Fifty Shades Darker Part 40

It's just your imagination, my subconscious snaps. Who the h.e.l.l would want to shoot you?Within ffteen minutes, I am back-safe, sound but relieved. I think Christian's ex- treme paranoia and his overprotective vigilance is beginning to get to me.

As I take Jack's lunch in to him, he glances up from the phone.

"Ana, thanks. Since you're not coming with me, I'm going to need you to work late.

We need to get these briefs ready. Hope you don't have plans." He smiles up at me warmly, and I fush.

"No, that's fne," I say with a bright smile and a sinking heart. This is not going to go down well. Christian will freak, I'm sure.

As I head back to my desk I decide not to tell him immediately, otherwise he might have time to interfere in some way. I sit and eat the chicken salad sandwich Mrs. Jones made for me. It's delicious. She makes a mean sandwich.

Of course, if I moved in with Christian, she would make lunch for me every weekday.

The idea is unsettling. I have never had dreams of obscene wealth and all the trappings- only love. To fnd someone who loves me and doesn't try to control my every move. The phone rings.

"Jack Hyde's offce-"

"You a.s.sured me you wouldn't go out," Christian interrupts me, his voice cold and hard.

My heart sinks for the millionth time this day. s.h.i.t. How the h.e.l.l does he know?

"Jack sent me out for some lunch. I couldn't say no. Are you having me watched?" My scalp p.r.i.c.kles at the notion. No wonder I felt so paranoid-someone was watching me. The thought makes me angry.

"This is why I didn't want you going back to work," Christian snaps.

"Christian, please. You're being"-So Fifty-"so suffocating."

"Suffocating?" he whispers, surprised.

"Yes. You have to stop this. I'll talk to you this evening. Unfortunately, I have to work late because I can't go to New York."

"Anastasia, I don't want to suffocate you," he says quietly, appalled.

"Well, you are. I have work to do. I'll talk to you later." I hang up, feeling drained and vaguely depressed.

After our wonderful weekend, the reality is. .h.i.tting home. I have never felt more like running. Running to some quiet retreat so I can think about this man, about how he is, and about how to deal with him. On one level, I know he's broken-I can see that clearly now-and it's both heartbreaking and exhausting. From the small pieces of precious infor- mation that he's given me about his life, I understand why. An unloved child; a hideously abusive environment; a mother who couldn't protect him, whom he couldn't protect, and who died in front of him.

I shudder. My poor Fifty. I am his, but not to be kept in some gilded cage. How am I going to make him see this?

With a heavy heart, I drag one of the ma.n.u.scripts Jack wants me to summarize into my lap and continue to read. I can think of no easy solution to Christian's f.u.c.ked-up control issues. I will just have to talk to him later, face to face.Half an hour later, Jack e-mails me a doc.u.ment that I need to tidy up and polish, ready for printing tomorrow in time for his conference. It will take me not just the rest of the afternoon but well into the evening, too. I set to work.

When I look up, it's after seven and the offce is deserted, though the light in Jack's offce is still on. I hadn't noticed everyone leaving, but I am nearly fnished. I e-mail the doc.u.ment back to Jack for his approval and check my inbox. There's nothing new from Christian, so I quickly glance at my Blackberry, and it startles me by buzzing-it's Chris- tian.

"Hi," I murmur.

"Hi, when will you be fnished?"

"By seven thirty, I think."

"I'll meet you outside."

"Okay."

He sounds quiet, nervous even. Why? Wary of my reaction?

"I'm still mad at you, but that's all," I whisper. "We have a lot to talk about."

"I know. See you at seven thirty."

Jack comes out of his offce.

"I have to go. See you later." I hang up.

I look up at Jack as he strolls casually toward me.

"I just need a couple of tweaks. I've e-mailed the brief back to you."

He leans over me while I retrieve the doc.u.ment, rather close-uncomfortably close.

His arm brushes mine. Accidentally? I finch, but he pretends not to notice. His other arm rests on the back of my chair, touching my back. I sit up so I'm not leaning against the backrest.

"Pages sixteen and twenty-three, and that should be it," he murmurs, his mouth inches from my ear.

My skin crawls at his proximity, but I choose to ignore it. Opening the doc.u.ment, I shakily start on the changes. He's still leaning over me, and all my senses are hyperaware.

It's distracting and awkward, and inside I am screaming, Back off!

"Once this is done, it'll be good to go to print. You can organize that tomorrow. Thank you for staying late and doing this, Ana." His voice is smooth, gentle, like he's talking to a wounded animal. My stomach twists.

"I think the least I could do is reward you with a quick drink. You deserve one." He tucks a strand of my hair that's come loose from my hair tie behind my ear and gently ca- resses the lobe.

I cringe gritting my teeth, and I jerk my head away. s.h.i.t! Christian was right. Don't touch me.

"Actually, I can't this evening." Or any other evening, Jack.

"Just a quick one?" he coaxes.

"No, I can't. But thank you."

Jack sits on the end of my desk and frowns. Alarm bells sound loudly in my head. I am on my own in the offce. I cannot leave. I glance nervously at the clock. Another fve minutes before Christian is due."Ana, I think we make a great team. I'm sorry that I couldn't pull off this New York trip. It won't be the same without you."

I'm sure it won't. I smile weakly up at him, because I can't think of what to say. And for the frst time all day, I feel the tiniest hint of relief that I am not going.

"So, did you have a good weekend?" he asks smoothly.

"Yes, thanks." Where is he going with this?

"See your boyfriend?"

"Yes."

"What does he do?"

Owns your a.s.s ... "He's in business."

"That's interesting. What kind of business?"

"Oh, he has his fngers in all sorts of pies."

Jack c.o.c.ks his head to one side as he leans in toward me, invading my personal s.p.a.ce- again.

"You're being very coy, Ana."

"Well, he's in telecommunications, manufacturing, and agriculture."

Jack raises his eyebrows. "So many things. Who does he work for?"

"He works for himself. If you're happy with the doc.u.ment, I'd like to go, if that's okay?"

He leans back. My personal s.p.a.ce is safe again.

"Of course. Sorry, I didn't mean to keep you," he says disingenuously.

"What time does the building close?"

"Security is here until eleven."

"Good." I smile, and my subconscious fops down in her armchair, relieved to know that we are not alone in the building. Switching off my computer, I grab my purse and stand up, ready to leave.

"You like him then? Your boyfriend?"

"I love him," I answer, looking Jack squarely in the eye.

"I see." Jack frowns and he stands up from my desk. "What's his surname?"

I fush.

"Grey. Christian Grey," I mumble.

Jack's mouth drops open. "Seattle's richest bachelor? That Christian Grey?"

"Yes. The same." Yes, that Christian Grey, your future boss who will have you for breakfast if you invade my personal s.p.a.ce again.

"I thought he looked familiar," Jack says darkly and his brow creases again. "Well, he's a lucky man."

I blink at him. What do I say to that?

"Have a good evening, Ana." Jack smiles, but the smile doesn't touch his eyes, and he walks stiffy back into his offce without a backward glance.

I let out a long sigh of relief. Well, that problem might be solved. Fifty works his magic again. Just his name is my talisman, and it has this man retreating with his tail between his legs. I allow myself a small victorious smile. You see, Christian? Even your name protects me-you didn't have to go to all that trouble of clamping down on expenses. I tidy my desk and check my watch. Christian should be outside.The Audi is parked up against the sidewalk, and Taylor leaps out to open the rear pas- senger door. I have never been so pleased to see him, and I scramble into the car out of the rain.

Christian is in the rear seat, gazing at me, his eyes wide and wary. He's bracing himself for my anger, his jaw tight and tense.

"Hi," I murmur.

"Hi," he replies cautiously. He reaches over and grasps my hand, squeezing it tightly, and my heart thaws a little. I'm so confused. I haven't even worked out what I need to say to him.

"Are you still mad?" he asks.

"I don't know," I murmur. He raises my hand and lightly grazes my knuckles with soft b.u.t.terfy kisses.

"It's been a s.h.i.tty day," he says.

"Yes, it has." But for the frst time since he left for work this morning, I begin to relax.

Just being in his company is a soothing balm, and all the s.h.i.t from Jack, and the snarky e-mails to and fro, and the nuisance that is Elena fade into the background. It's just me and my control freak in the back of the car.

"It's better now that you're here," he murmurs. We sit in silence as Taylor weaves through the evening traffc, both of us brooding and contemplative; but I feel Christian slowly unwind beside me as he, too, relaxes, gently running his thumb across my knuckles in a soft, soothing rhythm.

Taylor drops us outside the apartment building, and we both duck inside, out of the rain. Christian clasps my hand as we wait for the elevator, his eyes scanning the front of the building.

"I take it you haven't found Leila yet."

"No. Welch is still looking for her," he mutters despondently.

The elevator arrives and in we step. Christian glances down at me, his gray eyes un- readable. Oh, he just looks glorious-tousled hair, white shirt, dark suit. And suddenly it's there, from nowhere, that feeling. Oh my-the longing, the l.u.s.t, the electricity. If it were visible, it would be an intense blue aura around and between us it's so strong. His lips part as he gazes at me.

"Do you feel it?" he breathes.

"Yes."

"Oh, Ana." He groans and he grabs me, his arms snaking around me, one hand at the nape of my neck, tipping my head back as his lips fnd mine. My fngers are in his hair and caressing his cheek as he pushes me back against the elevator wall.

"I hate arguing with you," he breathes against my mouth, and there's a desperate, pas- sionate quality to his kiss that mirrors mine. Desire explodes in my body, all the tension of the day seeking an outlet, straining against him, seeking more. We're all tongues and breathing and hands and touch and sweet, sweet sensation. His hand is on my hip, and abruptly he's pulling up my skirt, his fngers stroking my thighs.

"Sweet Jesus, you're wearing stockings." He moans in appreciative awe as his thumb caresses the fesh above my stocking line. "I want to see this," he breathes, and he pulls my skirt right up, exposing the tops of my thighs. Stepping back, he reaches over to press the stop b.u.t.ton, and the elevator coasts smooth- ly to a halt between the twenty-second and twenty-third foors. His eyes are dark, lips parted, and he's breathing as hard as am I. We gaze at each other, not touching. I am grate- ful for the wall against my back, holding me up while I bask in this beautiful man's sensual, carnal appraisal.

"Take your hair down," he orders, his voice husky. I reach up and undo the tie, releas- ing my hair so it tumbles in a thick cloud around my shoulders to my b.r.e.a.s.t.s. "Undo the top two b.u.t.tons of your shirt," he whispers, his eyes wilder now.

He makes me feel so wanton. My inner G.o.ddess is writhing on her chaise longue, wait- ing, wanting, and panting. I reach up and undo each b.u.t.ton, achingly, slowly, so that the tops of my b.r.e.a.s.t.s are tantalizingly revealed.

He swallows. "Do you have any idea how alluring you look right now?"

Very deliberately, I bite my lip and shake my head. He closes his eyes briefy, and when he opens them again, they are blazing. He steps forward and places his hands on the elevator walls on either side of my face. He's as close as he can be without touching me.

I tip my face up to meet his gaze, and he leans down and runs his nose against mine, so it's the only contact between us. I am so hot in the confnes of this elevator with him. I want him-now.

"I think you do, Miss Steele. I think you like to drive me wild."