Tears stream down my face. He's back. My daddy is back.
"Don't cry, Annie." Ray's voice is hoarse. "What's happening?"
I take up his hand in both of mine and cradle it against my face. "You've been in an accident. You're in the hospital in Portland."
Ray frowns, and I don't know if it's because he's uncomfortable with my uncharacteristic display of affection, or that he can't remember the accident.
"Do you want some water?" I ask, though I'm not sure if I'm allowed to give him any. He nods, bewildered. My heart swells. I stand up and lean over him, kissing his forehead. "I love you, Daddy. Welcome back."
He waves his hand, embarrassed. "Me, too, Annie. Water." I run the short distance to the nurses' station.
"My dadmdash;he's awake!" I beam at Nurse Kellie, who smiles back.
"Page Dr. Sluder," she says to her colleague and hurriedly makes her way around the desk.
"He wants water."
"I'll bring him some."
I skip back to my father's bed, I feel so light-hearted. His eyes are closed when I reach him, and I immediately worry that he's slipped back into a coma.
"Daddy?"
"I'm here," he mutters and his eyes flutter open as Nurse Kellie appears with a jug of ice chips and a glass.
"Hello, Mr. Steele. I'm Kellie, your nurse. Your daughter tells me you're thirsty."
In the waiting room, Christian is staring fixedly at his laptop, deep in concentra-tion. He glances up when I close the door.
"He's awake," I announce. He smiles, and the tension around his eyes vanishes. Oh . . . I hadn't noticed before. Has he been tense all this time? He sets his laptop aside, stands, and embraces me.
"How is he?" he asks as I wrap my arms around him.
"Talking, thirsty, bewildered. He doesn't remember the accident at all."
"That's understandable. Now that he's awake, I want to get him moved to Seattle. Then we can go home, and my mom can keep an eye on him."
Already?
"I'm not sure he's well enough to be moved."
"I'll talk to Dr. Sluder. Get her opinion."
"You miss home?"
"Yes."
"Okay."
"You haven't stopped smiling," Christian says as I pull up outside the Heathman.
"I'm very relieved. And happy."
Christian grins. "Good."
The light is fading, and I shiver as I step out into the cool, crisp evening and hand my key to the parking valet. He's eyeing my car with lust, and I don't blame him. Christian puts his arm around me.
"Shall we celebrate?" he asks as we enter the foyer.
"Celebrate?"
"Your dad."
I giggle. "Oh, him."
"I've missed that sound." Christian kisses my hair.
"Can we just eat in our room? You know, have a quiet night in?"
"Sure. Come." Taking my hand, he leads me to the elevators.
"That was delicious," I murmur with satisfaction as I push my plate away, replete for the first time in ages. "They sure know how to make a fine tarte Tatin here."
I am freshly bathed and wearing only Christian's T-shirt and my panties. In the background, Christian's iPod is on shuffle and Dido is warbling on about white flags.
Christian eyes me speculatively. His hair is still damp from our bath, and he's wearing just his black T-shirt and jeans. "That's the most I've seen you eat the entire time we've been here," he says.
"I was hungry."
He leans back in his chair with a self-satisfied smirk and takes a sip of his white wine. "What would you like to do now?" His voice is soft.
"What do you want to do?"
He raises an eyebrow, amused. "What I always want to do."
"And that is?"
"Mrs. Grey, don't be coy."
Reaching across the dining table, I grasp his hand, turn it over, and skim my index finger over his palm. "I'd like you to touch me with this." I run my finger up his index finger.
He shifts in his chair. "Just that?" His eyes darken and heat at once.
"Maybe this?" I run my finger up his middle finger and back to his palm.
"And this." My nail traces his ring finger. "Definitely this." My finger stops at his wedding ring. "This is very sexy."
"Is it, now?"
"It sure is. It says this man is mine." And I skim the small callous that has already formed on his palm beneath the ring. He leans forward and cups my chin with his other hand.
"Mrs. Grey, are you seducing me?"
"I hope so."
"Anastasia, I'm a given." His voice is low. "Come here." He tugs my hand, pulling me onto his lap. "I like having unfettered access to you." He runs a hand up my thigh to my behind. He grasps the nape of my neck with his other hand and kisses me, holding me firmly in place.
He tastes of white wine and apple pie and Christian. I run my fingers through his hair, holding him to me while our tongues explore and curl and twist around each other, my blood heating in my veins. We're breathless when Christian pulls away.
"Let's go to bed," he murmurs against my lips.
"Bed?"
He pulls back further and tugs my hair so I am looking up at him. "Where would you prefer, Mrs. Grey?"
My inner goddess stops stuffing her face with tarte Tatin. I shrug, feigning indifference. "Surprise me."
He smirks. "You're feisty this evening." He runs his nose along mine.
"Maybe I need to be restrained."
"Maybe you do. You're getting mighty bossy in your old age." He narrows his eyes, but can't disguise the latent humor there.
"What are you going to do about it?" I challenge.
His eyes glitter. "I know what I'd like to do about it. Depends if you're up to it."
"Oh, Mr. Grey, you've been very gentle with me these last couple of days.
I'm not made of glass, you know."
"You don't like gentle?"
"With you, of course. But you know . . . variety is the spice of life." I bat my lashes at him.
"You're after something less gentle?"
"Something life-affirming."
He raises his brows in surprise. "Life-affirming," he repeats, astonished humor in his voice.
I nod. He gazes at me for a moment. "Don't bite your lip," he whispers then rises suddenly with me in his arms. I gasp and grab his biceps, fearful that he'll drop me. He walks over to the smallest of the three couches and deposits me on to it.
"Wait here. Don't move." He gives me a brief hot, intense look and turns on his heel, stalking toward the bedroom. Oh . . . Christian barefoot. Why are his feet so hot? He's back a few moments later, taking me by surprise as he leans over me from behind.
"I think we'll dispense with this." He grabs my T-shirt and drags it over my head, leaving me naked except for my panties. He pulls my ponytail back and kisses me.
"Stand up," he orders against my lips and releases me. I comply immediately.
He lays a towel out on the sofa.
Towel?
"Take your panties off."
I swallow but do as I'm told, discarding them by the sofa.
"Sit." He grabs my ponytail again and pulls my head back. "You'll tell me to stop if this gets too much, yes?"
I nod.
"Say it." His voice is stern.
"Yes," I squeak.
He smirks. "Good. So, Mrs. Grey . . . by popular demand, I'm going to restrain you." His voice drops to a breathless whisper. Desire streaks through my body like lightning simply at those words. Oh, my sweet Fiftymdash;on the sofa?
"Bring your knees up," he commands softly. "And sit right back."
I rest my feet on the edge of the sofa, my knees up in front of me. He reaches for my left leg, and taking the belt from one of the bathroom robes, he ties one end above my knee.
"Bathrobes?"
"I'm improvising." He smirks again and fastens the slipknot above my knee and ties the other end of the soft belt around the finial at the back corner of the sofa, effectively parting my legs.
"Don't move," he warns and repeats the process with my right leg, tying the second cord to the other finial.
Oh my . . . I am sitting up, splayed out on the sofa, legs spread wide.
"Okay?" Christian asks softly, gazing down at me from behind the sofa.
I nod, expecting him to tie my hands, too. But he refrains. He bends and kisses me.
"You have no idea how hot you look right now," he murmurs and rubs his nose against mine. "Change of music, I think." He stands and strolls casually over to the iPod dock.
How does he do this? Here I am, trussed up and horny as hell, while he's so cool and calm. He's just in my field of vision, and I watch the flex and pull of the muscles of his back under his T-shirt as he changes the song. Immediately, a sweet, almost childlike female voice starts to sing about watching me.
Oh, I like this song.
Christian turns and his eyes lock on mine as he moves around to the front of the sofa and sinks gracefully to his knees in front of me.
Suddenly, I feel very exposed.
"Exposed? Vulnerable?" he asks with his uncanny ability to voice my unspoken words. His hands are on his knees. I nod.
Why doesn't he touch me?
"Good," he murmurs. "Hold out your hands." I can't look away from his mesmerizing eyes as I do what he asks. Christian pours a little oily liquid onto each palm from a small clear bottle. It's scentedmdash;a rich, musky, sensuous scent that I can't place.
"Rub your hands." I squirm beneath his hot, heavy gaze. "Keep still," he warns.
Oh my.
"Now, Anastasia, I want you to touch yourself."
Holy cow.
"Start at your throat and work down."
I hesitate.
"Don't be shy, Ana. Come. Do it." The humor and challenge in his expression is plain to see along with his desire.
The sweet voice sings that there's nothing sweet about her. I place my hands against my throat and let them slide down to the top of my breasts. The oil makes them glide effortlessly over my skin. My hands are warm.
"Lower," Christian murmurs, his eyes darkening. He doesn't touch me.
My hands cup my breasts.
"Tease yourself."
Oh my. I tug gently on my nipples.
"Harder," Christian urges. He sits immobile between my thighs, just watching me. "Like I would," he adds, his eyes shining darkly. My muscles clench deep in my belly. I groan in response and pull harder on my nipples, feeling them stiffen and lengthen beneath my touch.
"Yes. Like that. Again."
Closing my eyes I pull hard, rolling and twisting them between my fingers. I moan.
I gape at Dr. Greene, my world collapsing around me. A baby. A baby. I don't want a baby . . . not yet. Fuck. And I know deep down that Christian is going to freak.
"Mrs. Grey, you're very pale. Would you like a glass of water?"
"Please." My voice is a barely audible. My mind is racing. Pregnant? When?
"I take it you're surprised."
I nod mutely at the good doctor as she hands me a glass of water from her conveniently placed water cooler. I take a welcome sip. "Shocked," I whisper.
"We could do an ultrasound to see how advanced the pregnancy is. Judging by your reaction, I suspect you're just a couple of weeks or so from concep-tionmdash;four or five weeks pregnant. I take it you haven't been suffering any other symptoms?"
I shake my head mutely. Symptoms? I don't think so. "I thought . . . I thought this was a reliable form of contraceptive."
Dr. Greene arches a brow. "It normally is, when you remember to have the shot," she says coolly.
"I must have lost track of time." Christian is going to freak. I know it.
"Have you been bleeding at all?"
I frown. "No."
"That's normal for the Depo. Let's do an ultrasound shall we? I have time."
I nod, bewildered, and Dr. Greene directs me toward a black leather exam table behind a screen.
"If you'll just slip off your skirt, underwear, and cover yourself with the blanket on the table, we'll go from there," she says briskly.
Underwear? I was expecting an ultrasound scan over my belly. Why do I need to remove my panties? I shrug in consternation then quickly do as she says and lie down beneath the soft white blanket.
"That's good." Dr. Greene appears at the end of the table, pulling the ultrasound machine closer. It's a hi-tech stack of computers. Sitting down, she positions the screen so that we can both see it and jogs the trackball on the keyboard.
The screen pings into life.
"If you could lift and bend your knees, then part them wide," she says matter-of-factly.
I frown warily.
"This is a transvaginal ultrasound. If you're only just pregnant, we should be able to find the baby with this." She holds up a long white probe.
Oh, you have got to be kidding!
"Okay," I mutter, mortified, and do as she says. Greene pulls a condom over the wand and lubricates it with clear gel.
"Mrs. Grey, if you could relax."
Relax? I'm pregnant, damn it! How do you expect me to relax? I blush, and endeavor to find my happy place . . . which has relocated somewhere near the lost Island of Atlantis.
Slowly and gently she inserts the probe.
Holy fuck!
All I can see on the screen is the visual equivalent of white noisemdash;although it's more sepia in color. Slowly, Dr. Greene moves the probe about, and it's very disconcerting.
"There," she murmurs. She presses a button, freezing the picture on the screen, and points to a tiny blip in the sepia storm.
It's a little blip. There's a tiny little blip in my belly. Tiny. Wow. I forget my discomfort as I stare shell-shocked at the blip.
"It's too early to see the heartbeat, but yes, you're definitely pregnant. Four or five weeks, I would say." She frowns. "Looks like the shot ran out early. Oh well, that happens sometimes."
I am too stunned to say anything. The little blip is a baby. A real honest to goodness baby. Christian's baby. My baby. Holy cow. A baby!
"Would you like me to print out a picture for you?"
I nod, still unable to speak, and Dr. Greene presses a button. Then she gently removes the wand and hands me a paper towel to clean myself.
"Congratulations, Mrs. Grey," she says as I sit up. "We'll need to make another appointment. I suggest in four weeks' time. Then we can ascertain the exact age of your baby and set a likely due date. You can get dressed now."
"Okay." I'm reeling and I dress hurriedly. I have a blip, a little blip. When I emerge from behind the screen, Dr. Greene is back at her desk.
"In the meantime, I'd like you to start this course of folic acid and prenatal vitamins. Here's a leaflet of dos and don'ts."
As she hands me a package of pills and a leaflet, she continues to talk at me, but I'm not listening. I'm in shock. Overwhelmed. Surely I should be happy.
Surely I should be thirty . . . at least. This is too soonmdash;far too soon. I try to quell my rising sense of panic.
I wish Dr. Greene a polite good-bye and head in a daze back down to the exit and out into the cool fall afternoon. I'm gripped suddenly by a creeping cold and deep sense of foreboding. Christian is going to freak, I know, but how much and how far, I have no idea. His words haunt me. "I'm not ready to share you yet." I pull my jacket tighter around me, trying to shake off the cold.
Sawyer leaps out of the SUV and holds open the door. He frowns when he sees my face, but I ignore his concerned expression.
"Where to, Mrs. Grey?" he asks gently.
"SIP." I nestle into the backseat of the car, closing my eyes and leaning my head on the headrest. I should be happy. I know I should be happy. But I'm not.
This is too early. Far too early. What about my job? What about SIP? What about Christian and me? No. No. No. We'll be fine. He'll be fine. He loved baby Miamdash;I remember Carrick telling memdash;he dotes on her now. Perhaps I should warn Flynn . . . Perhaps I shouldn't tell Christian. Perhaps I . . . perhaps I should end this. I halt my thoughts on that dark path, alarmed at the direction they're taking. Instinctively my hand sweeps down to rest protectively over my belly. No.
My little Blip. Tears spring to my eyes. What am I going to do?
A vision of a little boy with copper-colored hair and bright gray eyes, running through the meadow at the new house invades my thoughts, teasing and tantalizing me with possibilities. He's giggling and squealing with delight as Christian and I chase him. Christian swings him high in his arms and carries him on his hip as we walk hand in hand back to the house.
My vision morphs into Christian turning away from me in disgust. I'm fat and awkward, heavy with child. He paces the long hall of mirrors, away from me, the sound of his footsteps echoing off the silvered glass, walls, and floor.
Christian . . .
I jerk awake. No. He's going to freak out.
When Sawyer pulls up outside SIP, I leap out and head into the building.
"Ana, great to see you. How's your dad?" Hannah asks as soon as I reach my office. I regard her coolly.
"He's better, thank you. Can I see you in my office?"
"Sure." She looks surprised as she follows me in. "Is everything okay?"
"I need to know if you've moved or cancelled any appointments with Dr.
Greene."
"Dr. Greene? Yes, I have. About two or three of them. Mostly because you were in other meetings or running late. Why?"
Because now I'm fucking pregnant! I scream at her in my head. I take a deep, steadying breath. "If you move any appointments, will you make sure I know? I don't always check my calendar."
"Sure," Hannah says quietly. "I'm sorry. Have I done something wrong?"
I shake my head and sigh loudly. "Can you make me some tea? Then let's discuss what's been happening while I've been away."
"Sure. I'll jump to it." Brightening, she heads out of the office.
I gaze after her departing figure. "You see that woman?" I talk quietly to the Blip. "She might be the reason you're here." I pat my belly then feel like a complete idiot, because I am talking to the blip. My tiny little Blip. I shake my head, exasperated at myself and at Hannah . . . though deep down I know I can't really blame Hannah. Despondently I switch on my computer. There's an e-mail from Christian.
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Missing You
Date: September 13, 2011 13:58
To: Anastasia Grey
Mrs. Grey
I've been back in the office for only three hours, and I'm missing you already.
Hope Ray has settled into his new room okay. Mom is going to see him this afternoon and check up on him.
I'll collect you around six this evening, and we can go and see him before heading home.
Sound good?
Your loving husband
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.
I type a quick response.
From: Anastasia Grey
Subject: Missing You
Date: September 13, 2011 14:10
To: Christian Grey
Sure.
x
Anastasia Grey
Commissioning Editor, SIP
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Missing You
Date: September 13, 2011 14:14
To: Anastasia Grey
Are you okay?
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.
No, Christian, I'm not. I'm freaking out about you freaking out. I don't know what to do. But I am not going to tell you via e-mail.
From: Anastasia Grey
Subject: Missing You
Date: September 13, 2011 14:17
To: Christian Grey
Fine. Just busy.
See you at six.
x
Anastasia Grey
Commissioning Editor, SIP
When will I tell him? Tonight? Maybe after sex? Maybe during sex. No, that might be dangerous for both of us. When he's asleep? I put my head in my hands.
What the hell am I going to do?
"Hi," Christian says warily as I climb into the SUV.
"Hi," I murmur.
"What's wrong?" He frowns. I shake my head as Taylor sets off toward the hospital.
"Nothing." Maybe now? I could tell him now when we're in a contained space and Taylor is with us.
"Is work all right?" Christian continues to probe.
"Yes. Fine. Thanks."
"Ana, what's wrong?" His tone is a little more forceful, and I chicken out.
"I've just missed you, that's all. And I've been worried about Ray."
Christian visibly relaxes. "Ray's good. I spoke to Mom this afternoon and she's impressed with his progress." Christian grasps my hand. "Boy, your hand is cold. Have you eaten today?"
I blush.
"Ana," Christian scolds me, annoyed.
Well, I haven't eaten because I know you're going to go bat-shit crazy when I tell you I'm pregnant.
"I'll eat this evening. I haven't really had time."
He shakes his head in frustration. "Do you want me to add lsquo;feed my wife' to the security detail's list of duties?"
"I'm sorry. I'll eat. It's just been a weird day. You know, moving Dad and all."
His lips press into a hard line, but he says nothing. I gaze out the window.
Tell him! My subconscious hisses. No. I'm a coward.
Christian interrupts my reverie. "I may have to go to Taiwan."
I gape at the text then look up at the sleeping form of my husband. He's been out until one thirty in the morning drinkingmdash;with her! He snores softly, sleeping the sleep of a seemingly innocent, oblivious drunk. He looks so serene.
Oh no, no, no. My legs turn to jelly, and I sink slowly to the chair beside the bed in disbelief. Raw, bitter, humiliating betrayal lances through me. How could he? How could he go to her? Scalding, angry tears ooze down my cheeks. His wrath and fear, his need to lash out at me I can understand, and forgivemdash;just. But this . . . this treachery is too much. I pull my knees up against my chest and wrap my arms around them, protecting me and protecting my Little Blip. I rock to and fro, weeping softly.
What did I expect? I married this man too quickly. I knew itmdash;I knew it would come to this. Why. Why. Why? How could he do this to me? He knows how I feel about that woman. How could he turn to her? How? The knife twists slowly and painfully deep in my heart, lacerating me. Will it always be this way?
Through my tears, his prostrate figure blurs and shimmers. Oh, Christian. I married him because I love him, and deep down I know that he loves me. I know he does. His achingly sweet birthday present comes to mind.
For all our firsts on your first birthday as my beloved wife. I love you. C x No, no, nomdash;I can't believe that it will always be this way, two steps forward and three steps back. But that's how it's always been with him. After each set-back, we move forward, inch by inch. He will come around . . . he will. But will I? Will I recover from this . . . from this treachery? I think about how he's been this last, horrible, wonderful weekend. His quiet strength while my stepdad lay broken and comatose in the ICU . . . my surprise party, bringing my family and friends together . . . dipping me down low outside the Heathman and kissing me in full public view. Oh, Christian, you strain all my trust, all my faith . . . and I love you.
But it's not just me now. I place my hand on my belly. No, I will not let him do this to me and our Blip. Dr. Flynn said I should give him the benefit of the doubtmdash;well, not this time. I dash the tears from my eyes and wipe my nose with the back of my hand.
Christian stirs and rolls over, pulling his legs up from the side of the bed, and curls up beneath the duvet. He stretches out a hand as if searching for something, then grumbles and frowns but settles back to sleep, his arm outstretched.
Oh, Fifty. What am I going to do with you? And what the hell were you doing with the Bitch Troll? I need to know.
I glance once more at the offending text and quickly hatch a plan. Taking a deep breath, I forward the text to my BlackBerry. Step one complete. I quickly check the other recent texts, but can only see messages from Elliot, Andrea, Taylor, Ros, and me. None from Elena. Good, I think. I exit the text screen, relieved that he hasn't been texting her, and my heart lurches into my throat. Oh my.
The wallpaper on his phone is photograph upon photograph of me, a patchwork of tiny Anastasias in various posesmdash;our honeymoon, our recent weekend sailing and soaring, and a few of José's photos, too. When did he do this? It must have been recently.
I notice his e-mail icon, and an idea slithers enticingly into my mind . . . I could read Christian's e-mails. See if he's been talking to her. Should I? Sheathed in jade-green silk, my inner goddess nods emphatically, her mouth set in a scowl.
Before I can stop myself, I invade his privacy.
There are hundreds and hundreds of e-mails. I spin down through them, and they look dull as ditchwater . . . mostly from Ros, Andrea and me, and various executives in his company. None from Bitch Troll. While I'm at it, I'm relieved to see there are none from Leila either.
One e-mail catches my eye. It's from Barney Sullivan, Christian's IT guy, and the subject line is: Jack Hyde. I glance guiltily at Christian, but he's still snoring gently. I've never heard him snore. I open the e-mail.
From: Barney Sullivan
Subject: Jack Hyde
Date: September 13, 2011 14:09
To: Christian Grey
CCTV around Seattle tracks the white van from South Irving Street. Before that I can find no trace, so Hyde must have been based in that area.
As Welch has told you the unsub car was rented with a false license by an unknown female, though nothing that ties it to the South Irving Street area.
Details of known GEH and SIP employees who live in the area are in the attached file, which I have forwarded to Welch, too.
There was nothing on Hyde's SIP computer about his former PAs.
As a reminder, here is a list of what was retrieved from Hyde's SIP computer.
Greys' Home Addresses:
Five properties in Seattle
Two properties in Detroit
Detailed Resumés for:
Carrick Grey
Elliot Grey
Christian Grey
Dr. Grace Trevelyan
Anastasia Steele
Mia Grey
Newspaper and online articles relating to:
Dr. Grace Trevelyan
Carrick Grey
Christian Grey
Elliot Grey
Photographs:
Carrick Grey
Dr. Grace Trevelyan
Christian Grey
Elliot Grey
Mia Grey
I'll continue my investigation, see what else I can find.
B Sullivan
Head of IT, GEH
This odd e-mail momentarily sidetracks me from my night of woe. I click on the attachment to check through the names on the list, but it's obviously huge, too big to open on the BlackBerry.
What am I doing? It's late. I've had a tiring day. There are no e-mails from the Bitch Troll or Leila Williams, and I take some cold comfort from that. I glance quickly at the alarm clock: it's just after two in the morning. Today has been a day of revelations. I am to be a mother, and my husband has been fraternizing with the enemy. Well, let him stew. I am not sleeping here with him. He can wake up alone tomorrow. After placing his BlackBerry on the bedside table, I retrieve my purse from beside the bed and, after one last look at my angelic, sleeping Judas, I leave the bedroom.
The spare playroom key is in its usual place in the cabinet in the utility room.
I grab it and scoot upstairs. From the linen closet, I retrieve a pillow, duvet and sheet, then unlock the playroom door and enter, switching the lights to dim. Odd that I find the smell and ambience of this room so comforting, considering I safe worded the last time we were in here. I lock the door behind me, leaving the key in the lock. I know that tomorrow morning Christian will be frantic to find me, and I don't think he'll look in here if the door's locked. Well, it will serve him right.
I curl up on the Chesterfield couch, wrap myself in the duvet and drag my BlackBerry from my purse. Checking my texts, I find the one from the evil Bitch Troll that I forwarded from Christian's phone. I press FORWARD and type:
*WOULD YOU LIKE MRS. LINCOLN TO JOIN US WHEN WE
EVENTUALLY DISCUSS THIS TEXT SHE SENT TO YOU? IT WILL
SAVE YOU RUNNING TO HER AFTERWARD. YOUR WIFE*
I press SEND and switch the volume to mute. I huddle under my duvet. For all my bravado, I'm overwhelmed by the enormity of Christian's deceit. This should be a happy time. Jeez, we're going to be parents. Briefly, I relive telling Christian that I'm pregnant and fantasize that he falls to his knees with joy in front of me, pulling me into his arms and telling me how much he loves me and our Little Blip.
Yet here I am, alone and cold in a BDSM fantasy playroom. Suddenly I feel old, older than my years. Taking on Christian was always going to be a challenge, but he really has surpassed himself this time. What was he thinking? Well, if he wants a fight, I'll give him a fight. No way am I going to let him get away with running off to see that monstrous woman whenever we have a problem. He's going to have to choosemdash;her or me and our Little Blip. I sniffle softly, but because I'm so exhausted, I soon fall asleep.
I wake with a start, momentarily disorientated . . . Oh yesmdash;I'm in the playroom.
Because there are no windows, I have no idea what time it is. The door handle rattles.
"Ana!" Christian shouts from outside the door. I freeze, but he doesn't come in. I hear muffled voices, but they move away. I exhale and check the time on my BlackBerry. It's seven fifty, and I have four missed calls and two voice messages.
The missed calls are mostly from Christian, but there's also one from Kate. Oh, no. He must have called her. I don't have time to listen to them. I don't want to be late for work.
I wrap the duvet around me and pick up my purse before making my way to the door. Unlocking it slowly, I peek outside. No sign of anyone. Oh shit . . . Perhaps this is a bit melodramatic. I roll my eyes at myself, take a deep breath, and head downstairs.
Taylor, Sawyer, Ryan, Mrs. Jones, and Christian are all standing in the entrance to the great room, and Christian is issuing rapid-fire instructions. As one they all turn and gape at me. Christian is still wearing the clothes he slept in last night. He looks disheveled, pale, and heart-stoppingly beautiful. His large gray eyes are wide, and I don't know if he's fearful or angry. It's difficult to tell.
"Sawyer, I'll be ready to leave in about twenty minutes," I mutter, wrapping the duvet tighter around me for protection.
He nods, and all eyes turn to Christian, who is still staring intensely at me.
"Would you like some breakfast, Mrs. Grey?" Mrs. Jones asks. I shake my head.
"I'm not hungry, thank you." She purses her lips but says nothing.
"Where were you?" Christian asks, his voice low and husky. Suddenly Sawyer, Taylor, Ryan and Mrs. Jones scatter, scurrying into Taylor's office, into the foyer, and into the kitchen like terrified rats from a sinking ship.
I ignore Christian and march toward our bedroom.
"Ana," he calls after me, "answer me." I hear his footsteps behind me as I walk into the bedroom and continue into our bathroom. Quickly, I lock the door.
"Ana!" Christian pounds on the door. I turn on the shower. The door rattles.
"Ana, open the damned door."
"Go away!"
"I'm not going anywhere."
"Suit yourself."
"Ana, please."
I climb into the shower, effectively blocking him out. Oh, it's warm. The healing water cascades over me, cleansing the exhaustion of the night off my skin.
Oh my. This feels so good. For a moment, for one short moment, I can pretend all is well. I wash my hair and by the time I've finished, I feel better, stronger, ready to face the freight train that is Christian Grey. I wrap my hair in a towel, briskly dry myself with another towel, and wrap it around me.
I unlock the door and open it and find Christian is leaning against the wall opposite, his hands behind his back. His expression is wary, that of a hunted predator. I stride past him and into our walk-in closet.
"Are you ignoring me?" Christian asks in disbelief as he stands on the threshold of the closet.
"Perceptive, aren't you?" I murmur absentmindedly as I search
"Jack." My voice has disappeared, choked by fear. How is he out of jail? Why does he have Mia's phone? The blood drains from my face, and I feel dizzy.
"You do remember me," he says, his tone soft. I sense his bitter smile.
"Yes. Of course." My answer is automatic as my mind races.
"You're probably wondering why I called you."
"Yes."
Hang up.
"Don't hang up. I've been having a chat with your little sister-in-law."
What? Mia! No! "What have you done?" I whisper, trying to quell my fear.
"Listen here, you prick-teasing, gold-digging whore. You fucked up my life.
Grey fucked up my life. You owe me. I have the little bitch with me now. And you, that cock-sucker you married, and his whole fucking family are going to pay."
Hyde's contempt and bile shock me. His family? What the hell?
"What do you want?"
"I want his money. I really want his fucking money. If things had been different, it could have been me. So you're going to get it for me. I want five million dollars, today."
"Jack, I don't have access to that kind of money."
He snorts his derision. "You have two hours to get it. That's itmdash;two hours.
Tell no one or this little bitch gets it. Not the cops. Not your prick of a husband.
Not his security team. I will know if you do. Understand?" He pauses and I try to respond, but panic and fear seal my throat.
"You understand!" he shouts.
"Yes," I whisper.
"Or I will kill her."
I gasp.
"Keep your phone with you. Tell no one or I'll fuck her up before I kill her.
You have two hours."
"Jack, I need longer. Three hours. How do I know that you have her?"
The line goes dead. I gape in horror at the phone, my mouth parched with fear, leaving the nasty metallic taste of terror. Mia, he has Mia. Or does he? My mind whirrs at the obscene possibility, and my stomach roils again. I think I'm going to be sick, but I inhale deeply, trying to steady my panic, and the nausea passes. My mind rockets through the possibilities. Tell Christian? Tell Taylor?
Call the police? How will Jack know? Does he actually have Mia? I need time, time to thinkmdash;but I can only accomplish that by following his instructions. I grab my purse and head for the door.
"Hannah, I have to go out. I am not sure how long I'll be. Cancel my appointments this afternoon. Let Elizabeth know I have to deal with an emergency."
"Sure, Ana. Everything okay?" Hannah frowns, concern etched on her face as she watches me flee.
"Yes," I call back distractedly, hurrying toward reception where Sawyer is waiting.
"Sawyer." He leaps up from the armchair at the sound of my voice, and frowns when he sees my face.
"I'm not feeling well. Please take me home."
"Sure, ma'am. Do you want to wait here while I get the car?"
"No, I'll come with you. I'm in a hurry to get home."
I gaze out the window in stark terror as I go over my plan. Get home. Change.
Find checkbook. Escape from Ryan and Sawyer somehow. Go to bank. Hell, how much room does five million dollars take up? What will it weigh? Will I need a suitcase? Should I telephone the bank in advance? Mia. Mia. What if he doesn't have Mia? How can I check? If I call Grace it will raise her suspicions, and possibly endanger Mia. He said he would know. I glance out the back window of the SUV. Am I being followed? My heart races as I examine the cars following us.
They look innocuous enough. Oh, Sawyer, drive faster. Please. My eyes flicker to meet his in the rearview mirror and his brow creases.
Sawyer presses a button on his Bluetooth headset to answer a call. "T . . . I wanted to let you know Mrs. Grey is with me." Sawyer's eyes meet mine once more before he looks back at the road and continues. "She's unwell. I'm taking her back to Escala . . . I see . . . Sir." Sawyer's eyes flick from the road to mine in the rearview mirror again. "Yes," he agrees and hangs up.
"Taylor?" I whisper.
He nods.
"He's with Mr. Grey?"
"Yes, ma'am." Sawyer's look softens in sympathy.
"Are they still in Portland?"
"Yes, ma'am."
Good. I have to keep Christian safe. My hand strays down to my belly, and I rub it consciously. And you, Little Blip. Keep you both safe.
"Can we hurry please? I'm not feeling well."
"Yes, ma'am." Sawyer presses the accelerator and our car glides through the traffic.
Mrs. Jones is nowhere to be seen when Sawyer and I arrive at the apartment.
Since her car is missing from the garage, I assume she's running errands with Ry-an. Sawyer heads for Taylor's office while I bolt to Christian's study. Stumbling in panic around his desk, I wrench open the drawer to find the checkbooks.
Leila's gun slides forward into view. I feel an incongruous twinge of annoyance that Christian has not secured this weapon. He knows nothing about guns. Jeez, he could get hurt.
After a moment's hesitation, I grab the pistol, check to ensure it's loaded, and tuck it into the waistband of my black slacks. I may need it. I swallow hard. I've only ever practiced on targets. I've never fired a gun at anyone; I hope Ray will forgive me . I turn my attention to tracking down the right checkbook. There are five, and only one is in the names of C. Grey and Mrs. A. Grey. I have about fifty-four thousand dollars in my own account. I have no idea how much money is in this one. But Christian must be good for five million dollars, surely. Perhaps there's money in the safe? Crap. I have no idea of the number. Didn't he mention the combination was it his filing cabinet? I try the cabinet, but it's locked. Shit.
I'll have to stick to plan A.
I take a deep breath and, in a more composed but determined manner, stride to our bedroom. The bed has been made, and for a moment, I feel a pang. Perhaps I should have slept here last night. What is the point of arguing with someone who, by their own admission, is Fifty Shades? He's not even talking to me now.
Nomdash;I do not have time to think about this.
Quickly, I change out of my slacks, pulling on jeans, a hooded sweatshirt, and a pair of sneakers and put the gun in the waistband of my jeans, at my back.
From the closet I fish out a large soft duffle bag. Will five million dollars fit into this? Christian's gym bag is lying there on the floor. I open it, expecting to find it full of dirty laundry, but nomdash;his gym kit is clean and fresh. Mrs. Jones does indeed get everywhere. I dump the contents onto the floor and stuff his gym bag in-to my duffle. There, that should do it. I check that I have my driver's license as identification for the bank and check the time. It's been thirty-one minutes since Jack called. Now I just have to get out of Escala without Sawyer seeing me.
I make my way slowly and quietly to the foyer, aware of the CCTV camera which is trained on the elevator. I think Sawyer's still in Taylor's office. Cautiously, I open the foyer door, making as little noise as possible. Shutting it quietly behind me, I stand on the very threshold, up against the door, out of the view of the CCTV lens. I fish my cell phone out of my purse and call Sawyer.
"Mrs. Grey."
"Sawyer, I'm in the room upstairs, will you give me a hand with something?"
I keep my voice low, knowing he's just down the hallway on the other side of this door.
"I'll be right with you, ma'am," he says, and I hear his confusion. I've never telephoned him for help before. My heart is in my throat, pounding in a jarring, frenetic rhythm. Will this work? I hang up and listen as his footsteps cross the hallway and go up the stairs. I take another deep steadying breath and briefly contemplate the irony of escaping from my own home like a felon.
Once Sawyer's reached the upstairs landing, I race to the elevator and punch the call button. The doors slide open with the too-loud ping that announces the elevator is ready. I dash inside and frantically stab the button for the basement garage. After an agonizing pause, the doors slowly start to slide shut, and as they do I hear Sawyer's cries.
"Mrs. Grey!" Just as the elevator doors close, I see him skid into the foyer.
"Ana!" he shouts in disbelief. But he's too late, and he disappears from view.
The elevator sinks smoothly down to the garage level. I have a couple of minutes' start on Sawyer, and I know he'll try to stop me. I glance longingly at my R8 as I rush to the Saab, open the door, toss the duffel bag onto the passenger seat, and slide into the driver's seat.
I start the car, and the tires squeal as I race to the entrance and wait eleven agonizing seconds for the barrier to lift. The instant it's clear I drive out, catching sight of Sawyer in my rearview mirror as he dashes out of service elevator into the garage. His bewildered, injured expression haunts me as I turn off the ramp onto Fourth Avenue.
I let out my long held breath. I know Sawyer will call Christian or Taylor, but I'll deal with that when I have tomdash;I don't have time to dwell on it now. I squirm uncomfortably in my seat, knowing in my heart of hearts that Sawyer's probably lost his job. Don't dwell. I have to save Mia. I have to get to the bank and collect five million dollars. I glance in the rearview mirror, nervously anticipating the sight of the SUV bursting forth from the garage, but as I drive away, there's no sign of Sawyer.
The bank is sleek, modern, and understated. There are hushed tones, echoing floors, and pale green etched glass everywhere. I stride to the information desk.
"May I help you, ma'am?" The young woman gives me a bright, insincere smile, and for a moment I regret changing into jeans.
"I'd like to withdraw a large sum of money."
Ms. Insincere Smile arches an even more insincere eyebrow.
"You have an account with us?" She fails to hide her sarcasm.
"Yes," I snap. "My husband and I have several accounts here. His name is Christian Grey."
Her eyes widen fractionally and insincerity gives way to shock. Her eyes sweep up and down me once more, this time with a combination of disbelief and awe.
"This way, ma'am," she whispers, and leads me to a small, sparsely furnished office walled with more green-etched glass.
"Please take a seat." She gestures to a black leather chair by a glass desk bearing a state-of-the-art computer and phone. "How much will you be withdrawing today, Mrs. Grey?" she asks pleasantly.
"Five million dollars." I look her straight in the eye as if I ask for this amount of cash every day.
She blanches. "I see. I'll fetch the manager. Oh, forgive me for asking, but do you have ID?"
"I do. But I'd like to speak to the manager."
"Of course, Mrs. Grey." She scurries out. I sink into the seat, and a wave of nausea washes over me as the
There is only pain. My head, my chest . . . burning pain. My side, my arm. Pain.
Pain and hushed words in the gloom. Where am I? Though I try, I cannot open my eyes. The whispered words become clearer . . . a beacon in the darkness.
"Her ribs are bruised, Mr. Grey, and she has a hairline fracture to her skull, but her vital signs are stable and strong."
"Why is she still unconscious?"
"Mrs. Grey has had a major contusion to her head. But her brain activity is normal, and she has no cerebral swelling. She'll wake when she's ready. Just give her some time."
"And the baby?" The words are anguished, breathless.
"The baby's fine, Mr. Grey."
"Oh, thank God." The words are a litany . . . a prayer. "Oh, thank God."
Oh my. He's worried about the baby . . . the baby? . . . Little Blip. Of course.
My Little Blip. I try in vain to move my hand to my belly. Nothing moves, nothing responds.
"And the baby? . . . Oh, thank God."
Little Blip is safe.
"And the baby? . . . Oh, thank God."
He cares about the baby.
"And the baby? . . . Oh, thank God."
He wants the baby. Oh thank God. I relax, and unconsciousness claims me once more, stealing me away from the pain.
Everything is heavy and aching: limbs, head, eyelids, nothing will move. My eyes and mouth are resolutely shut, unwilling to open, leaving me blind and mute and aching. As I surface from the fog, consciousness hovers, a seductive siren just out of reach. Sounds become voices.
"I'm not leaving her."
Christian! He's here . . . I will myself to wakemdash;his voice is strained, an agonized whisper.
"Christian, you should sleep."
"No, Dad. I want to be here when she wakes up."
"I'll sit with her. It's the least I can do after she saved my daughter."
Mia!
"How's Mia?"
"She's groggy . . . scared and angry. It'll be a few hours before the Rohypnol is completely out of her system."
"Christ."
"I know. I'm feeling seven kinds of foolish for relenting on her security. You warned me, but Mia is so stubborn. If it wasn't for Ana here . . ."
"We all thought Hyde was out of the picture. And my crazy, stupid wifemdash;Why didn't she tell me?" Christian's voice is full of anguish.
"Christian, calm down. Ana's a remarkable young woman. She was incredibly brave."
"Brave and headstrong and stubborn and stupid." His voice cracks.
"Hey," Carrick murmurs, "don't be so hard on her, or yourself, son . . . I'd better get back to your mom. It's after three in the morning, Christian. You really should try to sleep."
The fog closes in.
The fog lifts but I have no sense of time.
"If you don't take her across your knee, I sure as hell will. What the hell was she thinking?"
"Trust me, Ray, I just might do that."
Dad! He's here. I fight the fog . . . fight . . . But I spiral down once more into oblivion. No . . .
"Detective, as you can see, my wife is no state to answer any of your questions."
Christian is angry.
"She's a headstrong young woman, Mr. Grey."
"I wish she'd killed the fucker."
"That would have meant more paperwork for me, Mr. Grey . . ."
"Miss Morgan is singing like the proverbial canary. Hyde's a real twisted son of a bitch. He has a serious grudge against your father and you . . ."
The fog surrounds me once more, and I'm dragged down . . . down . No!
"What do you mean you weren't talking?" It's Grace. She sounds angry. I try to move my head, but I'm met with a resounding, listless silence from my body.
"What did you do?"
"Mommdash;"
"Christian! What did you do?"
"I was so angry." It's almost a sob . . . No.
"Hey . . ."
The world dips and blurs and I'm gone.
I hear soft garbled voices.
"You told me you'd cut all ties." Grace is talking. Her voice is quiet, admonishing.
"I know." Christian sounds resigned. "But seeing her finally put it all in perspective for me. You know . . . with the child. For the first time I felt . . . What we did . . . it was wrong."
"What she did darling . . . Children will do that to you. Make you look at the world in a different light."
"She finally got the message . . . and so did I . . . I hurt Ana," he whispers.
"We always hurt the ones we love, darling. You'll have to tell her you're sorry. And mean it and give her time."
"She said she was leaving me."
No. No. No!
"Did you believe her?"
"At first, yes."
"Darling, you always believe the worst of everyone, including yourself. You always have. Ana loves you very much, and it's obvious you love her."
"She was mad at me."
"I'm sure she was. I'm pretty mad at you right now. I think you can only be truly mad at someone you really love."
"I thought about it, and she's shown me over and over how much she loves me . . . to the point of putting her own life in danger."
"Yes, she has, darling."
"Oh, Mom, why won't she wake up?" His voice cracks. "I nearly lost her."
Christian! There are muffled sobs. No . . .
Oh . . . the darkness closes in. Nomdash;
"It's taken twenty-four years for you to let me hold you like this . . ."
"I know, Mom . . . I'm glad we talked."
"Me too, darling. I'm always here. I can't believe I'm going to be a grandmother."
Grandma!
Sweet oblivion beckons.
Hmm. His stubble softly scrapes the back of my hand as he squeezes my fingers.
"Oh, baby, please come back to me. I'm sorry. Sorry for everything. Just wake up. I miss you. I love you . . ."
I try. I try. I want to see him. But my body disobeys me, and I fall asleep once more.
I have a pressing need to pee. I open my eyes. I'm in the clean, sterile environment of a hospital room. It's dark except for a sidelight, and all is quiet. My head and my chest ache, but more than that, my bladder is bursting. I need to pee. I test my limbs. My right arm smarts, and I notice the IV attached to it on the inside of my elbow. I shut my eyes quickly. Turning my headmdash;I'm pleased that it responds to my willmdash;I open my eyes again. Christian is asleep, sitting beside me and leaning on my bed with his head on his folded arms. I reach out, grateful once more that my body responds, and run my fingers through his soft hair.
He startles awake, raising his head so suddenly my hand falls weakly back onto the bed.
"Hi," I croak.
"Oh, Ana." His voice is choked and relieved. He grasps my hand, squeezing it tightly and holding it up against his rough, stubbled cheek.
"I need to use the bathroom," I whisper.
He gapes then frowns at me for a moment. "Okay."
I struggle to sit up.
"Ana, stay still. I'll call a nurse." He quickly stands, alarmed, and reaches for a buzzer on the bedside.
"Please," I whisper. Why do I ache everywhere? "I need to get up." Jeez, I feel so weak.
"Will you do as you're told for once?" he snaps, exasperated.
"I really need to pee," I rasp. My throat and mouth are so dry.
A nurse bustles into the room. She must be in her fifties, though her hair is jet black. She wears overlarge pearl earrings.
"Mrs. Grey welcome back. I'll let Dr. Bartley know you're awake." She makes her way to my bedside. "My name is Nora. Do you know where you are?"
"Yes. Hospital. I need to pee."
"You have a catheter."
What? Oh this is gross. I glance anxiously at Christian then back to the nurse.
"Please. I want to get up."
"Mrs. Grey."
"Please."
"Ana," Christian warns. I struggle to sit up once more.
"Let me remove your catheter. Mr. Grey I am sure Mrs. Grey would like some privacy." She looks pointedly at Christian, dismissing him.
"I'm not going anywhere." He glares back at her.
"Christian, please," I whisper, reaching out and grasping his hand. Briefly he squeezes my hand then gives me an exasperated look. "Please," I beg.
"Fine!" he snaps and runs his hand through his hair. "You have two minutes," he hisses at the nurse, and he leans down and kisses my forehead before turning on his heel and leaving the room.
Christian bursts back into the room two minutes later as Nurse Nora is helping me out of bed. I'm dressed in a thin hospital gown. I don't remember being stripped.
"Let me take her," he says and strides toward us.
"Mr. Grey, I can manage." Nurse Nora scolds him.
He gives her a hostile glare. "Dammit, she's my wife. I'll take her." He says through gritted teeth as he moves the IV stand out of his way.
"Mr. Grey!" she protests.
He ignores her, leans down, and gently lifts me off the bed. I wrap my arms around his neck, my body complaining. Jeez, I ache everywhere. He carries me to the en suite bathroom while Nurse Nora follows us, pushing the IV stand.
"Mrs. Grey, you're too light," he mutters disapprovingly as he sets me gently on my feet. I sway. My legs feel like Jell-O. Christian flips the light switch, and I'm momentarily blinded by the fluorescent lamp that pings and flickers to life.
"Sit before you fall," he snaps, still holding me.
Tentatively, I sit down on the toilet.
"Go." I try to wave him out.
"No. Just pee, Ana."
Could this be any more embarrassing? "I can't, not with you here."
"You might fall."
"Mr. Grey!"
We both ignore the nurse.
"Please," I beg.
He raises his hands in defeat. "I'll stand outside, door open." He takes a couple of paces back until he's standing just outside the door with the angry nurse.
"Turn around, please," I ask. Why do I feel so ridiculously shy with this man? He rolls his eyes but complies. And when his back is turned . . . I let go, and savor the relief.
I take stock of my injuries. My head hurts, my chest aches where Jack kicked me, and my side throbs where he pushed me to the ground. Plus I'm thirsty and hungry. Jeez, really hungry. I finish up, thankful that I don't have to get up to wash my hands, as the sink is close. I just don't have the strength to stand.
"I'm done," I call, drying my hands on the towel.
Christian turns and comes back in and before I know it, I'm in his arms again.
I have missed these arms. He pauses and buries his nose in my hair.
"Oh, I've missed you, Mrs. Grey," he whispers, and with Nurse Nora fussing behind him, he lays me back on the bed and releases memdash;reluctantly, I
"Much as I'd like to kiss you all day, your breakfast is getting cold," Christian murmurs against my lips. He gazes down at me, now amused, except his eyes are darker, sensual. Holy cow, he's switched again. My Mr. Mercurial.
"Eat," he orders, his voice soft. I swallow, a reaction to his smoldering look, and crawl back into bed, avoiding snagging my IV line. He pushes the tray in front of me. The oatmeal is cold, but the pancakes under the cover are finemdash;in fact, they're mouthwatering.
"You know," I mutter between mouthfuls, "Blip might be a girl."
Christian runs his hand through his hair. "Two women, eh?" Alarm flashes across his face, and his dark look vanishes.
Oh crap. "Do you have a preference?"
"Preference?"
"Boy or girl."
He frowns. "Healthy will do," he says quietly clearly disconcerted by the question. "Eat," he snaps, and I know he's trying to avoid the subject.
"I'm eating, I'm eating . . . Jeez, keep your hair on, Grey." I watch him carefully. The corners of his eyes are crinkled with worry. He's said he'll try, but I know he's still freaked out by the baby. Oh, Christian, so am I. He sits down in the armchair beside me, picking up the Seattle Times.
"You made the papers again, Mrs. Grey." His is tone bitter.
"Again?"
"The hacks are just rehashing yesterday's story, but it seems factually accur-ate. You want to read it?"
I shake my head. "Read it to me. I'm eating."
He smirks and proceeds to read the article aloud. It's a report on Jack and Elizabeth, depicting them as a modern-day Bonnie and Clyde. It briefly covers Mia's kidnapping, my involvement in Mia's rescue, and the fact that both Jack and I are in the same hospital. How does the press get all this information? I must ask Kate.
When Christian finishes, I say, "Please read something else. I like listening to you."
He obliges and reads me a report about a booming bagel business and the fact that Boeing has had to cancel the launch of some plane. Christian frowns as he reads. But listening to his soothing voice as I eat, secure in the knowledge that I am fine, Mia is safe and my Little Blip is safe, I feel a precious moment of peace despite all that has happened over the last few days.
I understand that Christian is scared about the baby, but I don't understand the depth of his fear. I resolve to talk to him some more about this. See if I can put his mind at ease. What puzzles me is that he hasn't lacked for positive role models as parents. Both Grace and Carrick are exemplary parents, or so they seem.
Maybe it was the Bitch Troll's interference that damaged him so badly. I'd like to think so. But in truth I think it goes back to his birth mom, though I'm sure Mrs.
Robinson didn't help. I halt my thoughts as I nearly recall a whispered conversation. Damn! It hovers on the edge of my memory from when I was unconscious. Christian talking with Grace. It melts away into the shadows of my mind. Oh, it's so frustrating.
I wonder if Christian will ever volunteer the reason he went to see her or if I'll have to push him. I'm about to ask when there's a knock on the door.
Detective Clark makes an apologetic entry into the room. He's right to be apologeticmdash;my heart sinks when I see him.
"Mr. Grey, Mrs. Grey. Am I interrupting?"
"Yes," snaps Christian.
Clark ignores him. "Glad to see you're awake, Mrs. Grey. I need to ask you a few questions about Thursday afternoon. Just routine. Is now a convenient time?"
"Sure," I mumble, but I do not want to relive Thursday's events.
"My wife should be resting." Christian bristles.
"I'll be brief, Mr. Grey. And it means I'll be out of your hair sooner rather than later."
Christian stands and offers Clark his chair, then sits down beside me on the bed, takes my hand, and squeezes it reassuringly.
Half an hour later, Clark is done. I've learned nothing new, but I have recounted the events of Thursday to him in a halting, quiet voice, watching Christian go pale and grimace at some parts.
"I wish you'd aimed higher," Christian mutters.
"Might have done womankind a service if Mrs. Grey had." Clark agrees.
What?
"Thank you, Mrs. Grey. That's all for now."
"You won't let him out again, will you?"
"I don't think he'll make bail this time, ma'am."
"Do we know who posted his bail?" Christian asks.
"No sir. It was confidential."
Christian frowns, but I think he has his suspicions. Clark rises to leave just as Dr. Singh and two interns enter the room.
After a thorough examination, Dr. Singh declares me fit to go home. Christian sags with relief.
"Mrs. Grey, you'll have to watch for worsening headaches and blurry vision.
If that occurs you must return to the hospital immediately."
I nod, trying to contain my delight at going home.
As Dr. Singh leaves, Christian asks her for a quick word in the corridor. He keeps the door ajar as he asks her a question. She smiles.
"Yes, Mr. Grey, that's fine."
He grins and returns to the room a happier man.
"What was all that about?"
"Sex," he says, flashing a wicked grin.
Oh. I blush. "And?"
"You're good to go." He smirks.
Oh, Christian!
"I have a headache." I smirk right back.
"I know. You'll be off limits for a while. I was just checking."
Off limits? I frown at the momentary stab of disappointment I feel. I'm not sure I want to be off limits.
Nurse Nora joins us to remove my IV. She glares at Christian. I think she's one of the few women I've met who is oblivious to his charms. I thank her when she leaves with my IV stand.
"Shall I take you home?" Christian asks.
"I'd like to see Ray first."
"Sure."
"Does he know about the baby?"
"I thought you'd want to be the one to tell him. I haven't told your mom either."
"Thank you." I smile, grateful that he hasn't stolen my thunder.
"My mom knows," Christian adds. "She saw your chart. I told my dad but no one else. Mom said couples normally wait for twelve weeks or so . . . to be sure."
He shrugs.
"I'm not sure I'm ready to tell Ray."
"I should warn you, he's mad as hell. Said I should spank you."
What? Christian laughs at my appalled expression. "I told him I'd be only too willing to oblige."
"You didn't!" I gasp, though an echo of a whispered conversation tantalizes my memory. Yes, Ray was here while I was unconscious . . .
He winks at me. "Here, Taylor brought you some clean clothes. I'll help you dress."
As Christian predicted, Ray is furious. I don't ever remember him being this mad.
Christian has wisely decided to leave us alone. For such a taciturn man, Ray fills his hospital room with his invective, berating me for my irresponsible behavior. I am twelve years old again.
Oh, Dad, please calm down. Your blood pressure is not up to this.
"And I've had to deal with your mother," he grumbles, waving both of his hands in exasperation.
"Dad, I'm sorry."
"And poor Christian! I've never seen him like that. He's aged. We've both aged years over the last couple of days."
"Ray, I'm sorry."
"Your mother is waiting for your call," he says in a more measured tone.
I kiss his cheek, and finally he relents from his tirade.
"I'll call her. I really am sorry. But thank you for teaching me to shoot."
For a moment, he regards me with ill-concealed paternal pride. "I'm glad you can shoot straight," he says, his voice gruff. "Now go on home and get some rest."
"You look well, Dad." I try to change the subject.
"You look pale." His fear is suddenly evident. His look mirrors Christian's from last night, and I grasp his hand.
"I'm okay. I promise I won't do anything like that again."
He squeezes my hand and pulls me into a hug. "If anything happened to you," he whispers, his voice hoarse and low. Tears prick my eyes. I am not used to displays of emotion from my stepfather.
"Dad, I'm good. Nothing that a hot shower won't cure."
We leave through the rear exit of the hospital to avoid the paparazzi gathered at the entrance. Taylor leads us to the waiting in the SUV.
Christian is quiet as Sawyer drives us home. I avoid Sawyer's gaze in the rearview mirror, embarrassed that the last time I saw him was at the bank when I gave him the slip. I call my mom, who sobs and sobs. It takes most of the journey home to calm her down, but I succeed by promising that we'll visit soon.
Throughout my conversation with her, Christian holds my hand, brushing his thumb across my knuckles. He's nervous . . . something's happened.
"What's wrong?" I ask when I'm finally free from my mother.
"Welch wants to see me."
"Welch? Why?"
"He's found something out about that fucker Hyde." Christian's lip curls into a snarl, and a frisson of fear passes through me. "He didn't want to tell me on the phone."
"Oh."
"He's coming here this afternoon from Detroit."
"You think he's found a connection?"
Christian nods.
"What do you think it is?"
"I have no idea." Christian's brow furrows, perplexed.
Taylor pulls into the garage at Escala and stops by the elevator to let us out before he parks. In the garage, we can avoid the attention of the waiting photographers. Christian ushers me out of the car. Keeping his arm around my waist, he leads me to the waiting elevator.
"Glad to be home?" he asks.
"Yes," I whisper. But as I stand in the familiar surroundings of the elevator, the enormity of what I've been through crashes over me, and I start to shake.
"Heymdash;" Christian wraps his arms around me and pulls me close. "You're home. You're safe," he says, kissing my hair.
"Oh, Christian." A dam I didn't even know was in place bursts, and I start to sob.
"Hush now," Christian whispers, cradling my head against his chest.
But it's too late. I weep, overwhelmed, into his T-shirt, recalling Jack's vicious attackmdash; "That's for SIP, you fucking bitch!"mdash; telling Christian I was leavingmdash; "You're leaving me?"mdash; and my fear, my gut-wrenching fear for Mia, for myself, and for Little Blip.
When the doors of the elevator slide open, Christian picks me up like a child and carries me into the foyer. I wrap my arms around his neck and cling to him, keening quietly.
He carries me through to our bathroom and gently settles me on the chair.
I can barely breathe. Do I want to hear this? Christian closes his eyes and swallows. When he opens them again, they are bright but diffident, full of disquieting memories.
"It was a hot summer day. I was working hard." He snorts and shakes his head, suddenly amused. "It was backbreaking work shifting that rubble. I was on my own, and Elemdash;Mrs. Lincoln appeared out of nowhere and brought me some lemonade. We exchanged small talk, and I made some smart-ass remark . . . and she slapped me. She slapped me so hard." Unconsciously, his hand moves to his face and he caresses his cheek, his eyes clouding at the memory. Holy shit!
"But then she kissed me. And when she finished, she slapped me again." He blinks, seemingly still confounded even after all this time.
"I'd never been kissed before or hit like that."
Oh. She pounced. On a kid.
"Do you want to hear this?" Christians asks.
Yes . . . No . . .
"Only if you want to tell me." My voice is small as I lie facing him, my mind reeling.
"I'm trying to give you some context."
I nod in what I hope is an encouraging manner. But I suspect I may look like a statue, frozen and wide-eyed with shock.
He frowns, his eyes searching mine, trying to gauge my reaction. Then he turns onto his back and stares up at the ceiling.
"Well, naturally, I was confused and angry and horny as hell. I mean, a hot older woman comes on to you like thatmdash;" He shakes his head as if he still can't believe it.
Hot? I feel queasy.
"She went back into the house, leaving me in the backyard. She acted as if nothing had happened. I was at a total loss. So I went back to work, loading the rubble into the dumpster. When I left that evening, she asked me to come back the next day. She didn't mention what had happened. So the next day I went back. I couldn't wait to see her again," he whispers as if it's a dark confession . . . because frankly it is.
"She didn't touch me when she kissed me," he murmurs and turns his head to gaze at me. "You have to understand . . . my life was hell on earth. I was a walking hard-on, fifteen years old, tall for my age, hormones raging. The girls at schoolmdash;" He stops, but I've got the picture: a scared, lonely, but attractive adolescent. My heart twists.
"I was angry, so fucking angry at everyone, at myself, my folks. I had no friends. My therapist at the time was a total asshole. My folks, they kept me on a tight leash; they didn't understand." He stares back up at the ceiling and runs a hand through his hair. I itch to run my fingers through his hair, too, but I stay still.
"I just couldn't bear anyone to touch me. I couldn't. Couldn't bear anyone near me. I used to fight . . . fuck, did I fight. I got into some god-awful brawls. I was expelled from a couple of schools. But it was a way to let off steam. To tolerate some kind of physical contact." He stops again. "Well, you get the idea.
And when she kissed me, she only grabbed my face. She didn't touch me." His voice is barely audible.
She must have known. Perhaps Grace had told her. Oh, my poor Fifty. I have to fold my hands beneath my pillow and rest my head on it in order to resist the urge to hold him.
"Well, the next day I went back to the house, not knowing what to expect.
And I'll spare you the gory details, but there was more of the same. And that's how our relationship started."
Oh, fuck, this is painful to hear.
He shifts again onto his side so he's facing me.
"And you know something, Ana? My world came into focus. Sharp and clear.
Everything. It was exactly what I needed. She was a breath of fresh air. Making the decisions, taking all that shit away from me, letting me breathe."
Holy shit.
"And even when it was over, my world stayed in focus because of her. And it stayed that way until I met you."
What the hell am I supposed to say to that? Tentatively, he smoothes a stray lock of my hair behind my ear.
"You turned my world on its head." He closes his eyes, and when he opens them again, they are raw. "My world was ordered, calm and controlled, then you came into my life with your smart mouth, your innocence, your beauty, and your quiet temerity . . . and everything before you was just dull, empty, mediocre . . . it was nothing."
Oh, my.
"I fell in love," he whispers.
I stop breathing. He caresses my cheek.
"So did I," I murmur with the little breath I have left.
His eyes soften. "I know," he mouths.
"You do?"
"Yes."
Hallelujah! I smile shyly at him. "Finally," I whisper.
He nods. "And it's put everything into perspective for me. When I was younger, Elena was the center of my world. There was nothing I wouldn't do for her. And she did a lot for me. She stopped my drinking. Made me work hard at school . . . You know, she gave me a coping mechanism I hadn't had before, allowed me to experience things that I never thought I could."
"Touch," I whisper.
He nods. "After a fashion."
I frown, wondering what he means.
He hesitates at my reaction.
Tell me! I will him.
"If you grow up with a wholly negative self-image, thinking you're some kind of reject, an unlovable savage, you think you deserve to be beaten."
Christian . . . you are none of those things.
He pauses and runs his hand through his hair. "Ana, it's much easier to wear your pain on the outside . . ." Again, it's a confession.
Oh.
"She channeled my anger." His mouth presses together in a bleak line.
"Mostly inwardmdash;I realize that now. Dr. Flynn's been on and on about this for some time. It was only recently that I saw our relationship for what it was. You know . . . on my birthday."
I shudder as the unwelcome memory of Elena and Christian verbally eviscer-ating each other at Christian's birthday party surfaces unwelcome in my mind.
"For her that side of our relationship was about sex and control and a lonely woman finding some kind of comfort with her boy toy."
"But you like control," I whisper.
"Yes. I do. I always will, Ana. It's who I am. I surrendered it for a brief while. Let someone make all my decisions for me. I couldn't do it myselfmdash;I wasn't in a fit state. But through my submission to her, I found myself and found the strength to take charge of my life . . . take control and make my own decisions."
"Become a Dom?"
"Yes."
"Your decision?"
"Yes."
"Dropping out of Harvard?"
"My decision, and it was the best decision I ever made. Until I met you."
"Me?"
"Yes." His lips quirk up in a soft smile. "The best decision I ever made was marrying you."
Oh my. "Not starting your company?"
He shakes his head.
"Not learning to fly?"
He shakes his head. "You," he mouths. He caresses my cheek with his knuckles. "She knew," he whispers.
I frown. "She knew what?"
"That I was head over heels in love with you. She encouraged me to go down to Georgia to see you, and I'm glad she did. She thought you'd freak out and leave. Which you did."
I pale. I'd rather not think about that.
"She thought I needed all the trappings of the lifestyle I enjoyed."
"The Dom?" I whisper.
He nods. "It enabled me to keep everyone at arm's length, gave me control, and kept me detached, or so I thought. I'm sure you've worked out why," he adds softly.
"Your birth mom?"
"I didn't want to be hurt again. And then you left me." His words are barely audible. "And I was a mess."
Oh, no.
"I've avoided intimacy for so longmdash;I don't know how to do this."
"You're doing fine," I murmur. I trace his lips with my index finger. He purses them into a kiss. You're talking to me.
"Do you miss it?" I whisper.
"Miss it?"
"That lifestyle."
"Yes, I do."
Oh!
"But only insofar as I miss the control it brings. And frankly, your stupid stunt"mdash;he stopsmdash;"that saved my sister," he whispers, his words full of relief, awe, and disbelief. "That's how I know."
"Know?"
"Really know that you love me."
I frown. "You do?"
"Yes. Because you risked so much . . . for me, for my family."
My frown deepens. He reaches over and traces his finger over the middle of my brow above my nose.
"You have a V here when you frown," he murmurs. "It's very soft to kiss. I can behave so badly . . . and yet you're still here."
"Why are you surprised I'm still here? I told you I wasn't going to leave you."
"Because of the way that I behaved when you told me you were pregnant."
He runs his finger down my cheek. "You were right. I am an adolescent."
Oh shit . . . I did say that. My subconscious glares at me. His doctor said that!
"Christian, I said some awful things." He puts his index finger over my lips.
"Hush. I deserved to hear them. Besides this is my bedtime story." He rolls onto his back again.
"When you told me you were pregnantmdash;" He stops. "I'd thought it would be just you and me for a while. I'd considered children, but only in the abstract. I had this vague idea we'd have a child sometime in the future."
Just one? No . . . Not an only child. Not like me. Perhaps now's not the best time to bring that up.
"You are still so young, and I know you're quietly ambitious."
Ambitious? Me?
"Well, you pulled the rug from under me. Christ, was that unexpected. Never in a million years, when I asked you what was wrong, did I expect you to be pregnant." He sighs. "I was so mad. Mad at you. Mad at myself. Mad at everyone.
And it took me back, that feeling of nothing being in my control. I had to get out.
I went to see Flynn, but he was at some school parents' evening." Christian pauses and arches an eyebrow.
"Ironic," I whisper. Christian smirks in agreement.
"So I walked and walked and walked, and I just . . . found myself at the salon. Elena was leaving. She was surprised to see me. And, truth be told, I was surprised to find myself there. She could tell I was mad and asked me if I wanted a drink."
Oh shit. We've cut to the chase. My heart doubles in speed. Do I really want to know this? My subconscious glares at me, a plucked eyebrow raised in warning.
"We went to a quiet bar I know and had a bottle of wine. She apologized for the way she behaved the last time she saw us. She's hurt that my mom will have nothing to do with her any moremdash;it's narrowed her social circlemdash;but she understands. We talked about the business, which is doing fine, in sp
I lie on our tartan picnic blanket and gaze up at the clear, blue, summer sky, my view framed by meadow flowers and tall green grasses. The heat of the afternoon summer sun warms my skin, my bones and my belly, and I relax, my body turning to Jell-O. This is comfortable. Hell no . . . this is wonderful. I savor the moment, a moment of peace, a moment of pure and utter contentment. I should feel guilty for feeling this joy, this completeness, but I don't. Life right here right now is good, and I've learned to appreciate it and live in the moment like my husband. I smile and squirm as my mind drifts to the delicious memory of last night at our home in Escala . . .
The strands of the flogger skim across my swollen belly at an aching, languorous pace.
"Have you had enough yet, Ana?" Christian whispers in my ear.
"Oh, please." I beg, pulling on the restraints above my head as I stand blindfolded and tethered to the grid in the playroom.
The flogger's sweet sting bites into my behind.
"Please what?"
I gasp. "Please, Sir."
Christian places his hand over my ringing skin and rubs gently.
"There. There. There." His words are soft. His hand moves south and around, and his fingers slide inside me.
I groan.
"Mrs. Grey," he breathes, and his teeth pull on my earlobe. "You're so ready."
His fingers slide in and out of me, hitting that spot, that sweet, sweet spot again. The flogger clatters onto the floor and his hand moves over my belly and up to my breasts. I tense. They are sensitive.
"Hush," Christian says, cupping one, and he gently brushes his thumb over my nipple.
"Ah."
His fingers are gentle and enticing, and pleasure spirals out from my breast, down, down . . . deep down. I tilt my head back, pushing my nipple into his palm, and moan once more.
"I like to hear you," Christian whispers. His erection is at my hip, the buttons of his fly pressing into my flesh as his fingers continue their relentless assault: in, out, in, outmdash;keeping a rhythm. "Shall I make you come like this?" he asks.
"No."
His fingers stop moving inside me.
"Really, Mrs. Grey? Is it up to you?" His fingers tighten around my nipple.
"No . . . No, Sir."
"That's better."
"Ah. Please," I beg.
"What do you want, Anastasia?"
"You. Always."
He inhales sharply.
"All of you," I add, breathless.
He eases his fingers out of me, pulls me around to face him, and removes the blindfold. I blink up into darkening gray eyes that burn into mine. His index fingers trace my bottom lip, and he pushes his index and middle fingers into my mouth, letting me taste the salty tang of my arousal.
"Suck," he whispers. I swirl my tongue around and between his fingers.
Hmm . . . even I taste good on his fingers.
His hands skim up my arms to the cuffs above my head, and he unclips them, freeing me. Turning me around so I'm facing the wall, he tugs on my braid, pulling me into his arms. He angles my head to one side and skims his lips up my throat to my ear while holding me flush against him.
"I want in your mouth." His voice is soft and seductive. My body, ripe and ready, clenches deep inside. The pleasure is sweet and sharp.
I moan. Turning to face him, I pull his head down to mine and kiss him hard, my tongue invading his mouth, tasting and savoring him. He groans, places his hands on my behind and tugs me against him, but only my pregnant belly touches him. I bite his jaw and trail kisses down his throat and run my fingers down to his jeans. He tilts his head back, exposing more of his throat to me, and I run my tongue down to his chest and through his chest hair.
"Ah."
I tug the waistband of his jeans, the buttons popping, and he grasps my shoulders as I sink to my knees in front of him.
As I gaze up at him through my lashes, he stares down at me. His eyes are dark, his lips parted, and he inhales deeply when I free him and ensnare him with my mouth. I love doing this to Christian. Watching him come apart, hearing his breath hitch, and the soft moans he makes deep in his throat. I close my eyes and suck hard, pressing down on him, relishing his taste and his breathless gasp.
He grasps my head, stilling me, and I sheath my teeth with my lips and push him deeper into my mouth.
"Open your eyes and look at me," he orders, his voice low.
Blazing eyes meet mine and he flexes his hips, filling my mouth to the back of my throat then withdrawing quickly. He pushes into me again and I reach up to grab him. He stops and holds me in place.
"Don't touch or I'll cuff you again. I just want your mouth," he growls.
Oh my. Like that is it? I put my hands behind my back and gaze up at him innocently with my mouth full.
"Good girl," he says, smirking down at me, his voice hoarse. He eases back, and holding me gently but firmly, he pushes into me again. "You have such a fuckable mouth, Mrs. Grey." He closes his eyes and eases into my mouth as I squeeze him between my lips, running my tongue over and around him. I take him deeper and withdraw, again and again and again, the air hissing between his teeth.
"Ah! Stop," he says, and he pulls out of me, leaving me wanting more. He grasps my shoulders and pulls me to my feet. Grabbing my braid, he kisses me hard, his persistent tongue greedy and giving at once. Suddenly he releases me, and before I know it, he's lifted me into his arms and moved over to the four-poster. Gently, he lays me down so that my behind is just on the edge of the bed.
"Wrap your legs around my waist," he orders. I do and pull him toward me.
He leans down, hands either side of my head, and still standing, very slowly eases himself into me.
Oh, that feels so good. I close my eyes and revel in his slow possession.
"Okay?" he asks, his concern evident in his tone.
"Oh, God, Christian. Yes. Yes. Please." I tighten my legs around him and push against him. He groans. I clasp his arms, and he flexes his hips slowly at first, in, out.
"Christian, please. Hardermdash;I won't break."
He groans and starts to move, really move, pounding into me again and again. Oh, it's heavenly.
"Yes," I gasp, tightening my hold on him as I start to build . . . He moans, grinding into me with renewed determination . . . and I'm close. Oh, please. Don't stop.
"Come on, Ana," he groans through gritted teeth, and I explode around him, my orgasm going on and on and on. I call out his name and Christian stills, groaning loudly, as he climaxes inside me.
"Ana," he cries.
Christian lies beside me, his hand caressing my belly, his long fingers splayed out wide.
"How's my daughter?"
"She's dancing." I laugh.
"Dancing? Oh yes! Wow. I can feel her." He grins as Blip Two somersaults inside me.
"I think she likes sex already."
Christian frowns. "Really?" he says dryly. He moves so his lips are against my bump. "There'll be none of that until you're thirty, young lady."
I giggle. "Oh, Christian, you are such a hypocrite."
"No, I'm an anxious father." He gazes up at me, his brow furrowed, betraying his anxiety.
"You're a wonderful father, as I knew you would be." I caress his lovely face, and he gives me his shy smile.
"I like this," he murmurs, stroking then kissing my belly. "There's more of you."
I pout. "I don't like more of me."
"It's great when you come."
"Christian!"
"And I'm looking forward to the taste of breast milk again."
"Christian! You are such a kinkymdash;"
He swoops on me suddenly, kissing me hard, throwing his leg over mine, and grabbing my hands so they are above my head. "You love the kinky fuckery," he whispers, and he runs his nose down mine.
I grin, caught in his infectious, wicked smile. "Yes, I love the kinky fuckery.
And I love you. Very much."
I jerk awake, woken by a high-pitched squeal of delight from my son, and even though I can't see him or Christian, I grin like an idiot with my glee. Ted has woken from his nap, and he and Christian are romping nearby. I lie quietly, still marveling at Christian's capacity for play. His patience with Teddy is extraordinarymdash;much more so than with me. I snort. But then, that's how it should be. And my beautiful little boy, the apple of his mother and father's eyes, knows no fear.
Christian, on the other hand, is still too overprotectivemdash;of both of us. My sweet, mercurial, controlling Fifty.
"Let's find Mommy. She's here in the meadow somewhere."
Ted says something I don't hear, and Christian laughs freely, happily. It's a magical sound, filled with his paternal joy. I can't resist. I struggle up onto my elbows to spy on them from my hiding place in the long grass.
Christian is swinging Ted around and around, making him squeal once more in delight. He stops, launches him high into the airmdash;I stop breathingmdash;then he catches him. Ted shrieks with childish abandon and I breathe a sigh of relief. Oh my little man, my darling little man, always on the go.
"Gain, Daddy!" he squeals. Christian obliges, and my heart leaps into my mouth once more as he tosses Teddy into the air then catches him again, clutching him close. Christian kisses Ted's copper-colored hair, and blows a kiss on his cheek, then tickles him mercilessly for a moment. Teddy howls with laughter, squirming and pushing against Christian's chest, wanting out of his arms. Grinning, Christian sets him on the ground.
"Let's find Mommy. She's hiding in the grass."
Ted beams, enjoying the game, and looks around the meadow. Grasping Christian's hand, he points to somewhere I'm not, and it makes me giggle. I lie back down quickly, delighting in this game.
"Ted, I heard Mommy. Did you hear her?"
"Mommy!"
I giggle-snort at Ted's imperious tone. Jeezmdash;so like his dad, and he's only two.
"Teddy!" I call back, gazing up the sky with a ridiculous grin on my face.
"Mommy!"
All too soon I hear their footsteps trampling through the meadow, and first Ted then Christian bursts through the long grass.
"Mommy!" Ted screeches as if he's found the lost treasure of the Sierra Madre, and he leaps onto me.
"Hey, baby boy!" I cradle him against me and kiss his chubby cheek. He giggles and kisses me in return, then struggles out of my arms.
"Hello, Mommy." Christian smiles down at me.
"Hello, Daddy." I grin, and he picks Ted up, and sits down beside me with our son in his lap.
"Gently with Mommy," he admonishes Ted. I smirkmdash;the irony is not lost on me. From his pocket, Christian produces his BlackBerry and gives it to Ted. This will probably win us five minutes of peace, maximum. Teddy studies i
