[English] FIFTY SHADES DARKER (50 sắc thái 2)

Fifty Shades Darker
Chapter Ten



"Mac will be back soon," he murmurs.

"Hmm." My eyes flicker open to meet his soft gray gaze. Lord, his eyes are an amazing color - especially here, out on the sea - reflecting the light bouncing off the water through the small portholes into the cabin.

"As much as I'd like to lie here with you all afternoon, he'll need a hand with the din-ghy." Leaning over, Christian kisses me tenderly. "Ana, you look so beautiful right now, all mussed up and ***y. Makes me want you more." He smiles and rises from the bed. I lay on my front admiring the view.

"You ain't so bad yourself, captain." I smack my lips in admiration and he grins.

I watch him move gracefully about the cabin as he dresses. He really is divinely beautiful, and what's more, he's just made such sweet love to me again. I can hardly believe my good fortune. I can't quite believe that this man is mine. He sits down beside me to put on his shoes.

"Captain, eh?" he says dryly. "Well, I am master of this vessel."

I **** my head to one side. "You are master of my heart, Mr. Grey." And my body...

and my soul.

He shakes his head incredulously and bends to kiss me. "I'll be on deck. There's a shower in the bathroom if you want one. Do you need anything? A drink?" he asks solici-tously, and all I can do is grin at him. Is this the same man? Is this the same Fifty?

"What?" he says, reacting to my stupid grin.

"You."

"What about me?"

"Who are you and what have you done with Christian?"

He lips twitch with a sad smile.

"He's not very far away, baby," he says softly, and there's a touch of melancholy in his voice that makes me instantly regret asking the question. But he shakes it off. "You'll see him soon enough" - he smirks at me - "especially if you don't get up." Reaching over, he smacks me hard on my behind so I yelp and laugh at the same time.

"You had me worried."

"Did I, now?" Christian's brow creases. "You do give off some mixed signals, Anastasia. How's a man supposed to keep up?" He leans down and kisses me again. "Laters, baby," he adds, and with a dazzling smile, he gets up and leaves me to my scattered thoughts.

When I surface on deck, Mac is back on board, but he disappears onto the upper deck as I open the saloon doors. Christian is on his Blackberry. Talking to whom? I wonder. He wanders over and pulls me close, kissing my hair.

"Great news... good. Yeah... Really? The fire escape stairwell?... I see... Yes, tonight."

He hits the end button, and the sound of the engines firing up startles me. Mac must be in the ****pit above.

"Time to head back," Christian says, kissing me once more as he straps me into my lifejacket.

The sun is low in the sky behind us as we make our way back to the marina, and I reflect on a wonderful afternoon. Under Christian's careful, patient tuition, I have now stowed a mainsail, a headsail, and a spinnaker and learned to tie a reef knot, clove hitch, and sheep-shank. His lips were twitching throughout the lesson.

"I may tie you up one day," I mutter crabbily.

His mouth twists with humor. "You'll have to catch me first, Miss Steele."

His words bring to mind him chasing me round the apartment, the thrill, then the hideous aftermath. I frown and shudder. After that, I left him.

Would I leave him again now that he's admitted he loves me? I gaze up into his clear gray eyes. Could I ever leave him again - no matter what he did to me? Could I betray him like that? No. I don't think I could.

He's given me a more thorough tour of this beautiful boat, explaining all the innova-tive designs and techniques, and the high-quality materials used to build it. I remember the interview when I first met him. I picked up then on his passion for ships. I thought his love was only for the ocean-going freighters his company builds - not for super-***y, sleek catamarans, too.

And, of course, he's made sweet, unhurried love to me. I shake my head, remembering my body bowed and wanting beneath his expert hands. He is an exceptional lover, I'm sure - though, of course, I have no comparison. But Kate would have raved more if it was always like this; it's not like her to hold back on details.

But how long will this be enough for him? I just don't know, and the thought is unnerving.

Now he sits, and I stand in the safe circle of his arms for hours, it seems, in comfortable, companionable silence as The Grace glides closer and closer to Seattle. I have the wheel, Christian advising on adjustments every so often.

"There is poetry in sailing as old as the world,"1 he murmurs in my ear.

"That sounds like a quote."

I sense his grin. "It is. Antoine de Saint-Exupery."

"Oh... I adore The Little Prince."

"Me, too."

It is early evening as Christian, his hands still on mine, steers us into the marina. There are lights winking from the boats, reflecting off the dark water, but it is still light - a balmy, bright evening, an overture for what is sure to be a spectacular sunset.

A crowd gathers on the dockside as Christian slowly turns the boat around in a rela-tively small space. He does it with ease and reverses smoothly into the same berth we left earlier. Mac jumps on to the dock and ties The Grace securely to a bollard.

"Back again," Christian murmurs.

"Thank you," I murmur shyly. "That was a perfect afternoon."

Christian grins. "I thought so, too. Perhaps we can enroll you in sailing school, so we can go out for a few days, just the two of us."

"I'd love that. We can christen the bedroom again and again."

He leans forward and kisses me under my ear. "Hmm... I look forward to it, Anastasia," he whispers, making every single hair follicle on my body stand to attention.

How does he do that?

"Come, the apartment is clean. We can go back."

"What about our things at the hotel?"

"Taylor has collected them already."

Oh! When?

"Earlier today, after he did a sweep of The Grace with his team." Christian answers my unspoken question.

"Does that poor man ever sleep?"

1 de Saint-Exupery, Antoine. Night Flight. Translated by Stuart Gilbert. New Jersey: Prentice Hall, June 1932. (First published in 1931 under the original title of Vol de nuit. )

"He sleeps." Christian quirks an eyebrow at me, puzzled. "He's just doing his job, Anastasia, which he's very good at. Jason is a real find."

"Jason?"

"Jason Taylor."

I remember when I thought Taylor was his first name. Jason. It suits him - solid, reliable. For some reason it makes me smile.

"You're fond of Taylor," Christian says, eyeing me with speculation.

"I suppose I am." His question derails me. He frowns. "I'm not attracted to him, if that's why you're frowning. Stop."

Christian is almost pouting - sulky.

Jeez, he's such a child sometimes. "I think Taylor looks after you very well. That's why I like him. He seems kind, reliable and loyal. He has an avuncular appeal to me."

"Avuncular?"

"Yes."

"Okay, avuncular." Christian is testing the word and meaning. I laugh.

"Oh, Christian, grow up, for heaven's sake."

His mouth drops open, surprised by my outburst, but then he frowns as if considering my statement. "I'm trying," he says eventually.

"That you are. Very." I answer softly but then roll my eyes at him.

"What memories you evoke when you roll your eyes at me, Anastasia." He grins.

I smirk at him. "Well, if you behave yourself, maybe we can relive some of those memories."

His mouth twists with humor. "Behave myself?" He raises his eyebrows. "Really, Miss Steele - what makes you think I want to relive them?"

"Probably the way your eyes lit up like Christmas when I said that."

"You know me so well already," he says dryly.

"I'd like to know you better."

He smiles softly. "And I you, Anastasia."

"Thanks, Mac." Christian shakes McConnell's hand and steps on the dock.

"Always a pleasure, Mr. Grey, and good-bye. Ana, great to meet you."

I shake his hand shyly. He must know what Christian and I were up to on the boat while he went ashore.

"Good day, Mac, and thank you."

He grins at me and winks, making me flush. Christian takes my hand, and we walk up the dock to the marina's promenade.

"Where's Mac from?" I ask, curious about his accent.

"Ireland... Northern Ireland," Christian corrects himself.

"Is he your friend?"

"Mac? He works for me. Helped build The Grace."

"Do you have many friends?"

He frowns. "Not really. Doing what I do... I don't cultivate friendships. There's only - " He stops, his frown deepening, and I know he was going to mention Mrs. Robinson."Hungry?" he asks, trying to change the subject.

I nod. Actually, I'm famished.

"We'll eat where I left the car. Come."

Next to SP's is a small Italian bistro...

Fifty Shades Darker
Chapter Eleven



With easy grace, Christian taps the white ball so that it glides across the table, kisses the black and oh-so-slowly the black rolls, teeters on the edge, and finally drops into the top right pocket of the billiard table.

Damn.

He stands, and his mouth twists in a triumphant I-so-own-you-Steele smile. Putting down his cue, he saunters casually toward me, all tousled hair, jeans, and white T-shirt. He doesn't look like a CEO - he looks like a bad boy from the wrong side of town. Holy cow, he's so ****ing ***y.

"You're not going to be a sore loser, are you?" he murmurs, barely containing his grin.

"Depends how hard you spank me," I whisper, holding on to my cue for support. He takes my cue and puts it to one side, hooks his finger into the top of my shirt, and pulls me toward him.

"Well, let's count your misdemeanors, Miss Steele." He counts on his long fingers.

"One, making me jealous of my own staff. Two, arguing with me about working. And three, waving your delectable derriere at me for the last twenty minutes."

His eyes glow a soft gray with excitement, and leaning down, he rubs his nose against mine. "I want you to take your jeans and this very fetching shirt off. Now." He plants a feather-soft kiss on my lips, wanders nonchalantly over to the door, and locks it.

Oh my.

When he turns and gazes at me, his eyes are burning. I stand paralyzed like a complete zombie, my heart pounding, my blood pumping, not actually able to move a muscle. In my mind, all I can think is - this is for him - the thought repeating like a mantra over and over again.

"Clothes, Anastasia. You appear to still be wearing them. Take them off - or I will do it for you."

"You do it." I finally find my voice, and it sounds low and heated. Christian grins.

"Oh, Miss Steele. It's a dirty job, but I think I can rise to the challenge."

"You normally rise to most challenges, Mr. Grey." I raise an eyebrow at him, and he smirks.

"Why, Miss Steele, whatever do you mean?" On his way over to me, he pauses at the small desk built into one of the bookshelves. Reaching over, he picks up a twelve-inch Perspex ruler. He holds each end and flexes it, his eyes not leaving mine.

Holy **** - his weapon of choice. My mouth goes dry.

Suddenly, I'm hot and bothered and damp in all the right places. Only Christian could turn me on with just a look and the flex of a ruler. He slips it into the back pocket of his jeans and ambles toward me, eyes dark and full of promise. Without saying a word, he drops to his knees in front of me and starts to undo my laces, quickly and efficiently, dragging both my Converse and socks off. I lean on the side of the billiard table so I don't fall.

Gazing down at him as he undoes my laces, I marvel at the depth of feeling that I have for this beautiful flawed man. I love him.

He grabs my hips, slips his fingers into the waistband of my jeans, and undoes the button and zipper. He peers up through his long lashes, grinning his most salacious grin as he slowly peels my jeans off. I step out of them, glad that I'm wearing these pretty, pretty panties, and he grasps the back of my legs and runs his nose along the apex of my thighs.

I practically melt.

"I want to be quite rough with you, Ana. You'll have to tell me to stop if it's too much,"

he breathes.

Oh my. He kisses me... there. I moan softly.

"Safe word?" I murmur.

"No, no safe word, just tell me to stop, and I'll stop. Understand?" He kisses me again, nuzzling me. Oh, that feels good. He stands, his stare intense. "Answer me," he orders his voice velvet soft.

"Yes, yes, I understand." I'm puzzled by his insistence.

"You've been dropping hints and giving me mixed signals all day, Anastasia," he says.

"You said you were worried I'd lost my edge. I'm not sure what you meant by that, and I don't know how serious you were, but we are going to find out. I don't want to go back into the playroom yet, so we can try this now, but if you don't like it, you must promise to tell me." A burning intensity born of his anxiety replaces his earlier ****iness.

Whoa, please don't be anxious, Christian. "I'll tell you. No safe word," I reiterate to reassure him.

"We're lovers, Anastasia. Lovers don't need safe words." He frowns. "Do they?"

"I guess not," I murmur. Jeez - how do I know? "I promise."

He searches my face for any clue that I might lack the courage of my convictions, and I'm nervous but excited, too. I'm much happier to do this, knowing that he loves me. It's very simple to me, and right now, I don't want to overthink it.

A slow smile stretches across his face, and he starts to unbutton my shirt, his deft fingers making short work of it, though he doesn't take it off. He leans over and picks up the cue. Oh ****, what's he going to do with that? A frisson of fear runs through me.

"You play well, Miss Steele. I must say I'm surprised. Why don't you sink the black?"

My fear forgotten, I pout, wondering why the hell he should be surprised - ***y, arrogant bastard. My inner goddess is limbering up in the background, doing her floor exercises - a great fat smile on her face.

I position the white ball. Christian strolls back around the table and stands right behind me as I lean over to take my shot. He places his hand on my right thigh and runs his fingers up and down my leg, up to my behind and back again, lightly stroking me.

"I am going to miss if you keep doing that," I whisper, closing my eyes and relishing the feel of his hands on me.

"I don't care if you hit or miss, baby. I just wanted to see you like this - partially dressed, stretched out on my billiard table. Do you have any idea how hot you look at the moment?"

I flush, and my inner goddess grabs a rose between her teeth and starts to tango. Taking a deep breath, I try to ignore him and line up my shot. It's impossible. He caresses my behind, over and over again.

"Top left," I murmur, then hit the white ball. He smacks me hard, squarely on my backside.

It's so unexpected, I yelp. The white hits the black, which bounces off the cushion wide of the pocket. Christian caresses my behind again.

"Oh, I think you need to try that again," he whispers. "You should concentrate, Anastasia."

I am panting now, excited by this game. He strolls to the end of the table, sets up the black ball again, then runs the white ball back down to me. He looks so carnal, dark eyed with a lascivious smile. How could I ever resist this man? I catch the ball and line it up, ready to strike again.

"Uh-uh," he admonishes. "Just wait." Oh, he just loves prolonging the agony. He wanders back and stands behind me again. I close my eyes once more as he strokes my left thigh this time then fondles my backside again.

"Take aim," he breathes.

I can't help my moan as desire twists and turns inside me. And I try, really try, to think about where I should hit the black with the white. I shift slightly to my right, and he follows me. I bend over the table once more. Using every last vestige of inner strength - which has diminished considerably since I know what will happen once I strike the white ball - I take aim and hit the white again. Christian smacks me once more, hard.

Ow! I miss again. "Oh no! " I groan.

"Once more, baby. And if you miss this time, I'm really going to let you have it."

What? Have what?

He sets up the black ball once more and walks, achingly slow, back to me until he's standing behind me, caressing my backside once more.

"You can do it," he coaxes.

Oh - not when you're distracting me like this. I push my behind back against his hand, and he smacks me lightly.

"Eager, Miss Steele?" he murmurs.

Yes. I want you.

"Well, let's get rid of these." He gently slides my panties down my thighs and off. I can't see what he does with them, but he leaves me feeling exposed as he plants a soft kiss on each cheek.

"Take the shot, baby."

I want to whimper, this is so not going to happen. I know I am going to miss. I line up the white, hit it, and in my impatience, miss the black completely. I wait for the blow - but it doesn't come. Instead he leans right over me, flattening me against the table, takes the cue out of my hand and rolls it to the side cushion. I can feel him, hard, against my backside.

"You missed," he says softly in my ear. My cheek is pressed against the baize. "Put your hands flat on the table."

I do as he says.

"Good. I'm going to spank you now and next time, maybe you won't." He shifts so he's standing to my left side, his erection against my hip.

I groan and my heart leaps into my mouth. My breath comes in short pants and a hot, heavy excitement courses through my veins. Gently, he caresses my behind and curls his other hand around the nape of my neck, his fingers fisting in my hair, his elbow at my back, holding me down. I am completely helpless.

"Open your legs," he murmurs and for a moment, I hesitate. And he smacks me hard -

with the ruler! The noise is harsher than the sting, and it takes me by surprise. I gasp, and he hits me again.

"Legs,"...

Fifty Shades Darker
Chapter Twelve



"Did you talk to her today?" I ask Christian as we wait for Mrs. Robinson's arrival.

"Yes."

"What did you say?"

"I said that you didn't want to see her, and that I understood your reasons why. I also told her that I didn't appreciate her going behind my back." His gaze is impassive, giving nothing away.

Oh, good. "What did she say?"

"She brushed it off in a way that only Elena can." His mouth flattens to a crooked line.

"Why do you think she's here?"

"I have no idea." Christian shrugs.

Taylor enters the great room again. "Mrs. Lincoln," he announces.

And here she is... Why is she so damned attractive? She's dressed entirely in black: tight jeans, a shirt that emphasizes her perfect figure, and a halo of bright, glossy hair.

Christian pulls me close. "Elena," he says, his tone puzzled.

She gapes at me in shock, frozen to the spot. She blinks before finding her soft voice.

"I'm sorry. I didn't realize you had company, Christian. It's Monday," she says as if this explains why she's here.

"Girlfriend," he says by way of explanation and tilts his head to one side and smirks.

She smiles, a slow, beaming smile directed entirely at him. It's unnerving.

"Of course. Hello, Anastasia. I didn't know you'd be here. I know you don't want to talk to me. I accept that."

"Do you?" I assert quietly, gazing at her and taking all of us by surprise. With a slight frown, she moves farther into the room.

"Yes, I get the message. I'm not here to see you. Like I said, Christian rarely has company during the week." She pauses. "I have a problem, and I need to talk to Christian about it." "Oh?" Christian straightens up. "Do you want a drink?"

"Yes, please," she murmurs gratefully.

Christian fetches a glass while Elena and I stand awkwardly gazing at each other. She fidgets with a large silver ring on her middle finger, while I don't know where to look.

Finally, she gives me a small tight smile and approaches the kitchen island and sits on the bar stool at the end. She obviously knows the place well and feels comfortable moving around here.

Do I stay? Do I go? Oh, this is so difficult. My subconscious scowls at the woman with her most hostile harpy face.

There's so much I want to say to this woman, and none of it complimentary. But she's Christian's friend - his only friend - and for all my loathing of this woman, I am innately polite. Deciding to stay, I sit as gracefully as I can manage on the stool Christian's vacated.

Christian pours wine into each of our glasses and sits between us at the breakfast bar. Can't he feel how weird this is?

"What's up?" he asks her.

Elena looks nervously at me, and Christian reaches over and clasps my hand.

"Anastasia's with me now," he says to her silent query and squeezes my hand. I flush, and my subconscious beams at him, harpy face forgotten.

Elena's face softens as if she's pleased for him. Really pleased for him. Oh, I don't understand this woman at all, and I'm uncomfortable and edgy in her presence.

She takes a deep breath and shifts, perching on the edge of her bar stool and looking agitated. She glances nervously down at her hands and starts manically twisting the large silver ring around and around on her middle finger.

Jeez, what's wrong with her? Is it my presence? Do I have that effect on her? Because I feel the same way - I don't want her here. She raises her head and looks Christian squarely in the eye.

"I'm being blackmailed."

Holy ****. Not what I expected out of her mouth. Christian stiffens. Has someone found out about her penchant for beating and ****ing underage boys? I suppress my revulsion, and a fleeting thought about chickens coming home to roost crosses my mind. My subconscious rubs her hands together with ill-disguised glee. Good.

"How?" Christian asks, his horror clear in his voice.

She reaches into her oversized, patent-leather, designer purse, pulls out a note, and hands it to him.

"Put it down, lay it out." Christian points to the breakfast bar counter with his chin.

"You don't want to touch it?'

"No. Fingerprints."

"Christian, you know I can't go to the police with this."

Why am I listening to this? Is she ****ing some other poor boy?

She lays the note out for him, and he bends to read it.

"They're only asking for five thousand dollars," he says almost absentmindedly. "Any idea who it might be? Someone in the community?"

"No," she says in her soft sweet voice.

"Linc?"

Linc? Who's that?

"What - after all this time? I don't think so," she grumbles.

"Does Isaac know?"

"I haven't told him."

Who's Isaac?

"I think he needs to know," Christian says. She shakes her head, and now I feel I'm intruding. I want none of this. I try to retrieve my hand from Christian's grasp, but he just tightens his hold and turns to gaze at me.

"What?" he asks.

"I'm tired. I think I'll go to bed."

His eyes search mine, looking for what? Censure? Acceptance? Hostility? I keep my expression as bland as possible.

"Okay," he says. "I won't be long."

He releases me and I stand. Elena watches me warily. I stay tightlipped and return her gaze, giving nothing away.

"Goodnight, Anastasia." She gives me a small smile.

"Goodnight," I mutter, my voice sounds cold. I turn to leave. The tension is too much for me to bear. As I exit the room they continue their conversation.

"I don't think there's a great deal I can do, Elena," Christian says to her. "If it's a question of money." His voice trails off. "I could ask Welch to investigate."

"No, Christian, I just wanted to share," she says.

When I am out of the room, I hear her say, "You look very happy."

"I am," Christian responds.

"You deserve to be."

"I wish that were true."

"Christian," she scolds.

I freeze, listening intently. I can't help it.

"Does she know how negative you are about yourself? About all your issues."

"She knows me better than anyone."

"Ouch! That hurts."

"It's the truth, Elena. I don't have to play games with her. And I mean it, leave her alone."

"What is her problem?"

"You... What we were. What we did. She doesn't understand."

"Make her understand."

"It's in the past, Elena, and why would I want to taint her with our ****ed-up relationship? She's good and sweet and innocent, and by some miracle she loves me."

"It's no miracle, Christian," Elena scoffs good-naturedly. "Have a little faith in yourself. You really are quite a catch. I've told you often enough. And she seems lovely, too.

Strong. Someone to stand up to you."

I can't hear Christian's response. So I'm strong, am I? I certainly don't feel that way.

"Don't you miss it?" Elena continues.

"What?"

"Your playroom."

I stop breathing.

"That really is none of your ****ing business," Christian snaps.

Oh.

"I'm sorry." Elena snorts insincerely.

"I think you'd better go. And please, call before you come again."

"Christian, I am sorry," she says, and from her tone, this time she means it. "Since when are you so sensitive?" She's scolding him again.

"Elena, we have a business relationship which has profited us both immensely. Let's keep it that way. What was between us is part of the past. Anastasia is my future, and I won't jeopardize it in any way, so cut the ****ing crap."

His future!

"I see."

"Look, I'm sorry for your trouble. Perhaps you should ride it out and call their bluff."

His tone is softer.

"I don't want to lose you, Christian."

"I'm not yours to lose, Elena," he snaps again.

"That's not what I meant."

"What did you mean?" He's brusque, angry.

"Look, I don't want to argue with you. Your friendship means a lot to me. I'll back off from Anastasia. But I'm here if you need me. I always will be."

"Anastasia thinks that you saw me last Saturday. You called, that's all. Why did you tell her otherwise?"

"I wanted her to know how upset you were when she left. I don't want her to hurt you."

"She knows. I've told her. Stop interfering. Honestly, you're like a mother hen." Christian sounds more resigned, and Elena laughs, but there's a sad tone to her laugh.

"I know. I'm sorry. You know I care about you. I never thought you'd end up falling in love, Christian. It's very gratifying to see. But I couldn't bear it if she hurt you."

"I'll take my chances," he says dryly. "Now are you sure you don't want Welch to sniff...

Fifty Shades Darker
Chapter Thirteen



Holy ****.

She's here, gazing at me with an unnerving blank expression, holding a gun. My subconscious swoons into a dead faint, and I don't think even smelling salts will bring her back.

I blink repeatedly at Leila as my mind goes into overdrive. How did she get in? Where's Ethan? Holy ****! Where is Ethan?

A creeping cold fear grips my heart, and my scalp prickles as each and every follicle on my head tightens with terror. What if she's harmed him? I start breathing rapidly as adrenaline and bone-numbing dread course through my body. Keep calm, keep calm - I repeat the mantra over and over in my head.

She tilts her head to one side, regarding me as if I'm an exhibit in a freak show. Jeez, I'm not the freak here.

It feels like an eon has passed while I process all this, though in reality it is only a split second. Leila's expression remains blank, and her appearance is as scruffy and ill-kempt as ever. She's still wearing that grubby trench coat, and she looks desperately in need of a wash. Her hair is greasy and lank, plastered against her head, and her eyes are a dull brown, cloudy, and vaguely confused.

Despite the fact that my mouth has no moisture in it whatsoever, I attempt to speak.

"Hi. Leila, isn't it?" I rasp. She smiles, but it's a disturbing curl of her lip rather than a true smile.

"She speaks," she whispers, and her voice is soft and hoarse at the same time, an eerie sound.

"Yes, I speak," I say gently as if to a child. "Are you here alone?" Where is Ethan? My heart pounds at the thought that he might have come to some harm.

Her face falls, so much so that I think she's about to burst into tears - she looks so forlorn.

"Alone," she whispers. "Alone." And the depth of sadness in that one word is heart wrenching. What does she mean? I am alone? She's alone? She's alone because she's harmed Ethan? Oh... no... I have to fight the choking fear clawing at my throat as tears threaten.

"What are you doing here? Can I help you?" My words are a calm, gentle interrogation despite the suffocating fear in my throat. Her brow furrows as if she's completely befuddled by my questions. But she makes no violent move against me. Her hand is still relaxed around her gun. I take a different tack, trying to ignore my tightening scalp.

"Would you like some tea?" Why am I asking her if she wants tea? It's Ray's answer to any emotional situation, resurfacing inappropriately. Jeez, he'd have a fit if he saw me right this minute. His army training would have kicked in, and he'd have disarmed her by now. She's not actually pointing that gun at me. Perhaps I can move. She shakes her head and tilts it from side to side as if stretching her neck.

I take a deep precious lungful of air, trying to calm my panicked breathing, and move toward the kitchen island. She frowns as if she can't quite understand what I am doing and shifts a little so she is still facing me. I reach the kettle and with a shaking hand fill it from the faucet. As I move, my breathing eases. Yes, if she wanted me dead, surely she would have shot me by now. She watches me with an absent, bemused curiosity. As I switch on the kettle, I'm plagued by the thought of Ethan. Is he hurt? Tied up?

"Is there anyone else in the apartment?" I ask tentatively.

She inclines her head the other way, and with her right hand - the hand not holding the revolver - she grabs a strand of her long greasy hair and starts twirling and fiddling with it, pulling and twisting. It's obviously a nervous habit, and while I am distracted by this, I am struck once again by how much she resembles me. I hold my breath, waiting for her answer, the anxiety building to an almost unbearable pitch.

"Alone. All alone," she murmurs. I find this comforting. Maybe Ethan isn't here. The relief is empowering.

"Are you sure you don't want tea or coffee?"

"Not thirsty," she answers softly, and she takes a cautious step toward me. My feeling of empowerment evaporates. ****! I start panting with fear again, feeling it surge thick and rough through my veins. In spite of this and feeling beyond brave, I turn and fetch a couple of cups from the cupboard.

"What do you have that I don't?" she asks, her voice assuming the singsong intonation of a child.

"What do you mean, Leila?" I ask as gently as I can.

"Master - Mr. Grey - he lets you call him by his given name."

"I'm not his submissive, Leila. Er... Master understands that I am unable, inadequate to fulfill that role."

She tilts her head to the other side. It's wholly unnerving and unnatural as a gesture.

"In-ad-e-quate." She tests the word, sounding it out, seeing how it feels on her tongue.

"But Master is happy. I have seen him. He laughs and smiles. These reactions are rare...

very rare for him."

Oh.

"You look like me." Leila changes tack, surprising me, her eyes seeming to focus on me properly for the first time. "Master likes obedient ones who look like you and me. The others, all the same... all the same... and yet you sleep in his bed. I saw you."

****! She was in the room. I didn't imagine it.

"You saw me in his bed?" I whisper.

"I never slept in Master's bed," she murmurs. She's like a fallen ethereal wraith. Half a person. She looks so slight, and in spite of the fact that she's holding a gun, I suddenly feel overwhelmed with sympathy for her. Her hands flex around the weapon, and my eyes widen, threatening to pop from my head.

"Why does Master like us like this? It makes me think something... something...

Master is dark... Master is a dark man, but I love him."

No, no, he's not. I bristle internally. He's not dark. He's a good man, and he's not in the dark. He's joined me in the light. And now she's here, trying to drag him back with some warped idea that she loves him.

"Leila, do you want to give me the gun?" I ask softly. Her hand grips it tightly, and she hugs it to her chest.

"This is mine. It's all I have left." She gently caresses the gun. "So she can join her love."

Holy ****! Which love - Christian? It's like she's punched me in the stomach. I know he will be here momentarily to find out what's keeping me. Does she mean to shoot him?

The thought is so horrific, I feel my throat swell and ache as a huge knot forms there, almost choking me, matching the fear that's balled tightly in my stomach.

Right on cue the door bursts open, and Christian is standing in the doorway, Taylor behind him.

Glancing at me briefly, Christian's eyes sweep over me from head to toe, and I notice the small spark of relief in his look. But his relief is fleeting as his gaze darts to Leila and stills, focusing on her, not wavering in the slightest. He glares at her with an intensity I have not seen before, his eyes wild, wide, angry, and scared.

Oh no... oh no.

Leila's eyes widen, and for a moment, it seems her reason returns. She blinks rapidly while her hand tightens once more around the gun.

My breath catches in my throat, and my heart starts thumping so loud that I hear the blood pounding in my ears. No, no, no!

My world teeters precariously in the hands of this poor, ****ed-up woman. Will she shoot? Both of us? Christian? The thought is crippling.

But after an eternity, as time hangs suspended around us, her head dips slightly and she gazes up at him, through her long lashes, her expression contrite.

Christian holds up his hand, signaling to Taylor to stay where he is. Taylor's blanched face betrays his fury. I have never seen him like this, but he stands stock-still as Christian and Leila stare at each other.

I realize I'm holding my breath. What will she do? What will he do? But they just continue to stare at each other. Christian's expression is raw, full of some unnamed emotion. It could be pity, fear, affection... or is it love? No, please, not love!

His eyes bore into her, and agonizingly slowly, the atmosphere in the apartment changes. The tension is building so that I can sense their connection, the charge between them .

No! Suddenly I feel I'm the interloper, intruding on them as they stand gazing at each other. I'm an outsider - a voyeur, spying on a forbidden, intimate scene behind closed curtains.

Christian's intense gaze burns brighter, and his bearing changes subtly. He looks taller, more angular somehow, colder, and more distant. I recognize this stance. I've seen him like this before - in his playroom.

My scalp prickles anew. This is Dominant Christian, and how at ease he looks. Whether he was born to or made for this role, I just don't know, but with a sinking heart and sickened stomach, I watch as Leila responds, her lips parting, her breathing picking up as the first flush of color stains her cheeks. No! It's such an unwelcome glimpse into his past, agonizing to witness.

Finally, he mouths a word at her. I can't make out what it is, but the effect on Leila is immediate. She drops to the floor on her knees, her head bowed, and the gun falls and skit-ters uselessly across the wooden floor. Holy ****.

Christian walks calmly over to where the gun has fallen and bends gracefully to pick it up. He regards it with ill-disguised disgust then slips it into his jacket pocket. He gazes once more at Leila...

Fifty Shades Darker
Chapter Fourteen



Christian on his knees at my feet, holding me with his steady gray gaze, is the most chilling and sobering sight I have ever seen - more so than Leila and her gun. The vague alcoholic fuzziness I'm suffering from evaporates in an instant and is replaced by a prickling scalp and a creeping sense of doom as the blood drains from my face.

I inhale sharply with shock. No. No, this is wrong, so wrong and so disturbing.

"Christian, please, don't do this. I don't want this."

He continues to regard me passively, not moving, saying nothing.

Oh ****. My poor Fifty. My heart squeezes and twists. What the hell have I done to him? Tears prick my eyes.

"Why are you doing this? Talk to me," I whisper.

He blinks once.

"What would you like me to say?" he says softly, blandly, and for a moment I'm relieved that he's talking, but not like this - no. No.

Tears begin to ooze down my cheeks, and suddenly it is too much to see him in the same prostrate position as the pathetic creature that was Leila. The image of a powerful man who's really still a little boy, who was horrifically abused and neglected, who feels unworthy of love from his perfect family and his much-less-than perfect girlfriend... my lost boy... it's heartbreaking.

Compassion, loss, and despair all swell in my heart, and I feel a choking sense of desperation. I am going to have to fight to bring him back, to bring back my Fifty.

The thought of me dominating anyone is appalling. The thought of dominating Christian is nauseating. It would make me like her - the woman who did this to him.

I shudder at that thought, fighting the bile in my throat. No way can I do that. No way do I want that.

As my thoughts clear, I can see only one way. Not taking my eyes off his, I sink to my knees in front of him.

The wooden floor is hard against my shins, and I dash my tears away roughly with the back of my hand.

Like this, we are equals. We're on a level. This is the only way I'm going to retrieve him.His eyes widen fractionally as I stare up at him, but beyond that his expression and stance don't change.

"Christian, you don't have to do this," I plead. "I'm not going to run. I've told you and told you and told you, I won't run." All that's happened... it's overwhelming. I just need some time to think... some time to myself. Why do you always assume the worst?" My heart clenches again because I know; it's because he's so doubting, so full of self-loathing.

Elena's words come back to haunt me. "Does she know how negative you are about yourself? About all your issues?"

Oh, Christian. Fear grips my heart once more and I start babbling, "I was going *****ggest going back to my apartment this evening. You never give me any time... time to just think things through," I sob, and a ghost of a frown crosses his face. "Just time to think. We barely know each other, and all this baggage that comes with you... I need... I need time to think it through. And now that Leila is... well, whatever she is... she's off the streets and not a threat... I thought... I thought..." My voice trails off and I stare at him. He regards me intently and I think he's listening

"Seeing you with Leila..." I close my eyes as the painful memory of his interaction with his ex-sub gnaws at me anew. "It was such a shock. I had a glimpse into how your life has been... and..." I gaze down at my knotted fingers, tears still trickling down my cheeks. "This is about me not being good enough for you. It was an insight into your life, and I am so scared you'll get bored with me, and then you'll go... and I'll end up like Leila... a shadow. Because I love you, Christian, and if you leave me, it will be like a world without light. I'll be in darkness. I don't want to run. I'm just so frightened you'll leave me..."

I realize as I say these words to him - in the hope that he's listening - what my real problem is. I just don't get why he likes me. I have never understood why he likes me.

"I don't understand why you find me attractive," I murmur. "You're, well, you're you... and I'm..." I shrug and gaze up at him. "I just don't see it. You're beautiful and ***y and successful and good and kind and caring - all those things - and I'm not. And I can't do the things you like to do. I can't give you what you need. How could you be happy with me? How can I possibly hold you?" My voice is a whisper as I express my darkest fears. "I have never understood what you see in me. And seeing you with her, it brought all that home." I sniff and wipe my nose with the back of my hand, gazing at his impassive expression.

Oh, he's so exasperating. Talk to me, damn it!

"Are you going to kneel here all night? Because I'll do it, too," I snap at him.

I think his expression softens - maybe he looks vaguely amused. But it's so hard to tell.

I could reach across and touch him, but this would be a gross abuse of the position he's put me in. I don't want that, but I don't know what he wants, or what he's trying to say to me. I just don't understand.

"Christian, please, please... talk to me," I beseech him, wringing my hands in my lap.

I am uncomfortable on my knees, but I continue to kneel, staring into his serious, beautiful, gray eyes, and I wait.

And wait.

And wait.

"Please," I beg once more.

His intense gaze darkens suddenly and he blinks.

"I was so scared," he whispers.

Oh, thank the Lord! Inside, my subconscious staggers back into her armchair, sagging with relief, and takes a large swig of gin.

He's talking! Gratitude overwhelms me, and I swallow, trying to contain my emotion and the fresh bout of tears that threatens.

His voice is soft and low. "When I saw Ethan arrive outside, I knew someone had let you into your apartment. Both Taylor and I leapt out of the car. We knew and to see her there like that with you - and armed. I think I died a thousand deaths, Ana. Someone threatening you... all my worst fears realized. I was so angry, with her, with you, with Taylor, with myself."

He shakes his head revealing his agony. "I didn't know how volatile she would be. I didn't know what to do. I didn't know how she'd react." He stops and frowns. "And then she gave me a clue; she looked so contrite. And I just knew what I had to do." He pauses, gazing at me, trying to gauge my reaction.

"Go on," I whisper.

He swallows. "Seeing her in that state, knowing that I might have something to do with her mental breakdown..." He closes his eyes once more. "She was always so mischievous and lively." He shudders and takes a rasping breath, almost like a sob. This is torture to listen to, but I kneel, attentive, lapping up this insight.

"She might have harmed you. And it would have been my fault." His eyes drift off, filled with uncomprehending horror, and he's silent once more.

"But she didn't," I whisper. "And you weren't responsible for her being in that state, Christian." I blink up at him, encouraging him to continue.

Then it dawns on me afresh that everything he did was to keep me safe, and perhaps Leila, too, because he also cares for her. But how much does he care for her? The question lingers in my head, unwelcome. He says he loves me, but then he was so harsh, throwing me out of my own apartment.

"I just wanted you gone," he murmurs, with his uncanny ability to read my thoughts.

"I wanted you away from the danger, and... You. Just. Wouldn't. Go," he hisses through clenched teeth and shakes his head. His exasperation is palpable.

He gazes at me intently. "Anastasia Steele, you are the most stubborn woman I know."

He closes his eyes and shakes his head once more in disbelief.

Oh, he's back. I breathe a long, cleansing sigh of relief.

He opens his eyes again, and his expression is forlorn - sincere. "You weren't going to run?" he asks.

"No! "

He closes his eyes again and his whole body relaxes. When he opens his eyes, I can see his pain and anguish.

"I thought - " He stops. "This is me, Ana. All of me... and I'm all yours. What do I have to do to make you realize that? To make you see that I want you any way I can get you. That I love you."

"I love you, too, Christian, and to see you like this is..." I choke and my tears start afresh. "I thought I'd broken you."

"Broken? Me? Oh no, Ana. Just the opposite." He reaches out and takes my hand.

"You're my lifeline," he whispers, and he kisses my knuckles before pressing my palm against his.

With his eyes wide and full of fear, he gently tugs my hand and places it on his chest over his heart - in the forbidden zone. His breathing quickens. His heart is beating a frantic, pounding tattoo beneath my fingers. He doesn't take his eyes off mine; his jaw is tense, his teeth clenched.

I gasp. Oh my Fifty! He's letting me touch him. And it's like all the air in my lungs has vaporized - gone. The blood is pounding in my ears as the rhythm of my heart rises to match his.

He releases my hand, leaving it in place over his heart. I flex my fingers slightly, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath the thin...

Fifty Shades Darker
Chapter Fifteen



"Hey," Christian's says gently as he pulls me into his arms, "please don't cry, Ana, please,"

he begs. He's on the bathroom floor, and I am in his lap. I put my arms around him and weep into his neck. Cooing softly into my hair, he gently strokes my back, my head.

"I'm sorry, baby," he whispers, and that makes me cry harder and hug him tighter.

We sit like this forever. Eventually, when I'm all cried out, Christian staggers to his feet, holding me, and carries me into his room where he lays me down in the bed. In a few moments, he's beside me and the lights are off. He pulls me into his arms, hugging me tightly, and I finally drift off into a dark and troubled sleep.

I awake with a jolt. My head is fuzzy and I'm too warm. Christian is wrapped around me like a vine. He grumbles in his sleep as I slip out of his arms, but he doesn't wake. Sitting up I glance at the alarm clock. It's three in the morning. I need an Advil and a drink. I swing my legs out of bed and make my way to the kitchen in the great room.

In the fridge, I find a carton of orange juice and pour myself a glass. Hmm... it's delicious, and my fuzzy head eases immediately. I hunt through the cupboards looking for some painkillers and eventually come across a plastic box full of meds. I sink two Advil and pour myself another orange juice.

Wandering to the great wall of glass, I look out on a sleeping Seattle. The lights twinkle and wink beneath Christian's castle in the sky, or should I say fortress? I press my forehead against the cool window - it's a relief. I have so much to think about after all the revelations of yesterday. I place my back against the glass and slide down onto the floor. The great room is ****rnous in the dark, the only light coming from the three lamps above the kitchen island.

Could I live here, married to Christian? After all that he's done here? All the history this place holds for him?

Marriage. It's almost unbelievable and completely unexpected. But then everything about Christian is unexpected. My lips quirk up with irony. Christian Grey, expect the unexpected - Fifty Shades of ****ed-Up.

My smile fades. I look like his mother. This wounds me, deeply, and the air leaves my lungs in a rush. We all look like his mom.

How the hell do I move on from the disclosure of that little secret? No wonder he didn't want to tell me. But surely he can't remember much of his mother. I wonder once more, if I should talk to Dr. Flynn. Would Christian let me? Perhaps he could fill in the gaps.

I shake my head. I feel world weary, but I'm enjoying the calm serenity of the great room and its beautiful works of art - cold and austere, but in their own way, still beautiful in the shadows and surely worth a fortune. Could I live here? For better, for worse? In sick-ness and in health? I close my eyes, lean my head back against the glass, and take a deep, cleansing breath.

The peaceful tranquility is shattered by a visceral, primeval cry that makes every single hair on my body stand to attention. Christian! Holy **** - what's happened? I am on my feet, running back to the bedroom before the echoes of that horrible sound have died away, my heart thumping with fear.

I flip one of the light switches, and Christian's bedside light comes to life. He's tossing and turning, writhing in agony. No! He cries out again, and the eerie, devastating sound lances through me anew.

**** - a nightmare!

"Christian!" I lean over him, grab his shoulders, and shake him awake. He opens his eyes, and they are wild and vacant, scanning quickly round the empty room before coming back to rest on me.

"You left, you left, you must have left," he mumbles - his wide-eyed stare becoming accusatory - and he looks so lost, it wrenches at my heart. Poor Fifty.

"I'm here." I sit down on the bed beside him. "I'm here," I murmur softly in an effort to reassure him. I reach out to place my palm on the side of his face, trying to soothe him.

"You were gone," he whispers rapidly. His eyes are still wild and frightened, but he seems to be calming.

"I went to get a drink. I was thirsty."

He closes his eyes and rubs his face. When he opens them again, he looks so desolate.

"You're here. Oh, thank God." He reaches for me, and grabbing me tightly, he pulls me down on the bed beside him.

"I just went for a drink," I murmur.

Oh, the intensity of his fear... I can feel it. His T-shirt is drenched in sweat, and his heartbeat is pounding as he hugs me close. He's gazing at me as if reassuring himself that I am really here. I gently stroke his hair and then his cheek.

"Christian, please. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere," I say soothingly.

"Oh, Ana," he breathes. He grasps my chin to hold me in place, and then his mouth is on mine. Desire sweeps through him, and unbidden my body responds - it's so tied and attuned to him. His lips are at my ear, my throat, then back at my mouth, his teeth gently pulling at my lower lip, his hand traveling up my body from my hip to my breast, dragging my T-shirt up. Caressing me, feeling his way through the dips and shallows of my skin, he elicits the same familiar reaction, his touch sending shivers through me. I moan as his hand cups my breast and his fingers tighten over my nipple.

"I want you," he murmurs.

"I'm here for you. Only you, Christian."

He groans and kisses me once more, passionately, with a fervor and desperation I've not felt from him before. Grabbing the hem of his T-shirt, I tug and he helps me pull it off over his head. Kneeling between my legs, he hastily pulls me upright and drags my T-shirt off. His eyes are serious, wanting, full of dark secrets - exposed. He folds his hands around my face and kisses me, and we sink down into the bed once more, his thigh between both of mine so that he's half-lying on top of me. His erection is rigid against my hip through his boxer briefs. He wants me, but his words from earlier choose this moment to come back and haunt me, what he said about his mother. And it's like a bucket of cold water on my libido. ****. I can't do this. Not now.

"Christian... Stop. I can't do this," I whisper urgently against his mouth, my hands pushing on his upper arms.

"What? What's wrong?" he murmurs and starts kissing my neck, running the tip of his tongue lightly down my throat. Oh...

"No, please. I can't do this, not now. I need some time, please."

"Oh, Ana, don't overthink this," he whispers as he nips my earlobe.

"Ah!" I gasp, feeling it in my groin, and my body bows, betraying me. This is so confusing.

"I am just the same, Ana. I love you and I need you. Touch me. Please." He rubs his nose against mine, and his quiet heartfelt plea moves me and I melt.

Touch him. Touch him while we make love. Oh my.

He rears up over me, gazing down, and in the half-light from the dimmed bedside light, I can tell that he's waiting, waiting for my decision, and he's caught in my spell.

I reach up and tentatively place my hand on the soft patch of hair over his sternum. He gasps and scrunches his eyes closed as if in pain, but I don't take my hand away this time.

I move it up to his shoulders, feeling the tremor run through him. He groans, and I pull him down to me and place both my hands on his back, where I've never touched him before, on his shoulder blades, holding him to me. His strangled moan arouses me like nothing else.

He buries his head in my neck, kissing and sucking and biting me, before trailing his nose up my chin and kissing me, his tongue possessing my mouth, his hands moving over my body once more. His lips move down... down... down to my breasts, worshipping as they go, and my hands stay on his shoulders and his back, enjoying the flex and ripple of his finely honed muscles, his skin still damp from his nightmare. His lips close over my nipple, pulling and tugging, so that it rises to greet his glorious skilled mouth.

I groan and run my fingernails across his back. And he gasps, a strangled moan.

"Oh, ****, Ana," he chokes, and it's half cry, half groan. It tears at my heart, but also deep inside me, tightening all the muscles below my waist. Oh, what I can do to him! My inner goddess is writhing with want and I'm panting now, matching his tortured breaths with my own.

His hand travels south, over my belly, down to my *** - and his fingers are on me, then in me. I groan as he moves his fingers around inside me, in that way, and I push my pelvis up to welcome his touch.

"Ana," he breathes. He suddenly releases me and sits up; he removes his boxer briefs and leans over to the bedside table to grab a foil packet. His eyes are a blazing gray as he passes me the condom. "You want to do this? You can still say no. You can always say no,"

he murmurs.

"Don't give me a chance to think, Christian. I want you, too." I rip the packet open with my teeth as he kneels between my legs, and with trembling fingers I slide it on to him.

"Steady," he says. "You are going to unman me, Ana."

I marvel at what I can do to this man with my touch. He stretches out over me, and for now my doubts are pushed down and locked away in the dark, scary depths at the back of my mind. I'm intoxicated with this man, my man, my Fifty Shades. He shifts suddenly, completely taking me by surprise,...

Fifty Shades Darker
Chapter Sixteen



Jack's eyes flash the darkest blue, and he sneers as he casts a leering look down my body.

Fear chokes me. What is this? What does he want? From somewhere deep inside and despite my dry mouth, I find the resolve and courage to squeeze out some words, my self-defense class keep-them-talking mantra circling my brain like an ethereal sentinel.

"Jack, now might not be a good time for this. Your cab is due in ten minutes, and I need to give you all your documents." My voice is quiet but hoarse, betraying me.

He smiles, and it's a despotic ****-you smile that finally touches his eyes. They glint in the harsh fluorescent glow of the strip light above us in the drab windowless room. He takes a step toward me, glaring at me, his eyes never leaving mine. His pupils are dilating as I watch - the black eclipsing the blue. Oh no. My fear escalates.

"You know I had to fight with Elizabeth to give you this job..." His voice trails off as he takes another step toward me, and I step back against the dingy wall cupboards. Keep-him-talking, keep-him-talking, keep-him-talking.

"Jack, what exactly is your problem? If you want to air your grievances, then perhaps we should ask HR to get involved. We could do this with Elizabeth in a more formal setting."Where is security? Are they in the building yet?

"We don't need HR to overmanage this situation Ana," he sneers. "When I hired you, I thought you would be a hard worker. I thought you had potential. But now, I don't know.

You've become distracted and sloppy. And I wondered... is it your boyfriend who's leading you astray?" He says boyfriend with chilling contempt.

"I decided to check through your e-mail account to see if I could find any clues. And you know what I found, Ana? What was out of place? The only personal e-mails in your account were to your hot-shot boyfriend." He pauses, assessing my reaction. "And I got to thinking... where are the e-mails from him? There are none. Nada. Nothing. So what's going on, Ana? How come his e-mails to you aren't on our system? Are you some company spy, planted in here by Grey's organization? Is that what this is?"

Holy ****, the e-mails. Oh no. What have I said?

"Jack, what are you talking about?" I try for bewildered, and I'm pretty convincing.

This conversation is not going as I expected, but I don't trust him in the slightest. Some subliminal pheromone that Jack is exuding has me on high alert. This man is angry, volatile, and totally unpredictable. I try to reason with him.

"You just said that you had to persuade Elizabeth to hire me. So how could I be planted as a spy? Make up your mind, Jack."

"But Grey ****ed the New York trip, didn't he?"

Oh ****.

"How did he manage that, Ana? What did your rich, Ivy League boyfriend do?"

What little blood remains in my face drains away, and I think I'm going to faint. "I don't know what you're talking about, Jack," I whisper. "Your cab will be here shortly.

Shall I fetch your things?" Oh please, let me go. Stop this.

Jack continues, enjoying my discomfort. "And he thinks I'd make a pass at you?" He smirks and his eyes heat. "Well, I want you to think about something while I'm in New York. I gave you this job, and I expect you to show me some gratitude. In fact, I'm entitled to it. I had to fight to get you. Elizabeth wanted someone better qualified, but I - I saw something in you. So, we need to work out a deal. A deal where you keep me happy. D'you understand what I'm saying, Ana?"

****!

"Look at it as refining your job description, if you like. And if you keep me happy, I won't dig any further into how your boyfriend is pulling strings, milking his contacts, or cashing in some favor from one of his Ivy League frat-boy sycophants."

My mouth drops open. He's blackmailing me. For ***! And what can I say? News of Christian's takeover is embargoed for another three weeks. I can barely believe this. *** -

with me!

Jack moves closer until he's standing right in front of me, staring down into my eyes.

His cloying sweet cologne invades my nostrils - it's nauseating - and if I'm not mistaken, the bitter stench of alcohol is on his breath. ****, he's been drinking... when?

"You are such a tight-assed, ****-blocking, prick tease, you know, Ana," he whispers through clenched teeth.

What? Prick tease... Me?

"Jack, I have no idea what you're talking about," I whisper, as I feel the adrenaline surge through my body. He's closer now. I am waiting to make my move. Ray will be proud. Ray taught me what to do. Ray knows his self-defense. If Jack touches me - if he even breathes too close to me - I will take him down. My breath is shallow. I must not faint, I must not faint.

"Look at you." He gives me a leering look. "You're so turned on, I can tell. You've really led me on. Deep down you want it. I know."

Holy ****. The man is completely delusional. My fear rises to defcon one, threatening to overwhelm me. "No, Jack. I have never led you on."

"You have, you prick-teasing bitch. I can read the signs." Reaching up, he gently strokes my face with the back of his knuckles, down to my chin. His index finger strokes my throat, and my heart leaps into my mouth as I fight my gag reflex. He reaches the dip at the base of my neck, where the top button of my black shirt is open, and presses his hand against my chest.

"You want me. Admit it, Ana."

Keeping my eyes firmly fixed on his and concentrating on what I have to do - rather than my mushrooming revulsion and dread - I place my hand gently over his in a caress.

He smiles in triumph. I grab his little finger, and twist it back, pulling it sharply down backward to his hip.

"Arrgh!" he cries out in pain and surprise, and as he leans off balance, I bring my knee, swift and hard, up into his groin, and make perfect contact with my goal. I dodge deftly to my left as his knees buckle, and he collapses with a groan onto the kitchen floor, grasping himself between his legs.

"Don't you ever touch me again," I snarl at him. "Your itinerary and the brochures are packaged on my desk. I am going home now. Have a nice trip. And in the future, get your own damn coffee."

"You ****ing bitch!" he half screams, half groans at me, but I am already out the door.

I run full pelt to my desk, grab my jacket and my purse, and dash to front reception, ignoring the moans and curses emanating from the bastard still prostrate on the kitchen floor.

I burst out of the building and stop for a moment as the cool air hits my face, take a deep breath, and compose myself. But I haven't eaten all day, and as the very unwelcome surge of adrenaline recedes, my legs give out beneath me and I sink to the ground.

I watch with mild detachment the slow motion movie that plays out in front of me: Christian and Taylor in dark suits and white shirts, leaping out of the waiting car and running toward me. Christian sinks to his knees at my side, and on some unconscious level, all I can think is: He's here. My love is here.

"Ana, Ana! What's wrong?" He scoops me into his lap, running his hands up and down my arms, checking for any signs of injury. Grabbing my head between his hands, he stares with wide, terrified, gray eyes into mine. I sag against him, suddenly overwhelmed with relief and fatigue. Oh, Christian's arms. There is no place I'd rather be.

"Ana." He shakes me gently. "What's wrong? Are you sick?"

I shake my head as I realize I need to start communicating.

"Jack," I whisper, and I sense rather than see Christian's swift glance at Taylor, who abruptly disappears into the building.

"****!" Christian enfolds me in his arms. "What did that sleazeball do to you?"

And from somewhere just the right side of crazy, a giggle bubbles in my throat. I recall Jack's utter shock as I grabbed his finger.

"It's what I did to him." I start giggling and I can't stop.

"Ana!" Christian shakes me again, and my giggling fit ceases. "Did he touch you?"

"Only once."

I feel Christian's muscles bunch and tense as rage sweeps through him, and he stands up swiftly, powerfully - rock steady - with me in his arms. He's furious. No!

"Where is that ****er?"

From inside the building we hear muffled shouting. Christian sets me on my feet.

"Can you stand?"

I nod.

"Don't go in. Don't, Christian." Suddenly my fear is back, fear of what Christian will do to Jack.

"Get in the car," he barks at me.

"Christian, no." I grab his arm.

"Get in the goddamned car, Ana." He shakes me off.

"No! Please!" I plead with him. "Stay. Don't leave me on my own." I deploy my ultimate weapon.

Seething, Christian runs his hand through his hair and glares down at me, clearly wracked with indecision. The shouting inside the building escalates, and then stops suddenly.

Oh, no. What has Taylor done?

Christian fishes out his Blackberry.

"Christian, he has my e-mails."

"What?"

"My e-mails to you. He wanted to know where your e-mails to me were. He was trying to blackmail me."

Christian's...

Fifty Shades Darker
Chapter Seventeen



Hmm.

Christian is nuzzling my neck as I slowly wake.

"Morning, baby," he whispers and nips at my earlobe. My eyes flutter open and close again quickly. Bright early morning light floods the room, and his hand is softly caressing my breast, gently teasing me. Moving down he grasps my hip as he lies behind me, holding me close.

I stretch out beside him, relishing his touch, and feel his erection against my behind .

Oh my. A Christian Grey wake-up call.

"You're pleased to see me," I mumble sleepily, squirming suggestively against him. I feel his grin against my jaw.

"I'm very pleased to see you," he says as he skates his hand over my stomach and down to cup my *** and explore with his fingers. "There are definite advantages to waking up beside you, Miss Steele," he teases and gently pulls me round so that I'm lying on my back.

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

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

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

I groan.

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

"I can't wait until Saturday," he says, his eyes glowing with salacious delight.

"Your party?" I pant.

"No. I can stop using these ****ers."

"Aptly named." I giggle.

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

"No." I try and fail to straighten my face.

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

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

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

"What would you like for breakfast, Ana?"

"I'll just have some granola. Thank you, Mrs. Jones."

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

"You look lovely," Christian says softly. I'm wearing my gray pencil skirt and gray silk blouse again.

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

"We should buy you some more skirts," he says matter-of-factly. "In fact - I'd love to take you shopping."

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

"I wonder what will happen at work today?"

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

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

"Why?"

"Well, you're less likely to object to me going away with her," I tease him.

His lips twitch and he starts on his omelet.

"What's so funny?" I ask.

"You are. Eat your granola, all of it, if that's all you're having."

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

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

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

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

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

"Well, let's go." He waves his long-fingered hand toward the entrance of the garage.

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

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

"I want you to concentrate," he says sharply.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

rapacious bitch.

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

"You're very distracted. Concentrate, Ana," he scolds. "Accidents happen when you don't concentrate."

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

Hmm.

"I'm just thinking about work."

"Baby, you'll be fine. Trust me." Christian smiles.

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

Oh no.

"Let's not argue, Christian. We've had such a wonderful morning. And last night was - " Words fail me, last night was - "Heaven."

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

"Yes. Heaven," he says softly. "I meant what I said."

"What?"

"I don't want to let you go."

"I don't want to go."

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

"Good," he says simply, and he visibly relaxes.

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

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

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

"I won't forget. I'll compile a list of questions for him."

"Questions? About me?"

I nod.

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

I smile at him. "Yes, but I want the unbiased, expensive charlatan's opinion."

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

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

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

Fifty Shades Darker
Chapter Eighteen



Christian continues to drive past single-story, well-kept, clapboard houses where kids play either clustered around their basketball hoops in their yards or cycling and running around in the street. It all looks affluent and wholesome with the houses nestling among the trees.

Perhaps we're going to visit someone? Who?

A few minutes later, Christian turns sharply left, and we're confronted by two ornate white metal gates set in a six-foot-high, sandstone wall. Christian presses a button on his door handle and the electric window hums quietly down into the doorframe. He punches a number into the keypad and the gates swing open in welcome.

He glances at me, and his expression has changed. He looks uncertain, nervous even.

"What is it?" I ask, and I can't mask the concern in my voice.

"An idea," he says quietly and eases the Saab through the gates.

We head up a tree-lined lane just wide enough for two cars. On one side, the trees ring a densely wooded area, and on the other there's a vast area of grassland where a once-cultivated field has been left fallow. Grasses and wildflowers have reclaimed it, creating a rural idyll - a meadow, where the late evening breeze softly ripples through the grass and the evening sun gilds the wildflowers. It's lovely - utterly tranquil, and suddenly I imagine myself lying in the grass and gazing up at a clear blue summer sky. The thought is tantalizing yet makes me feel homesick for some strange reason. How odd.

The lane curves around and opens into a sweeping driveway in front of an impressive Me***erranean-style house of soft pink sandstone. It's palatial. All the lights are on, each window brightly illuminated in the dusk. There's a smart, black BMW parked in front of the four-car garage, but Christian pulls up outside the grand portico.

Hmm... I wonder who lives here? Why are we visiting?

Christian glances anxiously at me as he switches off the car engine.

"Will you keep an open mind?" he asks.

I frown.

"Christian, I've needed an open mind since the day I met you."

He smiles ironically and nods. "Fair point well made, Miss Steele. Let's go."

The dark wood doors open, and a woman with dark brown hair, a sincere smile, and a sharp lilac suit stands waiting. I'm grateful I changed into my new navy shift dress to impress Dr. Flynn. Okay, I'm not wearing killer heels like her - but still, I'm not in jeans.

"Mr. Grey." She smiles warmly and they shake hands.

"Miss Kelly," he says politely.

She smiles at me and holds out her hand, which I shake. Her isn't-he-dreamily-gorgeous-wish-he-was-mine flush does not go unnoticed.

"Olga Kelly," she announces breezily.

"Ana Steele," I mutter back at her. Who is this woman? She stands aside, welcoming us into the house. It's a shock when I step in. The place is empty - completely empty. We find ourselves in a large entrance hall. The walls are a faded primrose yellow with scuff-marks where pictures must once have hung. All that remains are the old-fashioned crystal light fixtures. The floors are dull hardwood. There are closed doors to either side of us, but Christian gives me no time to assimilate what's happening.

"Come," he says, and taking my hand, he leads me through the archway in front of us into a larger inner vestibule. It's dominated by a curved, sweeping staircase with an intricate iron balustrade but still he doesn't stop. He takes me through to the main living area, which is empty, save for a large faded gold rug - the biggest rug I have ever seen. Oh - and there are four crystal chandeliers.

But Christian's intention is now clear as we head across the room and outside through open French doors to a large stone terrace. Below us there's half a football field of manicured lawn, but beyond that is the view. Wow.

The panoramic, uninterrupted vista is breathtaking - staggering even: twilight over the Sound. Oh my.

In the distance lies Bainbridge Island, and further still on this crystal clear evening, the setting sun sinks slowly, glowing blood and flame orange, beyond Olympic National Park. Vermillion hues bleed into the sky - opals, aquamarines, ceruleans - melding with the darker purples of the scant wispy clouds and the land beyond the Sound. It is nature's best, a visual symphony orchestrated in the sky and reflected in the deep, still waters of the Sound. I am lost to the view - staring, trying to absorb such beauty.

I realize I'm holding my breath in awe, and Christian is still holding my hand. As I reluctantly turn my eyes away from the view, he's gazing anxiously at me.

"You brought me here to admire the view?" I whisper. He nods, his expression serious.

"It's staggering, Christian. Thank you," I murmur, letting my eyes feast on it once more. He releases my hand.

"How would you like to look at it for the rest of your life?" he breathes.

What? I whip my face back to his, startled blue eyes to pensive gray. I think my mouth drops open, and I gape at him blankly.

"I've always wanted to live on the coast. I sail up and down the Sound coveting these houses. This place hasn't been on the market long. I want to buy it, demolish it, and build a new house - for us," he whispers, and his eyes glow, translucent with his hopes and dreams.

Holy cow. Somehow I remain upright. I'm reeling. Live, here! In this beautiful haven!

For the rest of my life...

"It's just an idea," he adds, cautiously.

I glance back to assess the interior of the house. How much is it worth? It must be, what - five, ten million dollars? I have no idea. Holy ****.

"Why do you want to demolish it?" I ask, looking back at him. His face falls slightly.

Oh no.

"I'd like to make a more sustainable home, using the latest ecological techniques. Elliot could build it."

I gaze back at the room again. Miss Olga Kelly is on the far side, hovering by the entrance. She's the realtor, of course. I notice the room is huge and double height, a little like the great room at Escala. There's a balcony above - that must be the landing on the second floor. There's a huge fireplace and a whole line of French doors opening onto the terrace.

It has an old-world charm.

"Can we look around the house?"

He blinks at me. "Sure," he shrugs, puzzled.

Miss Kelly's face lights up like Christmas when we head back in. She's delighted to take us on a tour and gives us the spiel.

The house is enormous: twelve thousand square feet on six acres of land. As well as this main living room, there's the eat-in - no, banquet-in - kitchen with family room attached - Family! - a music room, a library, a study and, much to my amazement, an indoor pool and exercise suite with sauna and steam room attached. Downstairs in the basement there's a cinema - Jeez - and game room. Hmm... what sort of games could we play in here?Miss Kelly points out all sorts of features, but basically the house is beautiful and was obviously at one time a happy family home. It's a little shabby now, but nothing that some TLC couldn't cure.

As we follow Miss Kelly up the magnificent main stairs to the second floor, I can hardly contain my excitement... this house has everything I could ever wish for in a home.

"Couldn't you make the existing house more ecological and self-sustaining?"

Christian blinks at me, nonplussed. "I'd have to ask Elliot. He's the expert in all this."

Miss Kelly leads us into the master suite where full height windows open onto a balcony, and the view is still spectacular. I could sit in bed and gaze out all day, watching the sailing boats and the changing weather.

There are five ad***ional bedrooms on this floor. Jeez - kids. I push the thought hastily to one side. I have too much to process already. Miss Kelly is busily suggesting to Christian how the grounds could accommodate riding stables and a paddock. Horses! Terrifying images of my few riding lessons flash through my mind, but Christian doesn't appear to be listening.

"The paddock would be where the meadow is at the moment?" I ask.

"Yes," Miss Kelly says brightly.

To me the meadow looks like somewhere to lie in the long grass and have picnics, not for some four-legged fiend of Satan to roam.

Back in the main room, Miss Kelly discreetly disappears, and Christian leads me out once more onto the terrace. The sun has set and lights from the towns on the Olympic pen-insula are twinkling on the far side of the Sound.

Christian pulls me into his arms and tips my chin up with his index finger, staring intently down at me.

"Lot to take in?" he asks, his expression unreadable.

I nod.

"I wanted to check you liked it before I bought it."

"The view?"

He nods.

"I love the view, and I like the house that's here."

"You do?"

I smile shyly at him. "Christian, you had me at the meadow."

His lips part as he inhales sharply, then his face transforms with a grin, and his hands are suddenly fisting into my hair and his mouth is on mine.

Back in the car as we head for Seattle, Christian's mood has lifted considerably.

"So you're going to buy it?" I ask.

"Yes."

"You'll put Escala on the market?"

He frowns. "Why would...

Fifty Shades Darker
Chapter Nineteen



I stare at the flames, mesmerized. They dance and weave bright blazing orange with tips of cobalt blue in the fireplace in Christian's apartment. And despite the heat pumping out of the fire and the blanket draped around my shoulders, I'm cold. Bone-chillingly cold.

I'm aware of hushed voices, many hushed voices. But they're in the background, a distant buzz. I don't hear the words. All I can hear, all I can focus on, is the soft hiss of the gas from the fire.

My thoughts turn to the house we saw yesterday and the huge fireplaces - real fireplaces for burning wood. I'd like to make love with Christian in front of a real fire. I'd like to make love with Christian in front of this fire. Yes, that would be fun. No doubt, he'd think of some way to make it memorable like all the times we've made love. I snort wryly to myself, even the times when we were just ****ing. Yes, those were pretty memorable, too. Where is he?

The flames shimmy and flicker, holding me captive, keeping me numb. I focus solely on their flaring, scorching beauty. They are bewitching.

Anastasia, you've bewitched me.

He said that the first time he slept with me in my bed. Oh no...

I wrap my arms around myself, and the world falls away from me and reality bleeds into my consciousness. The creeping emptiness inside expands some more. Charlie Tango is missing.

"Ana. Here," Mrs. Jones gently coaxes me, her voice bringing me back into the room, into the now, into the anguish. She hands me a cup of tea. I take the cup and saucer gratefully, the rattle betraying my shaking hands.

"Thank you," I whisper, my voice hoarse from unshed tears and the large lump in my throat.

Mia sits across from me on the larger-than-large U-shaped couch, holding hands with Grace. They gaze at me, pain and anxiety etched on their lovely faces. Grace looks older -

a mother worried for her son. I blink dispassionately at them. I can't offer a reassuring smile, a tear even - there's nothing, just blankness and the growing emptiness. I gaze at Elliot, Jose, and Ethan, who stand around the breakfast bar, all serious faces, talking quietly.

Discussing something in soft subdued voices. Behind them, Mrs. Jones busies herself in the kitchen.

Kate is in the TV room, monitoring the local news. I hear the faint squawk from the big plasma TV. I can't bear to see the news item again - cHristian grey missing - his beautiful face on TV.

Idly, it occurs to me that I've never seen so many people in this room, yet they are still dwarfed by its sheer size. Little islands of lost, anxious people in my Fifty's home. What would he think about them being here?

Somewhere, Taylor and Carrick are talking to the authorities who are drip-feeding us information, but it's all meaningless. The fact is - he's missing. He's been missing for eight hours. No sign, no word from him. The search has been called off - this much I do know.

It's just too dark. And we don't know where he is. He could be hurt, hungry, or worse. No!

I offer another silent prayer to God. Please let Christian be okay. Please let Christian be okay. I repeat it over and over in my head - my mantra, my lifeline, something concrete to cling to in my desperation. I refuse to think the worst. No, don't go there. There is hope.

"You're my lifeline."

Christian's words come back to haunt me. Yes, there is always hope. I must not despair.

His words echo through my mind.

"I'm now a firm advocate of instant gratification. Carpe diem, Ana."

Why didn't I seize the day?

"I'm doing this because I've finally met someone I want to spend the rest of my life with."

I close my eyes in silent prayer, rocking gently. Please, let the rest of his life not be this short. Please, please. We haven't had enough time... we need more time. We've done so much in the last few weeks, come so far. It can't end. All our tender moments: the lipstick, when he made love to me for the first time at the Olympic hotel, on his knees in front of me offering himself to me, finally touching him.

"I am just the same, Ana. I love you and I need you. Touch me. Please."

Oh, I love him so. I will be nothing without him, nothing but a shadow - all the light eclipsed. No, no, no... my poor Christian.

"This is me, Ana. All of me... and I'm all yours. What do I have to do to make you realize that? To make you see that I want you any way I can get you. That I love you."

And I you, my Fifty Shades.

I open my eyes and gaze unseeing into the fire once more, memories of our time together flitting through my mind: his boyish joy when we were sailing and gliding; his suave, sophisticated, hot-as-hell look at the masked ball; dancing, oh yes, dancing here in the apartment to Sinatra, whirling round the room; his quiet, anxious hope yesterday at the house - that stunning view.

"I will lay my world at your feet, Anastasia. I want you, body and soul, forever."

Oh, please, let him be okay. He cannot be gone. He is the center of my universe.

An involuntary sob escapes my throat, and I clutch my hand to my mouth. No. I must be strong.

Jose is suddenly at my side, or has he been there a while? I have no idea.

"Do you want to call your mom or dad?" he asks gently.

No! I shake my head and clutch Jose's hand. I cannot speak, I know I will dissolve if I do, but the warmth and gentle squeeze of his hand offers me no solace.

Oh, Mom. My lip trembles at the thought of my mother. Should I call her? No. I couldn't deal with her reaction. Maybe Ray, he wouldn't get emotional - he never gets emotional, not even when the Mariners lose.

Grace rises to join the boys, distracting me. That must be the longest she's sat still. Mia comes to sit beside me too and grabs my other hand.

"He will come back," she says, her voice initially determined but cracking on the last word. Her eyes are wide and red-rimmed, her face pale and pinched from lack of sleep.

I gaze up at Ethan, who is watching Mia and Elliot, who has his arms around Grace. I glance at the clock. It's after eleven, heading toward midnight. Damn time! With each passing hour, the clawing emptiness expands, consuming me, choking me. I know deep down inside I am preparing myself, preparing myself for the worst. I close my eyes and offer up another silent prayer, clasping both Mia and Jose's hands.

Opening them again, I stare into the flames once more. I can see his shy smile - my favorite of all his expressions, a glimpse of the real Christian, my real Christian. He is so many people: control freak, CEO, stalker, *** god, Dom - and at the same time - such a boy with his toys. I smile. His car, his boat, his plane... Charlie Tango... no... no...

my lost boy, truly lost right now. My smile fades and pain lances through me. I remember him in the shower, wiping away the lipstick marks.

"I'm nothing, Anastasia. I'm a husk of a man. I don't have a heart."

The lump in my throat expands. Oh, Christian, you do, you do have a heart, and it's mine. I want to cherish it forever. Even though he's so complex and difficult, I love him. I will always love him. There will never be anyone else. Ever.

I remember sitting in Starbucks weighing up my Christian pros and cons. All those cons, even those photographs I found this morning, melt into insignificance now. There's just him and whether he'll come back. Oh please, Lord, bring him back, please let him be okay. I'll go to church... I'll do anything. Oh, if I get him back, I shall seize the day. His voice echoes around my head once more: "Carpe diem, Ana."

I gaze deeper into the fire, the flames still licking and curling around each other, blazing brightly. Then Grace shrieks, and everything goes into slow motion.

"Christian!"

I turn my head in time to see Grace barreling across the great room from where she had been pacing somewhere behind me, and there in the entrance stands a dismayed Christian.

He's dressed in just his shirtsleeves and suit pants, and he's holding his navy jacket, shoes, and socks. He looks tired, dirty, and utterly beautiful.

Holy ****... Christian. He's alive. I gaze numbly at him, trying to work out if I'm hallucinating or if he's really here.

His expression is one of utter bewilderment. He deposits his jacket and shoes on the floor in time to catch Grace, who throws her arms around his neck and kisses him hard on the cheek.

"Mom?"

Christian gazes down at her, completely at a loss.

"I thought I'd never see you again," Grace whispers, voicing our collective fear.

"Mom, I'm here." I hear the consternation in his voice.

"I died a thousand deaths today," she whispers, her voice barely audible, echoing my thoughts. She gasps and sobs, no longer able to hold back her tears. Christian frowns, horrified or mortified - I don't know which - then after a beat, envelops her in a huge hug, holding her close.

"Oh, Christian," she chokes, wrapping her arms around him, weeping into his neck -

all self-restraint forgotten - and Christian doesn't balk. He just holds her, rocking to and fro, comforting her. Scalding tears pool in my eyes. Carrick hollers from the hallway.

"He's alive! **** - you're here!" He appears from Taylor's office, clutching his cell phone, and embraces both of them, his eyes closed in sweet...