic starts to well inside me. This is it. She’s out before we’ve even had a second chance.

Grey, you’ve blown it.

“No,” she shouts, exasperated. “I just want a damn haircut. Somewhere I can close my eyes, have someone wash my hair, and I can forget about all this baggage that accompanies you.”

She’s not leaving me. I take a deep breath. “I can have Franco come to the apartment, or your place,” I offer.

“She’s very attractive.”

Christ. Not this. “Yes, she is.” So what? Give it up, Ana.

“Is she still married?”

“No. She got divorced about five years ago.”

“Why aren’t you with her?”

Ana! Let it go. “Because that’s over between us. I’ve told you this.” How many times do I need to tell her? My phone vibrates in my jacket pocket. I hold my finger up to stop her tirade and answer my phone. The caller ID says it’s Welch. I wonder what he has to report.

“Mr. Grey.”

“Welch.”

“Three things. We’ve tracked Mrs. Leila Reed to Spokane, where she’d been living with a man named Geoffrey Barry. He was killed in an auto accident on I-90.”

“Killed in a car crash? When?”

“Four weeks ago. Her husband, Russell Reed, knew about Barry but still won’t disclose where Mrs. Reed has gone.”

“That’s twice that bastard’s not been forthcoming. He must know. Does he have no feelings for her whatsoever?” I’m staggered that her ex could be so heartless.

“He has feelings for her, but they’re certainly not matrimonial.”

“This is beginning to make sense.”

“Did the psychiatrist give you anything to go on?” Welch asks.

“No.”

“Could she be suffering a kind of psychosis?”

I agree with Welch that this might be her condition, but it still doesn’t explain where she is, which is what I really want to know. I look around. Where are you, Leila? “She’s here. She’s watching us,” I mutter.

“Mr. Grey, we’re close. We’ll find her.” Welch tries to reassure me and asks if I’m at Escala.

“No.” I wish Ana and I weren’t so exposed here on the street.

“I’m considering how many people you need for your close protection team.”

“Two or four, twenty-four-seven.”

“Okay, Mr. Grey. Have you told Anastasia?”

“I haven’t broached that yet.” Ana’s watching me, listening. Her expression is intense but inscrutable.

“You should. There’s something else. Mrs. Reed has obtained a concealed-weapons license.”

“What?” Fear grips my heart.

“The details came up in our search this morning.”

“I see. When?”

“It’s dated yesterday.”

“That recently? But how?”

“She forged the papers.”

“No background checks?”

“All the forms are faked. She’s using a different name.”

“I see. E-mail the name, address, and photos if you have them.”

“Will do. And I’ll organize the additional security.”

“Twenty-four-seven, from this afternoon. Establish liaison with Taylor.” I hang up. This is serious.

“Well?” Ana asks.

“That was Welch.”

“Who’s Welch?”

“My security adviser.”

“Okay. So, what’s happened?”

“Leila left her husband about three months ago and ran off with a guy who was killed in a car accident four weeks ago.”

“Oh.”

“The asshole shrink should have found that out. Grief, that’s what this is.”

Damn. That hospital could have done a better job.

“Come.” I hold out my hand and Ana takes it without thinking. Then, just as abruptly, she snatches her hand away.

“Wait a minute. We were in the middle of a discussion about ‘us.’ About her, your Mrs. Robinson.”

“She’s not my Mrs. Robinson. We can talk about it at my place.”

“I don’t want to go to your place. I want to get my hair cut!” she yells.

I take my phone and call the salon. Greta answers immediately.

“Greta, Christian Grey. I want Franco at my place in an hour. Ask Mrs. Lincoln.”

“Yes, Mr. Grey.” She puts me on hold for a nanosecond. “That’s fine. He can be there at one.”

“Good.” I hang up. “He’s coming at one.”

“Christian!” Ana glares at me.

“Anastasia, Leila is obviously suffering a psychotic break. I don’t know if it’s you or me she’s after, or what lengths she’s prepared to go to. We’ll go to your place, pick up your things, and you can stay with me until we’ve tracked her down.”

“Why would I want to do that?”

“So I can keep you safe.”

“But—”

Give me strength.

“You are coming back to my apartment if I have to drag you there by your hair.”

“I think you’re overreacting.”

“I don’t. We can continue our discussion back at my place. Come.”

She glowers at me. Intractable. “No,” she says.

“You can walk or I can carry you. I don’t mind either way, Anastasia.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh, baby, we both know that if you throw down the gauntlet, I’ll be only too happy to pick it up.”

She narrows her eyes.

Ana. You give me no choice.

I scoop her up and throw her over my shoulder, ignoring the startled look of a couple walking past us.

“Put me down!” she rages, and starts to struggle. I tighten my hold on her and slap her behind.

“Christian!” she screeches. She’s mad. But I don’t give a fuck. An alarmed man—a father, I presume—pulls his young children out of our path.

“I’ll walk! I’ll walk,” she shrieks, and I put her down immediately. She whirls around so fast her hair hits my shoulder. She stomps off in the direction of her apartment and I follow, but I keep watch. Everywhere.

Where are you, Leila?

Behind a parked car? A tree?

What do you want?

Ana comes to a sudden stop. “What’s happened?” she demands.

“What do you mean?” What now?

“With Leila.”

“I’ve told you.”

“No, you haven’t. There’s something else. You didn’t insist that I go to your place yesterday. So what’s happened?”

Perceptive, Miss Steele.

“Christian! Tell me!”

“She managed to obtain a concealed-weapons permit yesterday.”

Her whole demeanor changes. Anger turns to fear. “That means she can just buy a gun,” she whispers, horrified.

“Ana.” I pull her into my arms. “I don’t think she’ll do anything stupid, but I just don’t want to take that risk with you.”

“Not me. What about you?” she says, her voice filled with anguish. She wraps her arms around me and hugs me hard. She’s scared for me.

Me!

And a moment ago I thought she was leaving.

This is unreal.

“Let’s get back.” I kiss her hair. As we move on, I extend my arm around her shoulders and pull her to my side to protect her. She slips her hand into the belt loop of my jeans, holding me close, her fingers curled around my hip.

This…proximity is new. I could get used to it.

We walk back to her apartment and I keep an eye out for Leila.

I CONTEMPLATE THE RANGE of emotions I’ve experienced since waking as I watch Ana pack a small suitcase. In the alley the other day I tried to articulate how I felt. The best I could do was “unsettled.” And that still describes my psyche right now. Ana is not the mild woman I remember—she’s far more audacious and volatile.

Has she changed so much since she left me? Or have I?

It doesn’t help that there’s a whole new level of disquiet because of Leila. For the first time in a long time, I’m fearful. What if something were to happen to Ana because of my association with Leila? That whole situation is out of my control. And I don’t like it.

Ana, for her part, is solemn and unusually quiet. She folds the balloon into her backpack.

“Charlie Tango’s coming, too?” I tease.

She nods and gives me a tepid smile. She’s either scared or still mad about Elena. Or she’s pissed for being hoisted over my shoulder in the street. Or maybe it’s the twenty-four thousand dollars.

Damn, there’s a great deal to choose from. I wish I knew what she was thinking.

“Ethan is back Tuesday,” she says.

“Ethan?”

“Kate’s brother. He’s staying here until he finds a place in Seattle.”

Ah, the other Kavanagh progeny. The beach bum. I met him at her graduation. He had his hands all over Ana. “Well, it’s good that you’ll be staying with me. Give him more room.”

“I don’t know that he’s got keys. I’ll need to be back then. That’s everything,” she says.

Taking her case, I have a quick look around before we lock up. I note with displeasure that the apartment has no intruder alarm.

THE AUDI IS PARKED out back where Taylor said it would be. I open the passenger door for Ana, but she stays rooted to the ground, staring at me.

“Are you getting in?” I ask, confused.

“I thought I was driving.”

“No. I’ll drive.”

“Something wrong with my driving?” she asks, and there’s that tone again. “Don’t tell me you know what I scored on my driving test. I wouldn’t be surprised, with your stalking tendencies.”

“Get in the car, Anastasia.” My patience is running thin.

Enough. You’re making me crazy. I want you home where you’ll be safe.

“Okay,” she huffs, and climbs in. She doesn’t live far from me, so our ride shouldn’t take long. Normally I would enjoy driving the small Audi. It’s nimble in Seattle’s traffic. But I’m distracted by every pedestrian. One of them could be Leila.

“Were all your submissives brunettes?” Ana asks out of nowhere.

“Yes.” But I don’t really want to discuss this. Our fledgling relationship is moving into dangerous territory.

“I just wondered.” She’s fidgeting with a tassel on her backpack; fidgeting means she’s apprehensive.

Put her at ease, Grey.

“I told you. I prefer brunettes.”

“Mrs. Robinson isn’t a brunette.”

“That’s probably why. She put me off blondes forever.”

“You’re kidding.” Ana’s disbelief is obvious.

“Yes. I’m kidding.” Do we really have to talk about this? My anxiety multiplies. If she keeps digging, I’ll confess my darkest secret.

No. I can never tell her. She’ll leave me.

Without a backward glance.

And I recall watching her walk up the street and into the garage at The Heathman after our first coffee.

She never looked back.

Not once.

If I hadn’t contacted her about the photographer’s show…I wouldn’t be with her now.

Ana’s strong. If she says good-bye, she means it.

“Tell me about her,” Ana interrupts my thoughts.

What now? Is she talking about Elena? Again? “What do you want to know?” More information about Mrs. Lincoln will only worsen her mood.

“Tell me about your business arrangement.”

Well, that’s easy enough. “I’m a silent partner. I’m not particularly interested in the beauty business, but she’s built it into a successful venture. I just invested and helped get her started.”

“Why?”

“I owed it to her.”

“Oh?”

“When I dropped out of Harvard, she loaned me a hundred grand to start my business.”

“You dropped out?”

“It wasn’t my thing. I did two years. Unfortunately, my parents were not so understanding.”

“You’re what?” Grace scowls at me, her expression apoplectic.

“I want to leave. I’m going to start my own company.”

“Doing what?”

“Investments.”

“Christian, what do you know about investments? You need to finish college.”

“Mom, I have a plan. I think I can do this.”

“Look, son, this is a huge step that could affect your entire future.”

“I know, Dad, but I can’t do it anymore. I don’t want to live in Cambridge for another two years.”

“Transfer. Come back to Seattle.”

“Mom, it’s not the place.”

“You just haven’t found your niche.”

“My niche is out in the real world. Not in academia. It’s stifling.”

“Have you met someone?” Grace asks.

“No,” I lie smoothly. I knew Elena before I went off to Harvard.

Grace narrows her eyes and the tips of my ears burn.

“We cannot condone this reckless move, son.” Carrick is summoning his full-on pompous-prick dad mode, and I worry he’s going to give me his signature “study hard, work hard, and family first” lecture.

Grace emphasizes her point. “Christian, you’re gambling with the rest of your life.”

“Mom. Dad. It’s done. I’m sorry to disappoint you again. My decision is already made. I’m just informing you.”

“But what about the wasted tuition?” My mother is wringing her hands.

Shit.

“I’ll pay you back.”

“How? And how in heaven’s name are you going to start a business? You need capital.”

“Don’t worry about that, Mom. It’s in hand. And I will pay you back.”

“Christian, darling, it’s not about the money…”

The only lesson I learned at college was how to read a balance sheet, and I found the peace that single sculls brought me.

“You don’t seem to have done too badly dropping out. What was your major?” Ana says, bringing me back to our conversation.

“Politics and economics.”

“So, she’s rich?” Ana is fixated on Elena’s loan to me.

“She was a bored trophy wife, Anastasia. Her husband was wealthy—big in timber.” This always makes me smile. I give Ana a sideways smirk. Lincoln Timber. What an unpleasant asshole he turned out to be. “He wouldn’t let her work. You know, he was controlling. Some men are like that.”

“Really? A controlling man?” Ana sounds scornful. “Surely a mythical creature.” Sarcasm drips off every word. She’s in a sassy mood, but her response makes me grin.

“She lent you her husband’s money?”

She sure did.

“That’s terrible.”

“He got his own back.”

The asshole.

My thoughts take a dark turn. He nearly killed his wife because she was fucking me. I shudder to think what he’d have done to her if I hadn’t shown up. Fury surges through my body and I clutch the steering wheel as we wait for the Escala garage barrier to open. Blood drains from my knuckles. Elena was in the hospital for three months and she refused to press charges.

Control yourself, Grey.

I relax my hold on the steering wheel.

“How?” asks Ana, as curious as ever, wanting to know about Linc’s revenge.

I’m not telling her that story. I shake my head and park in one of my allotted spaces and turn off the ignition. “Come—Franco will be here shortly.”

In the elevator, I glance down at her. The little v is there between her brows. She’s pensive, maybe processing what I told her—or is it something else?

“Still mad at me?” I ask.

“Very.”

“Okay.” At least I know.

Taylor has returned from visiting Sophie, his daughter. He greets us when we arrive in the foyer.

“Good afternoon, sir,” he says quietly to me.

“Has Welch been in touch?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And?”

“Everything’s arranged.”

“Excellent. How’s your daughter?”

“She’s fine, thank you, sir.”

“Good. We have a hairdresser arriving at one—Franco De Luca.”

“Miss Steele,” Taylor greets Ana.

“Hi, Taylor. You have a daughter?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“How old is she?”

“She’s seven.”

Ana looks confused.

“She lives with her mother,” Taylor explains.

“Oh, I see,” she says, and he gives her a rare smile.

I turn and head into my living room. I’m not sure I appreciate Taylor charming Miss Steele or vice versa. I hear Ana behind me.

“Are you hungry?” I ask.

She shakes her head and her eyes scan the room. She hasn’t been here since the awful day she left me. I want to tell her I’m glad she’s back, but she’s mad at me right now.

“I have to make a few calls. Make yourself at home.”

“Okay,” she says.

IN MY STUDY, on my desk, I find a large cloth bag. Inside is a stunning silver mask with navy plumes for Ana. Beside it there’s a small Chanel bag containing a red lipstick. Taylor has done well. However, I don’t think Ana will be too impressed with my lipstick idea—at least not at the moment. I place the mask on a shelf and pocket the lipstick, then sit down at my computer.

It was an enlightening and diverting morning with Anastasia. She’s been as challenging as ever since we woke, whether it was about the check for her death trap of a Beetle, my relationship with Elena, or who pays for breakfast.

Ana’s fiercely independent and still doesn’t seem interested in my money. She doesn’t take, she gives; but then she’s always been that way. It’s refreshing. All of my submissives used to love their gifts. Grey, who are you kidding? They said they did, but perhaps that was because of the role they were playing.

I put my head in my hands. This is difficult. I’m on an uncharted course with Ana.

Her anger toward Elena is unfortunate. Elena is a friend.

Is Ana jealous?

I can’t help my past, and after all that Elena has done for me, it’s going to be awkward dealing with Ana’s hostility.

Is this what my life will be like from now on, mired in this uncertainty? It will make an interesting topic to discuss with Flynn the next time I see him. Perhaps he can coach me through this.

Shaking my head, I activate the iMac and check my e-mails. Welch has sent through a copy of Leila’s forged concealed-weapons license. She’s using the name Jeanne Barry and an address in Belltown. The photograph is her likeness, though she looks older, thinner, and sadder than she did when I knew her. It’s depressing. The woman needs help.

I print out a couple of spreadsheets from SIP— P&Ls for the last three years that I will examine later. Then I review the résumés of the additional close protection team that Taylor has approved; two of them are ex-Feds and two are ex–Navy Seals. But I have yet to broach the subject of additional security with Ana.

One step at a time, Grey.

WHEN I’VE FINISHED RESPONDING to a few work e-mails, I go in search of Ana.

She’s not in the living room or my bedroom but while there I collect a couple of condoms from my bedside and continue my search. I want to go upstairs to check whether she’s in the sub’s room, but I hear the elevator doors and Taylor greeting someone. My watch reads 12:55. Franco must have arrived.

The doors of the foyer open, and before Taylor opens his mouth I say, “I’ll fetch Miss Steele.”

“Very good, sir.”

“Let me know as soon as the security detail gets here.”

“Will do, Mr. Grey.”

“And thanks for the mask and lipstick.”

“You’re welcome, sir.” Taylor closes the door.

Upstairs, I can’t see her, but I hear her.

Ana’s talking to herself in the closet.

What the hell is she doing in there?

Taking a deep breath, I open the door and she’s sitting cross-legged on the floor. “There you are. I thought you’d run off.”

She holds up a finger and I realize that she’s on the phone, and not talking to herself at all. Leaning against the doorjamb, I watch as she tucks her hair behind her ear and starts winding a strand around her index finger.

“Sorry, Mom, I have to go. I’ll call again soon…” She’s jittery. Do I make her feel that way? Perhaps she’s hiding in here to get away from me. She needs some space? The thought is disheartening.

“Love you, too, Mom.” She hangs up and turns to me, her expression expectant.

“Why are you hiding in here?” I ask.

“I’m not hiding. I’m despairing.”

“Despairing?” Anxiety pricks my skin. She is thinking of running.

“Of all this, Christian.” She gestures toward the dresses hanging in the closet.

The clothes? She doesn’t like them?

“Can I come in?” I ask.

“It’s your closet.”

My closet. Your clothes, Ana.

Slowly I sink to the floor opposite her, trying to gauge her mood. “They’re just clothes. If you don’t like them, I’ll send them back.” I sound resigned rather than conciliatory.

“You’re a lot to take on, you know?”

She’s not wrong. Scratching my unshaved chin, I consider what to say.

Be real. Be truthful. Flynn’s words ring in my head.

“I know. I’m trying,” I reply.

“You’re very trying,” she quips.

“As are you, Miss Steele.”

“Why are you doing this?” She gestures between us.

Her and me.

She and I.

Ana and Christian.

“You know why.” I need you.

“No, I don’t,” she insists.

I scrape my hands through my hair, looking for inspiration. What does she want me to say? What does she want to hear? “You are one frustrating female.”

“You could have a nice brunette submissive. One who’d say, ‘How high?’ every time you said jump, provided of course she had permission to speak. So why me, Christian? I just don’t get it.”

What should I tell her? Because I’ve woken up since I met her? Because my whole world has changed. It’s rotating on a different axis. “You make me look at the world differently, Anastasia. You don’t want me for my money. You give me…” I search for the word. “Hope.”

“Hope for what?”

Everything.

“More,” I answer. It’s what Ana wanted. And now I want it, too.

Give her your whole pitch, Grey.

I tell her she’s right. “I’m used to women doing exactly what I say, when I say, doing exactly what I want. It gets old. There’s something about you, Anastasia, which calls to me on some deep level I don’t understand. It’s a siren’s call. I can’t resist you, and I don’t want to lose you.”

Whoa. Flowery, Grey.

I take her hand. “Don’t run, please. Have a little faith in me and a little patience. Please.”

And it’s there in her sweet smile. Her compassion. Her love. I could bask in that look all day. Every day. She places her hands on my knees, surprising me, and leans up to plant a kiss on my lips. “Okay. Faith and patience, I can live with that,” she says.

“Good. Because Franco’s here.”

She flips her hair over her shoulder. “About time!” Her girlish laugh is infectious, and together we stand.

Hand in hand, we make our way downstairs and I think we might be over whatever was making her mad.

FRANCO MAKES AN EMBARRASSING fuss over my girl. I leave them in my bathroom. I’m not sure Ana would appreciate me micromanaging a haircut.

Heading back to my study, I feel tension in my shoulders. I feel it everywhere. This morning has been out of my control, and though she says she’s going to try faith and patience, I’ll have to see if she’s as good as her word.

But Ana has never given me a reason to doubt her.

Except when she left.

And she hurt me…

I dismiss the dark thought and quickly check my e-mails. There’s one from Flynn.

---

From: Dr. John Flynn

Subject: Tonight

Date: June 11 2011 13:00

To: Christian Grey

Christian

Are you attending your parents’ benefit this evening?

JF

I respond immediately.

---

From: Christian Grey

Subject: Tonight

Date: June 11 2011 13:15

To: Dr. John Flynn

Good afternoon, John.

I am indeed, and I’ll be accompanied by Miss Anastasia Steele.

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

I wonder what he’ll make of that. I think it’s the first time I’ve really followed his advice—and I am trying my relationship with Ana her way.

So far, so confusing.

I shake my head and retrieve the spreadsheets I printed out and a couple of bound reports I have to read about the shipping business in Taiwan.

I’M LOST IN THE figures for SIP. They are hemorrhaging money. Their overhead is too high, their write-offs are astronomical, their production costs are rising, and their staff—

A movement out of the corner of my eye distracts me.

Ana.

She stands at the entrance of the living room, twisting one foot inward and looking awkward and shy. She’s staring anxiously at me, and I know she’s seeking my approval.

She’s stunning. Her hair a glossy mane.

“See! I tell you he like it.” Franco has followed her into the living room.

“You look lovely, Ana,” I say, and my compliment induces a fetching flush on her cheeks.

“My work ’ere is done,” Franco says, clapping his hands.

It’s time to see him out.

“Thank you, Franco,” I say, and attempt to direct him out of my living room. He grabs Ana and kisses her on both cheeks in a rather dramatic display of affection. “Never let anyone else be cutting your hair, bellissima Ana!”

I glare at him until he lets her go. “This way,” I say to get him out.

“Mr. Grey, she is a jewel.”

I know.

“Here.” I hand him three hundred dollars. “Thank you for coming at such short notice.”

“It was a pleasure. A real pleasure.” He pumps my hand, and not a moment too soon Taylor appears to escort him to the foyer.

Thank God.

Ana is standing where I left her.

“I’m glad you kept it long.” I take a strand of her hair and caress it between my fingers. “So soft,” I whisper. She watches me—anxious, I think. “Are you still mad at me?” I ask.

She nods.

Oh, Ana.

“What precisely are you mad at me about?”

She rolls her eyes at me…and I recall a moment in her bedroom in Vancouver when she made exactly the same mistake. But that was a lifetime ago in our short relationship, and I’m sure she wouldn’t let me spank her right now. Though I want to. Yes. I want to very much.

“You want the list?” she says.

“There’s a list?” I’m amused.

“A long one.”

“Can we discuss it in bed?” Thoughts of spanking Ana have gone to my groin.

“No.”

“Over lunch, then. I’m hungry, and not just for food.”

“I am not going to let you dazzle me with your sexpertise.”

Sexpertise!

Anastasia, you flatter me.

And I like it.

“What is bothering you specifically, Miss Steele? Spit it out.” I’ve lost track.

“What’s bothering me?” she scoffs. “Well, there’s your gross invasion of my privacy, the fact that you took me to some place where your ex-mistress works and you used to take all your lovers to have their bits waxed, you manhandled me in the street like I was six years old.” She’s on a roll with a litany of all my misbehavior. I feel like I’m in first grade again. “And to cap it all, you let your Mrs. Robinson touch you!”

She didn’t touch me! Christ. “That’s quite a list. But just to clarify once more, she’s not my Mrs. Robinson.”

“She can touch you,” she stresses, and her voice wavers, full of hurt.

“She knows where.”

“What does that mean?”

“You and I don’t have any rules. I have never had a relationship without rules, and I never know where you’re going to touch me. It makes me nervous.” She’s unpredictable and she has to understand that her touch disarms me. “Your touch completely—it just means more. So much more.”

You can’t touch me, Ana. Please just accept this.

She steps forward, raising her hand.

No. The darkness squeezes my ribs. I step back. “Hard limit,” I whisper.

She masks her disappointment. “How would you feel if you couldn’t touch me?”

“Devastated and deprived.”

Her shoulders fall and she shakes her head but gives me a resigned smile. “You’ll have to tell me exactly why this is a hard limit, one day, please.”

“One day,” I answer. And I push the vision of a burning cigarette out of my head.

“So, the rest of your list. Invading your privacy. Because I know your bank account number?”

“Yes, that’s outrageous.”

“I do background checks on all my submissives. I’ll show you.” I head into my study and she follows. Wondering if this is a good idea, I pull Ana’s file from the cabinet and hand it to her. She glances at her neatly typed name and gives me a withering look.

“You can keep it,” I tell her.

“Well, gee, thanks,” she sneers, and starts flipping through and scanning the contents.

“So, you knew I worked at Clayton’s?”

“Yes.”

“It wasn’t a coincidence. You didn’t just drop by?”

Fess up, Grey.

“No.”

“This is fucked up. You know that?”

“I don’t see it that way. What I do, I have to be careful.”

“But this is private.”

“I don’t misuse the information. Anyone can get hold of it if they have half a mind to, Anastasia. To have control, I need information. It’s how I’ve always operated.”

“You do misuse the information. You deposited twenty-four thousand dollars that I didn’t want into my account.”

“I told you. That’s what Taylor managed to get for your car. Unbelievable, I know, but there you go.”

“But the Audi—”

“Anastasia, do you have any idea how much money I make?”

“Why should I? I don’t need to know the bottom line of your bank account, Christian.”

“I know. That’s one of the things I love about you. Anastasia, I earn roughly one hundred thousand dollars an hour.”

Her lips form the letter o.

And for once she remains silent.

“Twenty-four thousand dollars is nothing. The car, the Tess books, the clothes, they’re nothing.”

“If you were me, how would you feel about all this…largesse coming your way?” she asks.

This is irrelevant. We’re talking about her, not me.

“I don’t know.” I shrug because it’s such a ludicrous question.

She sighs as if she’s had to explain a complex equation to a simpleton. “It doesn’t feel great. I mean, you’re very generous, but it makes me uncomfortable. I have told you this often enough.”

“I want to give you the world, Anastasia.”

“I just want you, Christian. Not all the add-ons.”

“They’re part of the deal. Part of what I am.” Who I am.

She shakes her head, seeming subdued. “Shall we eat?” she asks, changing the subject.

“Sure.”

“I’ll cook.”

“Good. Otherwise, there’s food in the fridge.”

“Mrs. Jones is off on the weekends?”

I nod.

“So, you eat cold cuts most weekends?”

“No.”

“Oh?”

I take a deep breath, wondering how the piece of information I’m going to give Ana will go down. “My submissives cook, Anastasia.” Some well, some not so well.

“Oh, of course.” She fakes a smile. “What would Sir like to eat?”

“Whatever Madam can find,” I reply, knowing she won’t get the reference.

She nods and exits my study, leaving her file. Placing it back in the filing cabinet, I catch sight of Susannah’s file. She was a hopeless cook, even worse than me. But she tried…and we had some fun with that.

“You’ve burned this?”

“Yes. Sorry, Sir.”

“Well, what are we going to do with you?”

“Whatever pleases you, Master.”

“Did you burn this deliberately?”

Her flush and the twitch of her lips as she masks her smile are answer enough.

Those were pleasurable and simpler times. My previous relationships were dictated by a set of rules that were followed, and if they weren’t, there were consequences. I had peace. And I knew what was expected of me. They were intimate relationships, but none of my previous submissives thrilled me as Ana does, even though she’s so difficult.

Maybe it’s because she’s so difficult.

I remember our contract negotiation. She was difficult then.

Yes. Look how that turned out, Grey.

She’s had me on my toes since I met her. Is this why I like her so much? How long will I feel this way? Probably as long as she stays. Because deep down I know she’ll leave me eventually.

They all do.

Music starts blaring from the living room. “Crazy in Love” by Beyoncé. Is Ana sending me a message?

I stand in the corridor that leads to my study and the TV room and watch her cook. She’s whisking some eggs, but she stops suddenly, and from what I can see, she’s grinning like a fool.

I creep up behind her and slip my arms around her, startling her. “Interesting choice of music,” I croon in her ear and plant a kiss behind it. “Your hair smells good.” She shimmies out of my arms.

“I’m still mad at you,” she says.

“How long are you going to keep this up?” I ask, and rake my hand through my hair in frustration.

“At least until I’ve eaten.” Her tone is haughty but playful.

Good.

Picking up the remote, I switch off the music. “Did you put that on your iPod?” Ana asks.

I shake my head. I don’t want to say it was Leila, because she might get mad again.

“Don’t you think she was trying to tell you something back then?” she says, guessing correctly that it was Leila.

“Well, with hindsight, probably,” I reply. Why didn’t I see this coming?

Ana asks why it’s still on my iPod, and I offer to remove it.

“What would you like to hear?”

“Surprise me,” she says, and it’s a challenge.

Very well, Miss Steele. Your wish is my command. I scroll through the iPod, dismissing several tunes. I consider “Please Forgive Me” by David Gray, but that’s too obvious and frankly too apologetic.

I know. What did she call it earlier? Sexpertise? Yes.

Use it. Seduce her, Grey.

I’ve had enough of her crankiness. I find the song I want, hit play. Perfect. The orchestra swells and music fills the room with a cool, sultry intro, and then Nina Simone sings. “I put a spell on you.”

Ana whirls around, armed with a whisk, and I catch and hold her gaze as I move toward her.

“You’re mine,” Nina sings.

You’re mine.

“Christian, please,” Ana whispers when I reach her.

“Please what?”

“Don’t do this.”

“Do what?”

“This.” She’s breathless.

“Are you sure?” I take the whisk out of her hand before she decides to use it as a weapon.

Ana. Ana. Ana.

I’m close enough to smell her. I shut my eyes and take a deep breath. When I open them, the telltale flush of desire stains her cheeks.

And it’s there between us.

That familiar pull.

Our intense attraction.

“I want you, Anastasia,” I whisper. “I love and I hate, and I love arguing with you. It’s very new. I need to know that we’re okay. It’s the only way I know how.”

She closes her eyes. “My feelings for you haven’t changed,” she says, her voice low and reassuring.

Prove it.

Her eyelashes flutter and her eyes flit to the exposed skin above my shirt and she bites her lip. I suppress my groan as the heat radiating from her body warms us both.

“I’m not going to touch you until you say yes.” My voice is thick with my hunger. “But right now, after a really shitty morning, I want to bury myself in you and just forget everything but us.”

Her eyes meet mine. “I’m going to touch your face,” she says, surprising me.

Okay. I ignore the frisson that runs down my spine. Her hand caresses my cheek and I close my eyes, enjoying the feel of her fingertips teasing my stubble.

Oh, baby.

No need for fear, Grey.

Instinctively, I press my face into her touch, experiencing it, luxuriating in it. I lean down, my lips close to hers, and she raises her face to mine.

“Yes or no, Anastasia?”

“Yes.” The word is no more than an audible sigh.

And I lower my mouth to hers, my lips brushing hers, coaxing her. Tasting her. Teasing her until she opens up for me. I embrace her, one hand on her behind pushing her against my arousal and my other hand running up her back, into her soft hair, where I tug gently. She moans as her tongue meets mine.

“Mr. Grey.” We’re interrupted.

Christ.

I release Ana.

“Taylor,” I acknowledge through gritted teeth as he stands on the threshold of the living room, looking suitably embarrassed but resolute.

What. The. Fuck.

We have an understanding that he makes himself scarce when I’m not alone in the apartment. Whatever he has to say must be important. “My study,” I indicate, and Taylor walks briskly across the room. “Rain check,” I whisper to Ana and follow Taylor out.

“I’m sorry to interrupt you, sir,” he says when we’re in my office.

“You’d better have a good reason.”

“Well, your mother called.”

“Please don’t tell me that’s the reason.”

“No, sir. But you should call her back sooner rather than later. It’s about this evening.”

“Okay. What else?”

“The security team is here, and, knowing how you feel about guns, I thought I should inform you that they’re armed.”

“What?”

“Mr. Welch and I both think it’s a precautionary measure.”

“I loathe guns. Let’s hope they don’t have to use them.” I sound pissed—and I am—I was making out with Anastasia Steele.

When have I ever been interrupted while making out?

Never.

The thought suddenly amuses me.

I’m living the adolescence I never had.

Taylor relaxes, and I know it’s because my mood has changed.

“Did you know Andrea was getting married today?” I ask him, because this has been bugging me since this morning.

“Yes,” he answers with a puzzled expression.

“She didn’t tell me.”

“Probably just an oversight, sir.”

Now I know he’s patronizing me. I raise an eyebrow.

“The wedding is at The Edgewater,” he says quickly.

“Is she staying there?”

“I believe so.”

“Can you discreetly inquire if the happy couple has a room there and get them upgraded to the best suite available? And pay for it.”

Taylor smiles. “Certainly, sir.”

“Who’s the lucky guy?”

“That I don’t know, Mr. Grey.”

I wonder why Andrea has been so mysterious about her wedding. I brush aside the thought as the aroma of something delicious filters into the room and my stomach growls in anticipation.

“I’d better get back to Anastasia.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Was that all?”

“Yes.”

“Great.” We both exit my study. “I’ll brief them in ten,” I say to Taylor when we’re back in the living room. Ana is bending over the stove, retrieving a couple of plates.

“We’ll be ready,” Taylor says, and departs, leaving me alone with Anastasia.

“Lunch?” she offers.

“Please.” I sit down at one of the barstools where she’s laid our places for lunch.

“Problem?” she inquires, as curious as ever. I have yet to tell her about the additional security.

“No.”

She doesn’t push me for any answers as she busies herself plating our lunch of Spanish omelet with salad. I’m impressed she’s so capable and at ease in my kitchen. She sits beside me as I take a bite and the food melts in my mouth.

Hmm. Delicious.

“This is good. Would you like a glass of wine?”

“No thank you,” she replies, and gingerly starts eating her lunch.

At least she’s eating.

I forgo the wine, as I know I’ll be drinking this evening. Which reminds me that I have to call my mother. I wonder what she wants. She doesn’t know I split up with Ana—and now we’re back together. I should let her know that Ana is coming to the ball this evening.

Using the remote, I switch on some relaxing music.

“What’s this?” Ana asks.

“Canteloube, Songs of the Auvergne. This is called ‘Bailero.’ ”

“It’s lovely. What language is it?”

“It’s in old French—Occitan, in fact.”

“You speak French; do you understand it?”

“Some words, yes. My mother had a mantra: ‘musical instrument, foreign language, martial art.’ Elliot speaks Spanish; Mia and I speak French. Elliot plays guitar, I play piano, and Mia the cello.”

“Wow. And the martial arts?”

“Elliot does judo. Mia put her foot down at age twelve and refused.” Ana knows I kickbox.

“I wish my mother had been that organized.”

“Dr. Grace is formidable when it comes to the accomplishments of her children.”

“She must be very proud of you. I would be,” Ana says warmly.

Oh, baby, you couldn’t be more wrong. Nothing is that simple. I’ve been a big disappointment to my folks: school expulsions, dropping out of college, no relationships that they knew of…If Grace only knew the truth about my lifestyle.

If you only knew the truth, Ana.

Don’t go there, Grey.

“Have you decided what you’ll wear this evening? Or do I need to come and pick something for you?”

“Um, not yet. Did you choose all those clothes?”

“No, Anastasia, I didn’t. I gave a list and your size to a personal shopper at Neiman Marcus. They should fit. Just so you know, I have ordered additional security for this evening and the next few days. With Leila unpredictable and unaccounted for somewhere on the streets of Seattle, I think it’s a wise precaution. I don’t want you going out unaccompanied. Okay?”

She looks a little stunned but agrees, surprising me by acquiescing without argument.

“Good. I’m going to brief them. I shouldn’t be long.”

“They’re here?”

“Yes.”

She looks puzzled. But she hasn’t objected to the additional security, so while I have the upper hand, I pick up my empty plate and place it in the sink and leave Ana to finish her meal in peace.

The security team is gathered in Taylor’s office, seated at his round table. After our introductions I sit down and run through the evening’s event.

BRIEFING FINISHED, I RETURN to my study to call my mother.

“Darling, how are you?” she enthuses into the phone.

“I’m well, Grace.”

“Are you coming this evening?”

“Of course. And Anastasia is coming, too.”

“She is?” She sounds surprised, but she recovers quickly. “That’s wonderful, sweetheart. I’ll make room at our table.” She sounds too exuberant. I can only imagine her delight.

“I’ll see you this evening, Mother.”

“I look forward to it, Christian. Good-bye.”

There’s an e-mail from Flynn.

---

From: Dr. John Flynn

Subject: Tonight

Date: June 11 2011 14:25

To: Christian Grey

I look forward to meeting Anastasia.

JF

I bet you do, John.

It seems everyone is thrilled I have a date tonight.

Everyone, including me.

ANA IS LYING ACROSS the bed in the submissive’s room, staring at her Mac. She’s engrossed in reading something on the Web.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

She startles, and for some reason looks guilty. I lie down beside her and see that’s she’s on a website with a page titled “Multiple Personality Disorder: The Symptoms.”

I understand that I have many issues, but fortunately schizophrenia is not one of them. I can’t hide my amusement at her amateur psychological sleuthing. “On this site for a reason?”

“Research. Into a difficult personality.”

“A difficult personality?”

“My own pet project.”

“I’m a pet project now? A sideline. Science experiment, maybe. When I thought I was everything. Miss Steele, you wound me.”

“How do you know it’s you?”

“Wild guess,” I tease.

“It’s true that you are the only fucked-up, mercurial control freak that I know intimately.”

“I thought I was the only person you know intimately.”

“Yes. That, too,” she replies, and an embarrassed flush turns her cheeks a fetching pink.

“Have you reached any conclusions yet?”

She turns to scrutinize me, her expression warm. “I think you’re in need of intense therapy.”

I tuck her hair behind her ear, pleased that she’s kept it long and I can still do this. “I think I’m in need of you,” I counter. “Here.” I give her the lipstick.

“You want me to wear this?”

I laugh. “No, Anastasia, not unless you want to. Not sure it’s your color.”

Scarlet red is Elena’s color. Though I don’t tell Ana that. She’ll combust. And not in a good way.

I sit up on the bed, cross my legs, and pull my shirt over my head. This is either a brilliant brain wave—or a stupid one. We’ll see. “I like your road-map idea.”

She looks puzzled.

“The no-go areas,” I prompt.

“Oh. I was kidding,” she says.

“I’m not.”

“You want me to draw on you, with lipstick?” She’s bewildered.

“It washes off. Eventually.”

She considers my proposition and a smile tugs at her lips. “What about something more permanent, like a Sharpie?”

“I could get a tattoo.”

“No to the tattoo!” She laughs, but her eyes are wide in horror.

“Lipstick, then,” I retort. Her laugh is infectious and I beam at her.

She shuts the Mac and I hold out my hands. “Come. Sit on me.”

She peels her shoes off and crawls over to me. I lay back, keeping my knees upright. “Lean against my legs.”

She sits astride me, excited at this new challenge.

“You seem—enthusiastic for this,” I note with irony.

“I’m always eager for information, Mr. Grey, and it means you’ll relax, because I’ll know where the boundaries lie.”

I shake my head. I hope this is a good idea. “Open the lipstick,” I instruct.

For once, she does as she’s told.

“Give me your hand.”

She holds up her free hand.

“The one with the lipstick!”

“Are you rolling your eyes at me?” she chides.

“Yep.”

“That’s very rude, Mr. Grey. I know some people who get positively violent at eye rolling.”

“Do you, now?” My tone is wry.

She places her hand with the lipstick in mine and I sit up suddenly, surprising her, so we’re nose to nose.

“Ready?” I whisper, trying to curb my anxiety, but panic starts to spread.

“Yes,” she responds, the word as soft as a summer breeze.

Knowing I’m about to overstep my bounds, the darkness is circling like a vulture, waiting to consume me. Taking her hand, I move it to the top of my shoulder and fear squeezes my ribs, expelling the air from my lungs.

“Press down.” I struggle to get the words out. She does, and I guide her hand around my arm socket and down the side of my chest. The darkness slides into my throat, threatening to choke me. Ana’s amusement is gone, replaced by her solemn and determined concentration. I fix my eyes on hers and read every nuanced thought and emotion in the depths of her irises, each a life buoy, keeping me from drowning, holding the darkness at bay.

She is my salvation.

I stop at the bottom of my rib cage and move her hand across my abdomen, the lipstick spilling its red trail as she paints my body. I’m panting, trying desperately to hide my fear. Each muscle is tense and standing proud as the red slices my flesh. I lean back, supporting myself on flexed, straining arms as I fight my demons and surrender myself to her gentle illustration. She’s halfway done when I let go and give her total control. “And up the other side,” I whisper.

With the same single-minded focus, Ana draws up my right side. Eyes impossibly large. Anguished. But holding my attention. When she reaches the top of my shoulder, she stops. “There, done,” she breathes, her voice husky with repressed emotion. She lifts her hand away from my body, giving me a brief respite.

“No, you’re not.” I draw a line with my finger around the base of my neck above my clavicle. Ana takes a deep breath and traces the lipstick along the same line. When she finishes, blue eyes meet gray.

“Now my back,” I instruct, and shift so that she clambers off me. I turn around, my back to her, and cross my legs. “Follow the line from my chest, all the way around to the other side.” My voice is hoarse and alien to me, like I’ve left my body entirely to watch a beautiful young woman tame a monster.

No. No.

Be in the moment, Grey.

Live this.

Feel this.

Conquer this.

I am at Ana’s mercy.

The woman I love.

The tip of the lipstick crosses my back as I hunch over and screw my eyes shut, tolerating the pain. It disappears.

“Around your neck, too?” Her voice is plaintive. Full of reassurance. My life buoy. I nod and the pain is back, piercing my skin beneath my hairline.

Then, just as suddenly, it’s gone again.

“Finished,” she says, and I want to shout my relief from the helipad on Escala. I turn to face her and she’s watching me. And I know I’ll shatter like a shard of glass if I see any pity on her face…but there’s none. She’s waiting. Patient. Kind. Controlled. Compassionate.

My Ana.

“Those are my boundaries,” I whisper.

“I can live with those. Right now I want to launch myself at you,” she says, her eyes shining.

At last!

My relief is a wicked smile, and I hold out my hands in invitation. “Well, Miss Steele, I’m all yours.”

She squeals with glee and throws herself into my arms.

Whoa!

She knocks me off balance, but I recover and twist so that she lands on the bed beneath me, grasping my biceps. “Now, about that rain check.” I kiss her, hard. Her fingers curl in my hair and tug as I consume her. She moans, her tongue entwined with mine, and there’s a reckless, wild abandon in our kissing. She’s driving the darkness out and I’m drinking in her light. Adrenaline is fueling my passion and she’s matching me kiss for kiss. I want her naked. I sit her up and drag her T-shirt over her head and toss it to the floor.

“I want to feel you.” My words are feverish against her lips as I undo her bra and throw it aside. I lay her back down on the bed and kiss her breast, my lips toying with one nipple while my fingers tease the other. She cries out when I suck and tug hard.

“Yes, baby, let me hear you,” I breathe against her skin.

She squirms beneath me as I continue my sensual worship of her breasts. Her nipples respond to my touch, growing longer and harder as Ana writhes to a rhythm set by her passion.

She is a goddess.

My goddess.

I undo the button on her jeans as she twists her hands in my hair. I make short work of her zipper and slip my hand inside her panties. My fingers slide with ease to their goal.

Fuck.

She thrusts her pelvis up to meet the heel of my hand and I press against her clitoris as she mewls beneath me. She’s slick and ready. “Oh, baby,” I whisper, and lean up and hover over her, watching her wild expression. “You’re so wet.”

“I want you,” she whimpers.

I kiss her again as my hand moves against and inside her. I’m greedy. I want all of her. I need all of her.

She’s mine.

Mine.

I sit up and grab the hem of her jeans, and in one swift tug they’re off. I hook my fingers in her panties and they follow. I stand and out of my pocket take a foil packet and toss it at her. I’m relieved to remove my jeans and underwear.

Ana rips open the packet and eyes me hungrily when I lie down beside her. Slowly she rolls the condom over me and I grab her hands and roll onto my back.

“You. On top,” I insist, and I sit her astride me. “I want to see you.”

Slowly I ease her down onto me.

Fuck. She. Feels. So. Good.

I close my eyes and flex my hips as she takes me, and I exhale with a long, loud groan. “You feel so good.” I tighten my fingers around hers. I don’t want to let her go.

And she rises and falls, her body embracing mine. Her breasts bouncing as she does. I let go of her hands, knowing she’ll respect the road map, and I grab her hips. She places her hands on my arms as I rise up and thrust into her.

She cries out.

“That’s right, baby, feel me,” I whisper.

She tips her head back and becomes the perfect counterpoint.

Up. Down. Up. Down. Up. Down.

I lose myself in our shared rhythm, reveling in every precious inch of her. She’s panting and moaning. And I watch her take me, over and over. Eyes closed. Head back in ecstasy. She’s magnificent. She opens her eyes.

“My Ana.” My lips form the words.

“Yes. Always,” she cries.

And her words call to my soul and tip me over the edge. I close my eyes and surrender to her once more.

She cries out as she finds her own release, pulling me to mine as she collapses on top of me.

“Oh, baby,” I grunt, and I’m spent.

HER HEAD LOLLS ON my chest, but I don’t care. She’s subdued the darkness. I caress her hair and with tired fingers I stroke her back as we both catch our breath.

“You are so beautiful,” I murmur, and it’s only when Ana lifts her head that I realize I’ve said the words out loud. She eyes me with skepticism.

When will she learn to take a compliment?

I sit up quickly, catching Ana off-guard. But I hold her in place and we’re face to face again.

“You. Are. Beautiful.” I emphasize each word.

“And you’re amazingly sweet sometimes.” She leans forward and gives me a chaste kiss.

I lift her up and she winces as I ease out of her. I kiss her gently. “You have no idea how attractive you are, do you?”

She looks nonplussed.

“All those boys pursuing you, that isn’t enough of a clue?”

“Boys? What boys?”

“You want the list? The photographer, he’s crazy about you; that boy in the hardware store; your roommate’s older brother. Your boss.” That untrustworthy fucker.

“Oh, Christian, that’s just not true.”

“Trust me. They want you. They want what’s mine.” I tighten my hold on her and she rests her forearms on my shoulders, her hands in my hair. And she studies me with amused tolerance.

“Mine,” I assert.

“Yes. Yours.” She gives me an indulgent smile. “The line is still intact,” she continues. And draws her finger over the lipstick mark on my shoulder.

I stiffen, alarmed.

“I want to go exploring,” she whispers.

“The apartment?”

“No.” She shakes her head. “I was thinking of the treasure map that we’ve drawn on you.”

What?

She rubs her nose against mine, distracting me.

“And what would that entail exactly, Miss Steele?”

She raises her hand and tickles my stubble with her fingertips. “I just want to touch you everywhere I’m allowed.”

Her index finger brushes my lips and I capture it between my teeth.

“Ow,” she yelps when I bite down, and I grin as I growl.

So she wants to touch me. I’ve given her my boundaries.

Try it her way, Grey.

“Okay,” I acquiesce, but I hear the uncertainty in my voice. “Wait.” I lift her and remove the condom and drop it beside the bed. “I hate those things. I’ve a good mind to call Dr. Greene around to give you a shot.”

“You think the top ob-gyn in Seattle is going to come running?”

“I can be very persuasive.” I smooth her hair behind her ear. She has the most beautiful small, impish ears. “Franco’s done a great job on your hair. I like these layers.”

“Stop changing the subject,” she warns.

I lift her so she’s astride me once more. Watching her carefully, I recline onto the pillows while she rests her back against my upright knees. “Touch away,” I murmur.

Her eyes never leave mine and she places her hand on my belly, beneath the lipstick line. I tense as her finger explores the valleys between my abdominal muscles. I flinch and she lifts her finger.

“I don’t have to,” she says.

“No, it’s fine. Just takes some readjustment on my part. No one’s touched me for a long time.”

“Mrs. Robinson?”

Shit. Why did I allude to her?

Warily, I nod. “I don’t want to talk about her. It will sour your good mood.”

“I can handle it.”

“No, you can’t, Ana. You see red whenever I mention her. My past is my past. It’s a fact. I can’t change it. I’m lucky that you don’t have one, because it would drive me crazy if you did.”

“Drive you crazy? More than you are already?”

“Crazy for you,” I declare.

She grins, a large, genuine grin. “Shall I call Dr. Flynn?”

“I don’t think that will be necessary.”

She wriggles on top of me and I drop my legs. With her eyes on mine, she places her fingers on my belly.

I tense.

“I like touching you,” she says, and her hand slips down to my navel, teasing the hair there. Her fingers quest lower.

Whoa.

My cock twitches in approval.

“Again?” she says with a carnal smile.

Oh, Anastasia, you insatiable woman.

“Oh yes, Miss Steele, again.”

I sit up and clasp her head in my hands and kiss her, long and hard. “You’re not too sore?” I whisper against her lips.

“No.”

“I love your stamina, Ana.”

SHE DOZES BESIDE ME. Replete, I hope. After all of today’s arguments and recriminations, I’m now feeling more at peace.

Perhaps I can do this vanilla thing.

I look down at Ana. Her lips are parted and her lashes leave little shadows across her pale cheek. She looks serene and beautiful, and I could watch her sleep forever.

Yet she can be really fucking difficult.

Who knew?

And the irony is—I think I like it.

She makes me question myself.

She makes me question everything.

She makes me feel alive.

BACK IN THE LIVING room, I gather my papers from the sofa and head into my study. I’ve left Anastasia asleep. She must be exhausted after last night, and we have a long night ahead at the ball.

At my desk I fire up my computer. One of Andrea’s many virtues is that she keeps my contacts up-to-date and synced across all my devices. I look up Dr. Greene and, sure enough, I have her e-mail address. I’m so over condoms—I’d like her to see Ana as soon as possible. I send her an e-mail, but I don’t imagine I’ll hear from her until Monday—after all, it’s the weekend.

I send a couple of e-mails to Ros and make some notes on the reports I read earlier. Opening a drawer to put away my pen, I spy the red box with the earrings I bought Ana for the gala that we never attended.

She left me.

Taking out the box, I examine the earrings once more. They are perfect for her. Elegant. Simple. Stunning. I wonder if she’d accept them today. After the fight about the Audi and the twenty-four thousand dollars, it seems unlikely. But I’d like to give them to her. I put the box in my pocket and check my watch. It’s time to wake Ana, as I’m sure she’ll need a while to get ready for tonight.

SHE’S CURLED UP IN the middle of the bed, looking small and lonely. She’s in the sub’s room. I wonder why she’s up here. She’s not my submissive. She should be asleep in my bed, downstairs.

“Hey, sleepyhead.” I kiss her temple.

“Mmm,” she grumbles, and her eyelids flicker open.

“Time to get up,” I whisper, and kiss her quickly on the lips.

“Mr. Grey.” Her fingers caress my stubble. “I’ve missed you.”

“You’ve been asleep.” How can she have missed me?

“I missed you in my dreams.”

Her simple, sleepy statement floors me. She is so unpredictable and bewitching. I grin as an unexpected warmth spreads through my body. It’s becoming familiar but I don’t want to put a name to the feeling. It’s too new. Too scary.

“Up,” I order, and I leave her to get ready before I’m tempted to join her.

AFTER A QUICK SHOWER, I shave. Usually I try to avoid eye contact with the asshole in the mirror, but today he looks happier, though somewhat ridiculous with a smeared red lipstick line around his neck.

My thoughts turn to the night ahead. I usually loathe these events and find them intensely dull, but this time I’ll have a date. Another first with Ana. I hope having her on my arm will ward off the flocks of Mia’s friends who try desperately to get themselves noticed. They have never learned that I’m just not interested.

I wonder how Ana will find it—perhaps she’ll think it’s dull, too. I hope not. Maybe I should liven up the evening.

As I finish shaving, an idea comes to mind.

A few minutes later, wearing my dress pants and shirt, I head upstairs, pausing outside my playroom.

Is this a good idea?

Ana can always say no.

I unlock the door and step inside.

I’ve not been in my playroom since she left me. It’s quiet, and ambient light glows on the red walls, giving the place an illusion of warmth. But today this room is not my sanctuary. It hasn’t been since she left me alone and in darkness. It holds the memory of her tearstained face, her anger, and her bitter words. I close my eyes.

You need to sort your shit out, Grey.

I’m trying, Ana. I’m trying.

You are one fucked-up son of a bitch.

Fuck.

If she only knew. She’d leave. Again.

I discard the unpalatable thought and from the chest fetch what I need.

Will she go for this?

I like your kinky fuckery. Her hushed words from the night of our reconciliation give me some consolation. With Ana’s confession in mind, I turn to leave. For the first time ever, I don’t want to linger in here.

As I lock the door I wonder when or if Ana and I will revisit this room. I know I’m not ready. How Ana will feel about the—what does she call it?—Red Room of pain, we’ll have to see. The thought that I may never use it again depresses me. Brooding on this, I walk to her room. Perhaps I should get rid of the canes and belts. Maybe that would help.

I open the submissive’s room door and stop.

A startled Ana whirls around to face me. She’s dressed in a black corset, tiny lace panties, and thigh-highs.

All thought is erased from my mind.

My mouth dries as I stare.

She’s a walking wet dream.

She’s Aphrodite.

Thank you, Caroline Acton.

“Can I help you, Mr. Grey? I assume there is some purpose to your visit other than to gawk mindlessly at me.” There’s a haughty edge to her voice.

“I am rather enjoying my mindless gawk, thank you, Miss Steele.” I step into the room. “Remind me to send a personal note of thanks to Caroline Acton.”

Ana gestures with her hands. She’s wondering what I’m talking about.

“The personal shopper at Neiman’s,” I clarify.

“Oh.”

“I’m quite distracted.”

“I can see that. What do you want, Christian?” she says, sounding impatient, but I think she’s teasing me. I pull the kegel balls out of my pocket for her to see, and her expression changes from playful to alarmed.

She thinks I want to spank her.

I do…

But.

“It’s not what you think,” I reassure her.

“Enlighten me.”

“I thought you could wear these, tonight.”

She blinks several times. “To this event?”

I nod.

“Will you spank me later?”

“No.”

Her face falls and I can’t help but laugh. “You want me to?”

I watch her swallow, indecision plain on her face.

“Well, rest assured I am not going to touch you like that, not even if you beg me.” I pause and let that information sink in before I continue. “Do you want to play this game?” I hold them up. “You can always take them out if it’s too much.”

Her eyes darken and a small, wicked smile teases her lips. “Okay,” she says.

And once again I’m reminded that Anastasia Steele is not a woman to back away from a challenge.

I spy the Louboutins on the floor. “Good girl. Come here, and I’ll put them in once you’ve put your shoes on.”

Ana in fine lingerie and Louboutins—all my dreams are coming true.

I hold out my hand to help her into her shoes. She steps into them, and turns from elfin and gamine to tall and willowy.

She’s gorgeous.

Man, what they do for her legs.

I lead her to the bedside and fetch the bedroom chair and place it in front of her.

“When I nod, you bend down and hold on to the chair. Understand?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Now open your mouth.”

She does, and I slide my index finger between her lips.

“Suck,” I order. She clasps my hand, and, with a lustful glance at me, she does exactly as I ask.

Christ.

Her look is scorching. Wanton. Unwavering. And her tongue teases and pulls at my finger.

I might as well have my cock in her mouth.

I’m hard.

Instantly.

Oh, baby.

I’ve known very few women who have had this instant effect on me, but none as instant as Ana…and given her naïveté it surprises me. But she’s had this hold on me since I met her.

Get to the matter in hand, Grey.

To lubricate the balls, I slip them into my mouth while she continues to pleasure my finger. When I try to withdraw it, her teeth clamp down and she gives me a winsome smile.

No you don’t, I warn, shaking my head, and she loosens her grip, releasing me.

I nod, indicating she should bend over the chair, and she obliges.

Kneeling behind her, I move her panties to one side and slide my fellated finger inside her and circle slowly, feeling the tight, wet walls of her vagina. She moans and I want to tell her to be quiet and to stay still, but that’s not the relationship we have anymore.

We’re doing things her way.

I withdraw my finger, then gently ease each ball inside her, carefully pushing them as deep as they can go. As I slip her panties back in place, I kiss her delectable derrière. I sit back on my heels and run my hands up her legs and kiss each thigh where her stockings stop.

“You have fine, fine legs, Miss Steele.” I stand and grasp her hips, pulling her against my arousal. “Maybe I’ll have you this way when we get home, Anastasia. You can stand now.”

She does, her breath quickening once she’s upright, and she shimmies in front of me, her ass brushing my erection. I kiss her shoulder and extend my arm around her, palm up, holding out the Cartier box.

“I bought these for you to wear to last Saturday’s gala. But you left me, so I never had the opportunity to give them to you.” I take a deep breath. “This is my second chance.”

Will she accept them?

It seems symbolic somehow. If she’s serious about us, she’ll accept them. I hold my breath. She reaches for the box and opens it and stares at the earrings for the longest time.

Please take them, Ana.

“They’re lovely,” she whispers. “Thank you.”

She can play nice. I grin as I relax, knowing I won’t have to fight to get her to keep them. I kiss her shoulder and spot the silver satin dress on the bed. I ask her if that’s what she’s chosen to wear.

“Yes. Is that okay?”

“Of course. I’ll let you get ready.”

I’VE LOST COUNT OF the number of these events I’ve attended, but for the first time I’m excited. I get to show Ana off to my family and all of their well-heeled friends.

I finish tying my bow tie with ease and grab my jacket. Slipping it on, I take one last look in the mirror. The asshole looks happy, but he needs to straighten his tie.

“Keep still,” Elena snaps.

“Yes, Ma’am.” I stand before her, getting ready for prom. I’ve told my parents I’m not going and that I’m seeing a friend. It will be our own personal prom. Just Elena and I. She moves, and I hear the rustle of expensive silk and inhale the provocative scent of her perfume.

“Open your eyes.”

I do as I’m instructed. She’s poised behind me and we’re facing a mirror. I look at her, not at the idiot boy standing in front of her.

She takes the ends of my bow tie. “And this is how you do this.” Slowly, she moves her fingers. Her nails are bright scarlet. I watch. Fascinated.

She pulls the ends and I’m wearing a most respectable bow tie.

“Now, let’s see if you can do it. And if you do, I’ll reward you.” She smiles her secret I-so-own-you smile and I know it will be good.

I’M REHASHING THE NIGHT’S arrangements with the security team when I hear her footfalls behind me. All four men are suddenly distracted. Taylor smiles. When I turn around, Ana is standing at the bottom of the stairs.

A vision. Wow.

She’s stunning in her silver gown and reminiscent of a silent-movie siren.

I saunter over to her, feeling a disproportionate sense of pride, and kiss her hair. “Anastasia. You look breathtaking.” I’m delighted that she’s wearing the earrings. She flushes.

“A glass of champagne before we go?” I offer.

“Please.”

I nod to Taylor, who leads his three colleagues out to the foyer, and with my arm around my date we head into the living room. From the fridge, I take a bottle of Cristal Rosé and open it.

“Security team?” Ana asks, as I pour the bubbling liquid into champagne flutes.

“Close protection. They’re under Taylor’s control. He’s trained in that, too.” I hand her a glass.

“He’s very versatile.”

“Yes, he is. You look lovely, Anastasia. Cheers.” I raise my glass to meet hers. She takes a sip and closes her eyes, savoring the wine.

“How are you feeling?” I ask, noting the pink flush on her cheeks, the same blush of the champagne, and I wonder how long she’ll tolerate the balls.

“Fine, thank you.” She gives me a coy smile.

Tonight will be entertaining.

“Here, you’re going to need this.” I give her the velvet bag that contains her mask. “Open it.”

Ana does and pulls out the delicate silver masquerade mask and runs her fingers through the plumes.

“It’s a masked ball.”

“I see.” She examines the mask in wonder.

“This will show off your beautiful eyes, Anastasia.”

“Are you wearing one?”

“Of course. They’re very liberating, in a way.”

She grins.

I have one more surprise for her. “Come. I want to show you something.” I hold out my hand and lead her back out to the corridor and into my library. I can’t believe I haven’t shown her this room.

“You have a library!” she exclaims.

“Yes, the balls room, as Elliot calls it. The apartment is quite spacious. I realized today, when you mentioned exploring, that I’ve never given you a tour. We don’t have time now, but I thought I’d show you this room and maybe challenge you to a game of billiards in the not-too-distant future.”

Her eyes are bright with wonder as she takes in the collection of books and the billiard table. “Bring it on,” she says with a self-satisfied grin.

“What?” She’s hiding something. Can she play?

“Nothing,” she says quickly, and I know that’s probably the answer. She really is a hopeless liar.

“Well, maybe Dr. Flynn can uncover your secrets. You’ll meet him this evening.”

“The expensive charlatan?”

“The very same. He’s dying to meet you. Shall we go?”

She nods, and excitement shines in her eyes.

WE TRAVEL IN COMPANIONABLE silence in the back of the car. I skim my thumb across her knuckles, sensing her growing anticipation. She crosses and uncrosses her legs, and I know the balls are taking their toll.

“Where did you get the lipstick?” she asks out of the blue.

I point to Taylor and mouth his name.

She laughs. Then stops abruptly.

And I know it’s the kegel balls.

“Relax,” I whisper. “If it’s too much…” I kiss each of her knuckles and suck the tip of her little finger, rolling my tongue around it, as she did with my finger earlier. Ana closes her eyes, tips her head back, and inhales. Her smoldering eyes meet mine when she opens them again. She rewards me with a wicked grin and I respond in kind.

“So what can we expect at this event?” she asks.

“Oh, the usual stuff.”

“Not usual for me.”

Of course. When would she have been to an event like this? I kiss her knuckles once more as I explain. “Lots of people flashing their cash. Auction, raffle, dinner, dancing—my mother knows how to throw a party.”

The Audi joins the line of cars arriving at my parents’ house. Ana strains to have a look. I glance out of the back window to see Reynolds from the security detail following us in my other Audi Q7.

“Masks on.” I retrieve mine from the black silk bag beside me.

When we pull up into the driveway, we are both in disguise. Ana looks spectacular. She’s dazzling, and I want to show her off to the world. Taylor comes to a stop and one of the valets opens my door.

“Ready?” I ask Ana.

“As I’ll ever be.”

“You look beautiful, Anastasia.” I kiss her hand and climb out of the car.

I put my arm around my date, and we walk alongside the house on a green carpet my mother has rented for the occasion. I glance once over my shoulder and observe our four security personnel walking behind us, looking everywhere. It’s reassuring.

“Mr. Grey!” A photographer calls out to me, and I pull Ana close and we pose.

“Two photographers?” Ana observes, curious.

“One is from The Seattle Times; the other is for a souvenir. We’ll be able to buy a copy later.”

We pass a line of servers holding flutes of champagne and I hand a glass to Ana.

My parents have gone all-out, like they do every year. Pavilion, pergolas, lanterns, checkered dance floor, ice swans, and a string quartet. I watch Ana as she takes in the surroundings with awe. It’s gratifying to see my parents’ generosity through her eyes. It’s not often that I get the opportunity to stand back and appreciate how lucky I am to be part of their world.

“How many people are coming?” she asks, sizing up the elaborate tent next to the shoreline.

“I think about three hundred. You’ll have to ask my mother.”

“Christian!” I hear the shrill, not-so-dulcet tones of my sister; then she’s throwing her arms around my neck in a melodramatic display of affection. She’s a vision in pink.

“Mia.” I return her enthusiastic hug. She spies Ana, and I’m forgotten.

“Ana! Oh, darling, you look gorgeous! You must come and meet my friends. None of them can believe that Christian finally has a girlfriend.” She hugs Ana and takes her hand. Ana gives me a quick apprehensive look before Mia drags her to a group of women who coo over her. All except one.

Shit. I recognize Lily, Mia’s friend since kindergarten. Spoiled, wealthy, gorgeous, but spiteful, she embodies all the worst attributes of privilege and entitlement. And there was a time when she thought she was entitled to me. I shudder.

I watch Ana as she’s gracious with Mia’s friends, but she steps back suddenly looking uncomfortable. I think Lily is being an asshole. This will never do. I walk over and put my arm around Ana’s waist. “Ladies, if I could claim my date back, please?”

“Lovely to meet you,” Ana says to the throng as I pull her away. “Thank you,” she mouths.

“I saw that Lily was with Mia. She is one nasty piece of work.”

“She likes you,” Ana observes.

“Well, the feeling is not mutual. Come, let me introduce you to some people.”

Ana is impressive—the perfect date. Gracious, elegant, and sweet, she listens attentively to anecdotes, she asks intelligent questions, and I love the way she defers to me.

Yes. I especially love that. It’s novel and unexpected.

But then she’s always unexpected.

What’s more, she’s oblivious to the many, many admiring glances she receives from both men and women, and she stays close to my side. I attribute her rosy glow to the champagne and maybe the kegel balls, and if the latter are bothering her, she hides it well.

The master of ceremonies announces that dinner is served, and we follow the green carpet across the lawn to the pavilion. Ana is looking toward the boathouse.

“Boathouse?” I ask.

“Maybe we can go there later.”

“Only if I can carry you over my shoulder.”

She laughs, then stops abruptly.

I grin. “How are you feeling?”

“Good,” she says with a superior air, and my grin broadens.

Game on, Miss Steele.

Behind us, Taylor and his men follow at a discreet distance and, once in the tent pavilion, position themselves so they have a good view of the crowd.

My mother and Mia are already at our table with a friend of Mia’s.

Grace welcomes Ana warmly. “Ana, how delightful to see you again! And looking so beautiful, too.”

“Mother.” I greet Grace and kiss her on both cheeks.

“Oh, Christian, so formal!” she chides.

My maternal grandparents join us, and after the obligatory hugs I introduce them both to Ana.

“Oh, he’s finally found someone, how wonderful, and so pretty! Well, I do hope you make an honest man of him,” my grandmother enthuses.

Inappropriate, Grandma.

Fuck. I stare at my mother. Help. Mom. Stop her.

“Mother, don’t embarrass Ana,” Grace admonishes her mom.

“Ignore the silly old coot, m’dear. She thinks because she’s so old, she has a God-given right to say whatever nonsense pops into that woolly head of hers.” My grandfather gives me a wink.

Theodore Trevelyan is my hero. We have a special bond. This man has patiently taught me how to plant, cultivate, and graft apple trees, and in doing so has won my eternal affection. Quiet. Strong. Kind. Patient with me. Always.

“Here, kiddo,” Grandpa Trev-yan says. “You don’t talk much, do you?”

I shake my head. No. I don’t talk at all.

“That’s no problem. Folks around here talk too much anyway. Do you want to help me in the orchard?”

I nod. I like Grandpa Trev-yan. He has kind eyes and a loud laugh. He holds out his hand, but I tuck my hands under my arms.

“As you like, Christian. Let’s go make some green apple trees make red apples.”

I like red apples.

The orchard is big. There are trees. And trees. And trees. But they are small trees. Not big. And they have no leaves. And no apples. Because of winter. I have big boots on and a hat. I like my hat. I’m warm.

Grandpa Trev-yan looks at a tree.

“See this tree, Christian? It makes bitter green apples. But we can fool the tree to make sweet red apples for us. These twigs are from the red apple tree. And here are my pruning shears.”

Prew-nig sheers. They are sharp.

“Do you want to cut this one?”

I say yes with my head.

“We’re going to graft this twig you’ve cut. It’s called a scion.”

Si-yon. Si-yon. I say the word in my head. He takes a knife and makes one end of the twig sharp. And he cuts a branch on the tree and sticks the si-yon in the cut.

“Now we tape it up.”

He takes green tape and ties the twig to the branch.

“And we put melted beeswax on the wound. Here. You take this brush. Steady now. That’s right.”

We make many grafts.

“You know, Christian, apples are second only to oranges as the most valuable fruit grown in the U.S. of A. Here in Washington, though, there’s not really enough sun for oranges.”

I’m sleepy.

“Tired? You want to head back to the house?”

I say yes with my head.

“We’ve done a lot of grafting. This tree will yield a huge crop of sweet red apples come autumn. You can help me pick them.”

He smiles and holds out a big hand and I take it. It’s big and rough but warm and gentle.

“Let’s go have some hot chocolate.”

Grandpa gives me a crinkled smile and I turn my attention to Mia’s date, who seems to be checking out mine. His name is Sean and I think he’s from Mia’s old high school. I shake his hand, squeezing hard.

Keep your eyes on your own date, Sean. And by the way, you’re with my sister. Treat her well or I will end you. I think I manage to convey all of that information in my pointed look and the tight grip I have on his hand.

He nods and swallows. “Mr. Grey.”

I pull out Ana’s chair and we sit.

My dad is standing on the stage. He taps the mic and rattles off a welcome and an introduction to the great and the good gathered before him. “Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to our annual charity ball. I hope that you enjoy what we have laid out for you tonight and that you’ll dig deep into your pockets to support the fantastic work that our team does with Coping Together. As you know, it’s a cause that is very close to my wife’s heart, and mine.”

The plumes on Ana’s mask quiver as she turns to look at me, and I wonder if she’s thinking about my past. Should I answer her unspoken question?

Yes. This charity exists because of me.

My parents formed it because of my miserable start in life. And now they help hundreds of addicted parents and their kids by offering them refuge and rehabilitation.

But she says nothing and I remain impassive, as I’m not sure how I should feel about her curiosity.

“I’ll hand you over now to our master of ceremonies. Please be seated, and enjoy,” Dad says, and he hands the microphone to the MC, then wanders over to our table, making a beeline for Ana. He greets her with a kiss on each cheek. She blushes. “Good to see you again, Ana,” he says.

“Ladies and gentlemen: please nominate a table head,” the MC calls out.

“Ooh. Me, me!” cries Mia, bouncing like a child in her seat. “In the center of the table you will find an envelope,” the MC continues. “Would everyone find, beg, borrow, or steal a bill of the highest denomination you can manage, write your name on it, and place it inside the envelope? Table heads, please guard these envelopes carefully. We will need them later.”

“Here.” I give a hundred-dollar bill to Ana.

“I’ll pay you back,” she whispers.

Sweetheart.

I don’t want that argument again. Saying nothing because a scene would be unseemly, I hand her my Mont Blanc so she can sign her name on the note.

Grace signals a couple of servers standing at the front of the pavilion and they pull back the canvas, revealing a picture-postcard view of Seattle and Meydenbauer Bay at dusk. It’s a great view, especially at this time of the evening, and I’m glad the weather has remained fine for my parents.

Ana gazes at the cityscape and its reflection in the water with delight.

And I examine it anew. It’s stunning. The darkening sky ablaze with the setting sun mirrored in the water, the lights of Seattle twinkling in the distance. Yeah. Stunning.

Seeing all this through Ana’s eyes is humbling. For years I’ve taken it for granted. I glance at my parents. My father clasps his wife’s hand as she laughs at something her friend says. The way he looks at her…the way she looks at him.

They love each other.

Still.

I shake my head. Is it weird that I’m having a strange and new appreciation for my upbringing?

I was lucky. Very lucky.

Our servers arrive, ten of them in total, and as one they present the table with our first course. Ana peeks at me from behind her mask.

“Hungry?”

“Very,” she replies, with serious intent.

Damn. All other thoughts evaporate as my body responds to her bold statement and I know she’s not referring to the food. My grandfather diverts her and I shift in my seat, trying to bring my body to heel.

The food is good.

But then it always is at my parents’ place.

I have never been hungry here.

I’m startled by the direction of my thoughts and I’m glad when Lance, my mother’s friend from college, engages me in a conversation about what GEH is developing.

I’m acutely aware of Ana’s eyes on me as Lance and I debate the economics of technology in the developing world.

“You can’t just give this technology away!” Lance scoffs.

“Why not? Ultimately, whose benefit is it for? As human beings, we all have to share finite space and resources on this planet. The smarter we are, the more efficiently we’ll use them.”

“Democratizing tech is not what I’d expect from someone like you.” Lance laughs.

Dude. You don’t know me very well.

Lance is engaging enough, but I’m distracted by the beautiful Miss Steele. She moves beside me as she listens to our conversation, and I know the kegel balls are having the desired effect.

Perhaps we should go to the boathouse.

My conversation with Lance is interrupted a few times by various business associates offering a handshake and the odd anecdote. I don’t know if they’re checking out Ana or trying to ingratiate themselves with me.

By the time dessert is served, I’m ready to leave.

“If you’ll excuse me,” Ana says suddenly, breathless. And I know she’s had enough.

“Do you need the powder room?” I ask.

She nods, and in her eyes I see a desperate plea.

“I’ll show you,” I offer.

She stands and I start to get up, but Mia stands, too. “No, Christian! You’re not taking Ana—I will.”

And before I can say anything, she grabs Ana’s hand.

Ana gives me an apologetic shrug and follows Mia out of the pavilion. Taylor signals that he’s on it and trails behind them both; I’m sure Ana is unaware of her shadow.

Fuck. I wanted to go with her.

My grandmother leans in to talk to me. “She’s delightful.”

“I know.”

“You look happy, dear.”

Do I? I thought I was sulking at a missed opportunity.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so relaxed.” She pats my hand; it’s an affectionate gesture, and for once I don’t withdraw from her touch.

Happy?

Me?

I test the word to see if it fits, and an unexpected warmth flares in my gut.

Yes. She makes me happy.

It’s a new feeling. I’ve never described myself in those terms.

I smile at my grandmother and squeeze her hand. “I think you’re right, Grandmother.”

Her eyes twinkle and she squeezes mine back. “You should bring her to the farm.”

“I should. I think she’d like that.”

Mia and Ana return to the pavilion, giggling. It’s a pleasure to watch them together and to witness my whole family embrace my girl. Even my grandmother has concluded that Ana makes me happy.

She’s not wrong.

As Ana takes her seat, she gives me a swift carnal look.

Ah. I mask my smile. I want to ask if she’s still wearing the kegel balls, but I presume she’s removed them. She’s done well to wear them this long. Taking Ana’s hand in mine, I give her a list of auction prizes.

I think Ana will enjoy this part of the evening—Seattle’s elite flashing their cash.

“You own property in Aspen?” she asks, and everyone at the table turns to look at her. I nod and put my finger to my lips.

“Do you have property elsewhere?” she whispers.

I nod. But I don’t want to disturb everyone at the table with conversation. This is the part of the evening when we raise a sizable sum for the charity.

As everyone applauds a sale price of $12,000 for a signed Mariners baseball bat, I lean over and say, “I’ll tell you later.”

She licks her lips and my earlier frustration returns. “I wanted to come with you.”

She shoots me a quick aggrieved look, which I think means that she’s of the same mind, but she settles down to listen to the bidding.

I watch her get caught up in the excitement of the auction, turning her head to see who’s bidding on what and applauding at the conclusion of each lot.

“And up next is a weekend stay in Aspen, Colorado. What are my starting bids, ladies and gentlemen, for this generous prize courtesy of Mr. Christian Grey?” There’s a smattering of applause and the master of ceremonies continues. “Do I hear five thousand dollars?”

The bidding begins.

I contemplate taking Ana to Aspen. I don’t even know if she skis. The thought of her on skis is unsettling. She’s not a coordinated dancer, so she might be a disaster on the slopes. I wouldn’t want her to get hurt.

“Twenty thousand dollars, we are bid. Going once, going twice,” the MC calls. Ana puts her hand up and calls.

“Twenty-four thousand dollars!”

And it’s like she’s kicked me in the solar plexus.

What. The. Fuck.

“Twenty-four thousand dollars, to the lovely lady in silver, going once, going twice. Sold!” the master of ceremonies declares, to rapturous applause. Everyone at our table gapes at her while my anger spirals out of control. That money was for her. Taking a deep breath, I lean forward and kiss her cheek. “I don’t know whether to worship at your feet or spank the living shit out of you,” I hiss in her ear.

“I’ll take option two, please,” she says quickly. Breathlessly.

What?

For a moment I’m confused, and then I realize the kegel balls have done their work. She’s needy, really needy, and my anger is forgotten. “Suffering, are you?” I whisper. “We’ll have to see what we can do about that.” I run my fingers along her jaw.

Make her wait, Grey.

That should be punishment enough.

Or perhaps we could prolong the agony. A wicked thought comes to mind.

She wriggles beside me as my family congratulates her on her win. I drape my arm over her chair and begin to stroke her naked back with my thumb. With my other hand I take hers and kiss her palm, then rest her hand on my thigh. Slowly, I ease her hand up my thigh until her fingers are resting on my erection.

I hear her gasp, and from beneath her mask her shocked eyes meet mine.

I will never tire of shocking sweet Ana.

As the auction continues, my family returns their attention to the next prize. Ana, emboldened, no doubt, by her need, surprises me and starts to caress me through my pants.

Hell.

I keep my hand over hers so no one will be the wiser as she fondles me and I continue to stroke her neck.

My pants are becoming uncomfortable.

She’s turned the tables on you, Grey. Again.

“Sold, for one hundred and ten thousand dollars!” the MC declares, bringing me back into the room. The prize is a week in my parents’ place in Montana, and it’s a colossal amount of money.

The whole room erupts with cheers and applause, and Ana takes her hands off me and joins in the clapping.

Damn.

Reluctantly, I applaud, too, and now that the auction is over, I plan to give Ana a tour of the house.

“Ready?” I mouth to her.

“Yes,” she says, her eyes shining through her mask.

“Ana!” Mia says. “It’s time!”

Ana looks confused. “Time for what?”

“The First Dance Auction. Come on!” Mia stands and holds out her hand.

Fucking hell. My annoying little sister.

I glower at Mia. Cockblocker extraordinaire.

Ana looks at me and starts to giggle.

It’s infectious.

I stand, grateful for my jacket. “The first dance will be with me, okay? And it won’t be on the dance floor,” I murmur against the pulse beneath her ear.

“I look forward to it.” She kisses me in full view of everyone.

I grin and then notice that the entire table is staring at us.

Yes, people. I have a girlfriend. Get used to it.

They, as one, look away, embarrassed to be caught gawking.

“Come on, Ana.” Mia is persistent and leads Ana toward the small stage, where several women are assembled.

“Gentlemen, the highlight of the evening!” the MC booms over the PA system and the excited hum of the crowd. “The moment you’ve all been waiting for! These twelve lovely ladies have all agreed to auction their first dance to the highest bidder!”

Ana is uncomfortable. She looks down at the ground, then at her knotted fingers. She looks anywhere but at the group of young men approaching the stage.

“Now, gentlemen, pray gather around and take a good look at what could be yours for the first dance. Twelve comely and compliant wenches.”

When did Mia get Ana involved in this fucking charade?

It’s a meat market.

I know it’s for a good cause, but still.

The MC announces the first young woman, giving her a hyperbolic introduction. Her name is Jada, and her first dance is quickly sold off for $5,000. Mia and Ana are talking. Ana looks engaged in what Mia is saying.

Shit.

What is Mia telling her?

Mariah is up for sale next. She seems embarrassed by the MC’s introduction, and I don’t blame her. Mia and Ana continue to talk—and I know it’s about me.

For fuck’s sake, Mia, shut up.

Mariah’s first dance is sold for $4,000.

Ana glances at me, then back at Mia, who appears to be in full flow.

Jill is up next, and her first dance is sold for $4,000.

Ana stares at me, and I see her eyes glitter inside her mask, but I have no idea what she’s thinking.

Shit. What did Mia say?

“And now, allow me to introduce the beautiful Ana.”

Mia ushers Ana to the center of the stage and I make my way to the front of the crowd. Ana does not like to be the center of attention.

Damn Mia for making her do this.

But Anastasia is beautiful.

The MC makes another overblown and ridiculous introduction. “Beautiful Ana plays six musical instruments, speaks fluent Mandarin, and is keen on yoga…well, gentlemen—”

Enough. “Ten thousand dollars,” I shout.

“Fifteen.” There’s a call from some random guy.

What the hell?

I turn to look at who is bidding on my girl, and it’s Flynn, the expensive charlatan, as Ana calls him. I’d recognize his gait anywhere. He gives me a polite nod.

“Well, gentlemen! We have high rollers in the house this evening,” the MC announces to the assembled patrons.

What is Flynn’s game? How far does he want to take this?

The chatter in the pavilion dies as the crowd watches us and waits to hear my reaction.

“Twenty,” I offer, my voice low.

“Twenty-five,” counters Flynn.

Ana looks anxiously from me to Flynn. She’s mortified. And, frankly, so am I. I’ve had enough of whatever game Flynn is playing.

“One hundred thousand dollars,” I call, so that the entire audience can hear me.

“What the fuck?” one of the women behind Ana calls out, and I hear gasps from people in the crowd around me.

Come on, John.

I give Flynn a level stare and he laughs and graciously holds up both his hands. He’s done.

“One hundred thousand dollars for the lovely Ana! Going once. Going twice.” The MC invites Flynn to bid again, but he shakes his head and bows.

“Sold!” the MC cries out triumphantly, and the applause and cheering are deafening. I step forward and hold out my hand to Ana.

I’ve won my girl.

She beams at me with relief when she places her hand in mine. I help her down from the stage and kiss the back of her hand, then tuck it under my arm. We make our way to the exit of the pavilion, ignoring the catcalls and the shouts of congratulations.

“Who was that?” she asks.

“Someone you can meet later. Right now, I want to show you something. We have about twenty minutes until the First Dance Auction finishes. Then we have to be back on the dance floor so that I can enjoy that dance I’ve paid for.”

“A very expensive dance,” she observes dryly.

“I’m sure it’ll be worth every single cent.”

At last. I have her. Mia is still on the stage and unable to stop me now. I guide Ana across the lawn toward the dance floor, aware that two of the close protection guys are tailing us. The sounds of revelry fade behind us as I take her through the French doors that lead into the sitting room. I leave the doors open so the guys can follow us. From there we head into the hall and up two flights of stairs to my childhood bedroom.

It will be another first.

Inside, I lock the door. Security can wait outside. “This was my room.”

Ana stands in the center, drinking it all in: my posters, my bulletin board. Everything. Her eyes scan it all, then settle on me.

“I’ve never brought a girl in here.”

“Never?”

I shake my head. There’s an adolescent thrill running through me. A girl. In my room. What would my mom say?

Ana’s lips part in invitation. Her eyes are dark beneath her mask and they don’t leave mine. I saunter over to her.

“We don’t have long, Anastasia, and the way I’m feeling right this moment, we won’t need long. Turn around. Let me get you out of that dress.”

She spins around immediately.

“Keep the mask on,” I whisper in her ear.

She groans and I haven’t even touched her. I know that she’ll be craving relief after wearing the kegel balls for so long. I unzip her dress and help her out of it. I step back, drape it over a chair, and remove my jacket.

She’s wearing the corset.

And thigh-highs.

And heels.

And the mask.

She’s driven me to distraction during dinner.

“You know, Anastasia.” I move toward her, undoing my bow tie and then the shirt buttons at the collar. “I was so mad when you bought my auction lot. All manner of ideas ran through my head. I had to remind myself that punishment is off the menu. But then you volunteered.” Standing close, I stare down at her. “Why did you do that?”

I need to know.

“Volunteer?” Her voice is husky, revealing her desire. “I don’t know. Frustration. Too much alcohol. Worthy cause.”

She shrugs, and her eyes move to my mouth.

“I vowed to myself I would not spank you again, even if you begged me.”

“Please.”

“But then I realized you’re probably very uncomfortable at the moment, and it’s not something you’re used to.”

“Yes,” she answers, breathy and sexy and pleased, I think, that I know how she feels.

“So there might be a certain latitude. If I do this, you must promise me one thing.”

“Anything.”

“You will safe-word if you need to, and I will just make love to you, okay?”

She agrees readily.

I lead her to the bed, throw the comforter aside, and sit down as she stands before me in her mask and corset.

She looks sensational.

I grab a pillow and place it beside me. Taking her hand, I tug so that she falls across my lap, her chest on the pillow. I sweep her hair off her face and the mask.

There.

She looks glorious.

Now, to spice this up. “Put your hands behind your back.”

She scrambles to do my bidding and squirms on top of me.

Eager. I like that.

I tie her wrists with my tie. She’s helpless. In my power.

It’s exhilarating.

“You really want this, Anastasia?”

“Yes,” she stresses, clarifying her need.

But I still don’t get it. I thought all this was off the table.

“Why?” I ask as I caress her behind.

“Do I need a reason?”

“No, baby, you don’t. I’m just trying to understand you.”

Be in the moment, Grey.

She wants this. And so do you.

I stroke her ass once more, preparing myself. Preparing her.

Leaning over, I hold her down with my left hand and I smack her once with the other, just at the junction of her fine, fine ass and her thighs.

She moans an incoherent word.

It’s not a safe word.

I smack her again.

“Two. We’ll go with twelve.” I start counting.

I smooth her behind and spank her twice, once on each cheek. And I pull off her lacy panties, trailing them down her thighs, her knees, her calves, and over her Louboutins, where I discard them on the floor.

It’s arousing.

In every way.

Noting she’s no longer wearing the kegel balls, I spank her again, numbering each blow. She groans and writhes across my knees, her eyes shut beneath her mask. Her ass is a lovely shade of pink.

“Twelve,” I whisper when I’m done.

I caress her glowing ass and sink two fingers into her.

She’s wet.

So fucking wet.

So ready.

She moans as I rotate my fingers inside her and she comes, loudly, frantically, around them.

Wow. That’s quick. She’s such a sensual creature.

“That’s right, baby,” I murmur, and I untie her wrists. She’s panting, trying to catch her breath. “I’ve not finished with you yet, Anastasia.”

I’m now uncomfortable. I want her.

Badly.

Lowering her so that her knees touch the floor, I kneel behind her. I undo my zipper and yank down my underwear, freeing my eager erection. From my pants pocket, I extract a condom and pull my fingers out of my girl.

She whimpers.

I wrap my cock in latex. “Open your legs.” She complies and I ease into her. “This is going to be quick, baby,” I whisper. I hold her hips and slowly pull out of her, then I slam into her.

She cries out. With joy. With abandon. With ecstasy.

This is what she wants, and I’m only too happy to oblige. I thrust and thrust, and then she’s meeting me. Thrusting back.

Shit.

This is going to be even quicker than I thought. “Ana, no,” I warn. I want to prolong her pleasure. But she’s a greedy girl and she takes all she can. A voracious counterpoint to me.

“Ana, shit.” It’s a strangled cry as I come and it sets her off. She screams as her orgasm rips through her, pulling on me as I sink on to her.

Man, that was good.

I’m spent.

After all the teasing and the anticipation during that meal…this was inevitable. I kiss her shoulder and pull out of her and remove the condom, tossing it into the wastebasket by the bed. That will give my mother’s housekeeper something to think about.

Ana’s still in her mask, panting, smiling. She looks satiated. I kneel over her, resting my forehead on her back as we both find our equilibrium.

“Mmm,” I murmur in satisfaction, and plant a kiss on her flawless back. “I believe you owe me a dance, Miss Steele.”

She hums a contented response from somewhere deep in her throat. I sit back and pull her onto my lap.

“We don’t have long. Come on.” I kiss her hair. She moves off my lap and sits on the bed, beginning to dress as I do up my shirt and redo my bow tie.

Ana gets up and walks over to where I’ve placed her dress. Wearing only her mask, corset and shoes, she embodies sensuality. I knew she was a goddess, but this…She’s beyond all my expectations.

I love her.

I turn away, feeling suddenly vulnerable, and straighten the comforter on my bed.

The uneasy feeling ebbs like a receding tide as I finish and see Ana examining the photographs on my bulletin board. There are many—from all over the world. My parents were fond of a foreign vacation.

“Who’s this?” Ana asks, pointing to an old black-and-white photograph of the crack whore.

“No one of consequence.” I slip on my jacket and straighten my mask. I’d forgotten about that picture. Carrick gave it to me when I was sixteen. I’d tried several times to throw it away, but I could never quite bring myself to dispose of it.

“Son, I have something for you.”

“What?” I’m in Carrick’s study, expecting a dressing down. But for what I don’t know. I hope he hasn’t found out about Mrs. Lincoln.

“You seem calmer, more collected, more yourself these days.”

I nod, hoping that my expression gives nothing away.

“I was going through some old files and I found this.” He hands me a black-and-white photograph of a sad young woman. It’s like a gut punch.

The crack whore.

He studies my reaction. “We were given this at the time of the adoption.”

“Oh,” I manage to say through my closing throat.

“I thought you might want to see it. Do you recognize her?”

“Yes.” I squeeze the word out.

He nods, and I know he has something else to say.

What more does he have?

“I don’t have any information on your biological father. By all accounts he wasn’t part of your mother’s life in any way.”

He’s trying to tell me something…It wasn’t her fucking pimp?

Please tell me it wasn’t him.

“If you want to know anything else…I’m here.”

“That man?” I whisper.

“No. Nothing to do with you,” my dad says, to reassure me.

I close my eyes.

Thank fuck. Thank fuck. Thank fuck.

“Is that all, Dad? Can I go?”

“Of course.” Dad looks troubled, but he nods.

Clutching the photo, I leave his office. And I run. Run. Run. Run…

The crack whore was a sad and pathetic creature. She looks every bit the victim in this old black-and-white. I think it’s a police mug shot but with the numbers cut off. I wonder if things would have ended up differently for her if my parents’ charity had existed then. I shake my head. I don’t want to talk about her with Ana. “Shall I zip you up?” I ask, to change the subject.

“Please,” Ana says, and turns her back to me so I can zip up her dress. “Then why is she on your bulletin board?”

Anastasia Steele, you have an answer and a question for everything.

“An oversight on my part. How’s my tie?”

She examines my tie and her eyes soften. She reaches up and straightens it, pulling on both ends. “Now it’s perfect,” she says.

“Like you.” I fold her in my arms and kiss her. “Feeling better?”

“Much, thank you, Mr. Grey.”

“The pleasure was all mine, Miss Steele.”

I’m feeling grateful. Content.

I hold out my hand and she takes it with a shy but satisfied grin. I unlock the door and we head downstairs and back out to the gardens. I don’t know at which point our security joins us, but they follow us onto the terrace through the sitting room’s French doors. A few smokers are gathered there, puffing away, and they watch us with interest, but I ignore them and lead Ana toward the dance floor.

The MC announces, “And now, ladies and gentlemen, it’s time for the first dance. Mr. and Dr. Grey, are you ready?” Carrick nods, my mother in his arms. “Ladies and gentlemen of the First Dance Auction, are you ready?” I circle Ana’s waist and peer down at her, and she grins.

“Then we shall begin,” the MC declares with gusto. “Take it away, Sam!” The band leader bounds across the stage, turns to the band and snaps his fingers, and the band begins a cheesy version of “I’ve Got You Under My Skin.” I pull Ana close as we start to dance and she falls easily into step with me. She’s captivating as I twirl her around the dance floor, and we grin at each other like the lovesick fools we are…

Have I ever felt like this?

Buoyant?

Happy?

Master of the fucking universe.

“I love this song,” I tell her. “Seems very fitting.”

“You’re under my skin, too. Or you were in your bedroom.”

Ana! I’m shocked.

“Miss Steele, I had no idea you could be so crude.”

“Mr. Grey, neither did I. I think it’s all my recent experiences,” she says with a mischievous smile. “They’ve been an education.”

“For both of us.” I take her for a spin around the dance floor once more. The song finishes, and reluctantly I release her to applaud.

“May I cut in?” Flynn asks, appearing from nowhere. He has some explaining to do after the charade at the auction, but I step aside.

“Be my guest. Anastasia, this is John Flynn. John, Anastasia.”

Ana shoots me a nervous look and I retreat to the sidelines to watch. Flynn opens his arms and Ana takes his hand as the band strikes up “They Can’t Take That Away from Me.”

Ana is animated in John’s arms. I wonder what they are talking about.

Me?

Shit.

My anxiety returns in full force.

I have to face the reality that once Ana knows all my secrets, she’ll leave, and that trying things her way is just prolonging the inevitable.

But John wouldn’t be so indiscreet, surely.

“Hello, darling,” Grace says, interrupting my dark thoughts.

“Mother.”

“Are you enjoying yourself?” She’s also watching Ana and John.

“Very much.”

Grace has taken off her mask. “What a generous donation from your young friend,” she says, but there’s a slight edge to her voice.

“Yes,” I respond dryly.

“I thought she was a student.”

“Mom, it’s a long story.”

“I figured as much.”

Something is off. “What is it, Grace? Spit it out.”

She tentatively reaches out to touch my arm. “You look happy, darling.”

“I am.”

“I think she’s good for you.”

“I think so, too.”

“I hope she doesn’t hurt you.”

“Why would you say that?”

“She’s young.”

“Mother, what are you—”

A female guest wearing the most garish gown I’ve ever seen approaches Grace.

“Christian, this is my friend Pamela, from book club.”

We exchange pleasantries, but I want to grill my mother. What the hell is she trying to imply about Ana? The music is coming to an end, and I know I need to rescue Anastasia from my psychiatrist.

“This conversation isn’t over,” I warn Grace and head over to where Ana and John have stopped dancing.

What is my mother trying to tell me?

“It’s been a pleasure to meet you, Anastasia,” Flynn says to Ana.

“John.” I nod in greeting.

“Christian.” Flynn acknowledges me and excuses himself—to find his wife, no doubt. I’m confounded by the exchange I’ve just had with my mother. I sweep Ana into my arms for the next dance.

“He’s much younger than I expected,” Ana says. “And terribly indiscreet.”

Fuck. “Indiscreet?”

“Oh yes, he told me everything,” she discloses.

Shit. Did he really do this? I test Ana to see how much damage he’s done. “Well, in that case, I’ll get your bag. I’m sure you want nothing more to do with me.”

Ana stops dancing. “He didn’t tell me anything!” she exclaims, and I think she wants to shake me.

Oh, thank God.

I place my hand on the small of her back as the band launches into “The Very Thought of You.” “Then let’s enjoy this dance.”

And I’m an idiot. Of course Flynn wouldn’t break any professional confidences. And as Ana matches me step for step, my spirit soars and my anxiety dissipates. I had no idea I could enjoy dancing so much.

It amazes me how poised Ana is tonight on the dance floor, and for a moment I’m back in the apartment after our first night together, watching her doing a little jig with her headphones on. She was so uncoordinated then—such a contrast to the Ana who’s here with me now, following my lead perfectly and enjoying herself.

The band segues into “You Don’t Know Me.”

It’s slower. It’s melancholy. It’s bittersweet.

It’s a warning.

Ana. You don’t know me.

And as I hold her and we sway together, I silently beg her forgiveness for a sin she knows nothing about. For something she must never know about.

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.