Darker (15 page)

“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.”