Fifty Shades Darker Part 34

My body starts to quiver. Oh ... This feeling that I now know so well ... I am close ...

Oh ...

"That's right, baby ... give it up for me ... Please ... Ana," he murmurs and his words are my undoing."Christian," I call out, and he groans as we both come together."

CHAPTER 10

Mac will be back soon," he murmurs.

"Hmm." My eyes ficker open to meet his soft gray gaze. Lord, his eyes are an amazing color-especially here, out on the sea-refecting 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 s.e.xy. 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 beauti- ful, 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 c.o.c.k 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, An- astasia. How's a man supposed to keep up?" He leans down and kisses me again. "Lat- ers, 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 fre escape stairwell? ... I see ... Yes, tonight."

He hits the end b.u.t.ton, and the sound of the engines fring up startles me. Mac must be in the c.o.c.kpit 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 refect 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 frst, Miss Steele."

His words bring to mind him chasing me round the apartment, the thrill, then the hid- eous 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 frst met him. I picked up then on his pa.s.sion for ships. I thought his love was only for the ocean-going freighters his company builds-not for super-s.e.xy, sleek catamarans, too.

And, of course, he's made sweet, unhurried love to me. I shake my head, remember- ing 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 un- nerving.

Now he sits, and I stand in the safe circle of his arms for hours, it seems, in comfort- able, 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, refecting 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 s.p.a.ce. 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, Anasta- sia," 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 pub- lished in 1931 under the original t.i.tle 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 fnd."

"Jason?"

"Jason Taylor."

I remember when I thought Taylor was his frst name. Jason. It suits him-solid, reli- able. 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 ash.o.r.e.

"Good day, Mac, and thank you."

He grins at me and winks, making me fush. 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. Robin- son.

"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 called Bee's. It reminds me of the place in Portland-a few tables and booths, the decor very crisp and modern with a large black and white pho- tograph of a turn-of-the-century festa serving as a mural.

Christian and I are seated in a booth, poring over the menu and sipping a delicious light Frascati. When I glance up from the menu, having made my choice, Christian is gazing at me speculatively.

"What?" I ask.

"You look lovely, Anastasia. The outdoors agrees with you."

I fush. "I feel rather wind-burned to tell the truth. But I had a lovely afternoon. A per- fect afternoon. Thank you."

He smiles, his eyes warm. "My pleasure," he murmurs.

"Can I ask you something?" I decide on a fact-fnding mission.

"Anything, Anastasia. You know that." He c.o.c.ks his head to one side, looking deli- cious.