Freed Page 18

  “Please tell me you had something to eat.”

  “Yes! Food has been eaten.” She drops her shoes and they clatter on the floor, while she winds her arms around my neck.

  “Can I fix your crown?” I try to straighten her tiara.

  “You fixed my crown long ago,” she slurs.

  What?

  “You have the most beautiful mouth.” She runs her index finger shakily over my lips.

  “Do I?”

  “Hmm…yes. You do things to me with that mouth.”

  “I like doing things to you with my mouth.”

  “Shall we do it now?” Her unfocused gaze moves from my mouth to my eyes.

  “Tempting though that sounds, I’m not sure that’s a good idea right now.”

  She sways a little and I tighten my hold on her. “Dance with me,” she mumbles, grinning up at me. She lets her hands run down my jacket lapels, and tugs me closer so I feel her down the length of my body.

  “We should put you to bed.”

  “I wanna dance…with you,” she whispers, and offers me her lips.

  “Ana,” I warn, tempted to carry her to bed, but I’m enjoying the feel of her in my arms and the way she’s imploring me with her big blue eyes. “Okay. What would you like to dance to?” I’m feeling indulgent.

  “Muuuusic.”

  I laugh, a little exasperated, and move us over to the kitchen counter, where I pick up the remote and press play. Moby’s “Bodyrock” starts over the sound system. It’s one of my favorites from my youth, but a bit frenetic for now. I skip the track and Nina Simone’s “My Baby Just Cares for Me” echoes through the room.

  “This?” I state in response to Ana’s inebriated smile.

  “Yes.” She throws her head and arms back with such enthusiasm that I almost drop her.

  “Shit. Ana!” I’m glad I have my arm around her waist, otherwise she’d be sprawled on the floor. She starts to stagger and I wonder if she’s going to pass out, then realize she’s attempting to dance.

  Whoa.

  I clamp my arms around her. I’ve never danced with someone as inebriated as Ana. She is all arms and legs and unpredictable spins.

  It’s an education.

  I try to take both her hands and lead her around the room, in a semblance of a dance—that’s more a jig—so it’s not entirely successful. It’s unsettling.

  Suddenly she stops and clutches her head. “Oh. The room is spinning.”

  Oh no. “I think we should go to bed.”

  She looks up at me between her fingers. “Why? What are you going to do?”

  Is she flirting or is this a serious question?

  “Let you sleep,” I reply, deadpan.

  She makes a face, which I interpret as disappointment, but, taking her hand, I guide her back to the kitchen counter. From the cupboard I grab a glass and fill it with water. “Drink this.” I pass it to her, and she does as she’s told. “All of it.”

  She narrows her eyes and squints—I suspect to get me in focus. “You’ve done this before.”

  “Yes. With you. Last time you were inebriated.”

  She drains the glass and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. “Are you going to fuck me?”

  “No. Not tonight.”

  She frowns.

  “Come.” I guide her to our bedroom suite, switch on the bedside lights from the wall, and release her by the bed. “Do you feel sick?”

  “No!” she says emphatically.

  That’s a relief. “Do you need to use the bathroom?”

  “No!”

  “Turn around,” I demand.

  She gives me a lopsided smile, and I remove the tiara.

  “Turn around—let me unzip your dress.” I drag the ridiculous sash over her head.

  “You are so good to me.” She lays her hand on my chest, splaying out her fingers.

  “Enough. Turn around. I won’t ask you again.”

  She grins. “There he is…”

  Oh, baby.

  I grasp her shoulders and gently turn her around so I can unfasten her dress. It obliges and falls immediately, pooling at her feet. She’s wearing a black lacy bra, matching panties, and a white garter. I undo her bra and step forward, bringing her body flush to mine, and I drag the straps down her arms. She rubs her ass against me and moves her hand behind her to fondle my more-than-interested dick.

  Ana!

  I allow myself a brief moment of pure pleasure and push my hips forward as her hand fumbles the length of my hardening cock.

  Yes!

  I drop her bra on the floor, move her hair aside, and run my lips down her neck. “Stop,” I whisper.

  She continues to rub her hand over me. I groan and step back. Kneeling, I slip the garter—which I suspect came with the sash and tiara—and her panties down her legs, and kiss her behind. “Step.” She does, and I remove her underwear and gather her clothes together before pulling back the duvet. “Into bed.”

  Now she turns around. “Join me,” she says with a provocative smile. She’s naked and lovely and wanton and tempting.

  She’s also completely drunk.

  “Get into bed. I’ll be back.”

  She sways, sits down, then flops back on the bed, and I lift her feet onto the mattress and cover her up.

  “Are you going to punish me?” she slurs.

  “Punish you?”

  “For getting this drunk. A punishment fuck. You can do anything you want to me,” she whispers, and holds out her arms.

  Oh God.

  A million erotic thoughts flit through my mind, and it takes all my willpower to lean over, gently plant a kiss on her forehead, and leave.

  In the closet, which is still full of shopping bags from her earlier trip, I place her clothes in the laundry basket and strip out of my suit and shirt.

  I drag on my PJs and a T-shirt and head into the bathroom.

  While brushing my teeth I contemplate what I could do to a drunken Ana. She wants punishing? My thoughts do little to ease my erection.

  “Pervert,” I mouth at my reflection.

  I switch off the lights and head back into the bedroom. As I suspected, Ana is out cold, her hair spilling in all directions over the pillows. She looks lovely. I climb in beside her and roll onto my side to watch her sleep.

  She’s going to have one helluva hangover in the morning.

  Leaning over, I kiss her hair. “I love you, Anastasia,” I whisper, and I lay back and stare at the ceiling. I’m surprised that I’m not furious with her. No, I found her charming, and funny.

  Maybe, I’m growing up. Finally.

  I hope so. This time next week, I’ll be a married man.

  Tuesday, July 26, 2011

  I hang up from my call with Troy Whelan, my banker. I’ve set up a joint account for me and Ana that will go live once she’s Mrs. Anastasia Grey. I’m not sure what she’ll ever need it for—but, if something happens to me… Jeez. If something happens to her…

  My phone buzzes, distracting me from a slew of dark thoughts. “Mr. Grey, I have your mother on the line,” Andrea says.

  I suppress a groan. “Put her through.”

  “Will do. Here you go, sir.”

  “Grace.”

  “Darling. How are you?”

  “I’m good. What is it?”

  “Always so brusque. I’m checking up on you, that’s all. I talk to Ana more than you these days.”

  “Well, I’m good. Still here. Still getting married. Thank you for all that you’ve done. Is there anything specific you want?”

  She sighs. “No, darling. I’m looking forward to the rehearsal dinner, and having Ana stay with us the night before the wedding. And of course her mother and her step-father, Bob, too. I’m glad we’re meeting them before the big day
. Are they on good terms with her dad?”

  “With Ray? I think so. But I don’t know, you’ll need to ask Ana.”

  “I’ll do that. I’m glad he’s staying with you.”

  It was not my idea. “Ana is hoping that we’ll bond.” Frankly, Raymond Steele intimidates me.

  Grace pauses. “I’m sure you will. Do you have a marriage license?”

  I scoff. “Of course we do. We picked it up last week.”

  “Honeymoon?”

  “It’s all arranged.”

  “And your suit?”

  I direct my eye roll at the phone. “It was delivered today. It fits.”

  “Rings?”

  Rings?

  Shit.

  Rings!

  How the hell did we forget about rings? “In hand,” I mutter, and laugh, because both Ana and I have overlooked the rings.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Nothing, Mom. Anything else?”

  “You forgot the rings?”

  I sigh. Busted. “How did you know?”

  “I’m your mother…and you called me Mom. You rarely do that.” The humor and warmth in her voice is soothing.

  “Perceptive, Dr. Grey.”

  She chuckles. “Oh, Christian, I love you so much. If you don’t have rings, you’d better get some. Everything here is on track; the pavilion goes up tomorrow, and the decorators will follow.”

  “Thanks, Mom. Thanks for everything.”

  “See you Friday.” She hangs up and I stare out at the Seattle skyline, grateful to all that is holy, for Dr. Grace Trevelyan-Grey.

  Mom.

  I call Ana.

  “Anastasia Steele.” She sounds distracted.

  “We forgot the rings.”

  “Rings? Oh! Rings!”

  I laugh, because her reaction is the same as mine, and I can imagine her eyes widening in shock. “I know! How could we forget?”

  “My mom always says the devil is in the details,” Ana agrees.

  “She’s not wrong. What sort of ring would you like?”

  “Oh…um…”

  “I thought a platinum band to match your engagement ring?”

  “Christian, that would be…that…um…that would be more than mighty fine.” Her voice is a whisper.

  I smile. “I’ll get matching ones.”

  She gasps. “You’ll wear one, too?”

  “Why wouldn’t I?” I’m surprised by her question.

  “I don’t know. I’m thrilled that you would.”

  “Ana, I’m yours. I want the world to know.”

  “I’m very pleased to hear that.”

  “You should know this by now.”

  “I do know,” she whispers. “It still gives me all the feels when you say it.”

  “The feels?”

  She giggles. “Yes. The feels.”

  “Sounds painful.”

  “No. It’s the opposite of painful.”

  My heart soars. Sometimes she takes my breath away. I swallow, trying to contain my elation. “I’d better get right on this.”

  “You better!”

  “Laters, baby.”

  “Laters, Christian. I love you.”

  I let her words settle into my heart.

  She loves me.

  “Are you going to hang up?” she asks.

  “No.”

  She laughs. “I have to go. I have a meeting and my boss’s boss’s boss…you know.”

  “Yeah. He can be an asshole.”

  “He can…but he can also be the best of men.”

  I’m staring at her portrait on my office wall; her shy, teasing smile is directed at me. My body and my soul stir. This has to be one of the sweetest things she’s ever said to me.

  “I’ll see you tonight,” she says, and the line goes dead before I have a chance to respond.

  Anastasia Steele, you are the most disarming woman I know. I stare at her photograph, digesting her words, and I know my smile would light up a dark and soulless night.

  Feeling inspired, I find the number for Astoria Fine Jewelry and press call. It’s not only rings I need, but a wedding present for my future wife, too.

  My meeting with Welch is inconclusive: there is still no lead on the perpetrator, and I’m beginning to believe the sabotage is a figment of my overactive imagination. Welch’s team is drilling down into all ex-employee records of the companies that GEH has acquired to see if he can find something, but we’ve been over this ground and I think he’s grasping at straws. The only potential suspects we had were Hyde and Woods, but Hyde has been discounted, as he’s been in Florida since he was fired, and there’s no evidence that links Woods to the crash, yet.

  “I know how exasperating this is for you, Grey,” Welch says, his voice as gruff as ever. “We are keeping an extra-watchful eye on the Gulfstream.”

  “I’m wondering if we overreacted to the FAA report.”

  “No. We did not. Not where your safety is concerned. We’ll just have to be patient for the NTSB report. I’m expecting it any day.”

  “As soon as you have it…” I let the sentence finish itself.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “In the meantime, please liaise with Taylor. He’s coming with us to oversee our security while we’re on our honeymoon.”

  “Will do. And congratulations once again.”

  I nod my thanks. “Okay. That’s it. Thanks for coming in.”

  Welch rises and we shake hands.

  Back at my desk, I check my e-mails.

  From: Dr. John Flynn

  Subject: FW: For Christian Grey

  Date: July 26 2011 14:53

  To: Christian Grey

  Christian

  I received the attached from Leila Williams. We can discuss when I see you on Thursday.

  JF

  From: Leila Williams

  Subject: For Christian Grey

  Date: July 26 2011 06:32 EST

  To: Dr. John Flynn

  Dearest John

  Thank you for your continued support. I cannot begin to tell you what it has meant for me. My parents have embraced me back into the fold. I can hardly believe how considerate they’ve been, given all the trouble I’ve caused them. My divorce from my husband should be final next month. At last I’ll be able to move on with my life.

  My only regret is that I haven’t been able to thank Mr. Grey in person. Please pass on this note to him. I would really like to deliver my thanks personally. My life could have taken such a bad turn if not for his and your intervention.

  Many thanks

  Leila

  No fucking way. Leila is the last person in the world I want to see. But I’m glad she’s in a better place and healing, and divorcing the cockroach she married. I delete the e-mail and resolve to push her from my mind.

  I buzz Andrea. I need coffee. Stat.

  It’s late. The sun has sunk beneath the horizon, and I’m staring at a blank screen in my study.

  Vows.

  Drafting them is trickier than I thought. Everything I write will be spoken aloud in front of our nearest and dearest, and I’m trying to find the words to express to Ana how I feel about her, how excited I am to share our life together, and how honored I am that she’s chosen me.

  Damn it. This is hard.

  My thoughts stray to earlier this evening, when Ana and I met with Gia Matteo. Gia wanted our feedback on a few ideas for the new house. Her vision is bold: I like the approach, but I’m not sure that Ana is entirely on board. When we eventually see Gia’s drawn-up plans we’ll be able to judge.

  Fortunately, the meeting was brief. And she touched me once, that’s all.

  Since then, I’ve been attempting to write my vows while Ana’s been on a call with Al
ondra Gutierrez. They’ve each been working tirelessly on this wedding.

  I just hope it will be everything Ana wants. And, frankly, as long as Ana’s happy, I’m happy.

  But most of all, I want to keep her safe.

  Life without Ana would be unbearable.

  A flurry of images flash unwelcome through my brain: Ana at gunpoint in her old apartment; Ana, not Ros, seated beside me as Charlie Tango drops to the ground; Ana lying pale and unmoving on a squalid once-green rug—

  Grey, stop. Stop.

  I need to get a handle on my morbid thoughts.

  Concentrate, Grey. Focus on where you want to be.

  With Ana.

  I want to give her the world.

  I turn back to my screen, to my vows, and start to type.

  Ana looks up when I enter the library, and gives me a sweet but tired smile. She’s been reading a manuscript.

  “Hi.”

  “Hi,” she answers, as I sit down in the armchair beside her and open my arms. She doesn’t hesitate; she uncurls her long legs from beneath her and hops over to me, complete with manuscript, and crawls into my lap. Wrapping her in my arms, I kiss the top of her head and breathe in her scent. She is heaven on earth.

  Ana lets out a soft, contented sigh.

  She’s so good to hold.

  A balm to my senses.

  My Ana.

  We sit in a comfortable, companionable silence. I could never have imagined doing this even three months ago. No. Two months ago. I’m changed beyond recognition. The residue of doubt and fear I felt earlier melts away. She’s safe, in my arms.

  And I’m safe…with her.

  Thursday, July 28, 2011

  The senior management meeting has gone well; everybody is up to speed on what each division is doing, and what steps need to be taken next. I’m leaving my company in safe hands—but then, I never doubted that for a moment. However, if I’m honest, it still makes me anxious. This is the first time I’ve taken a vacation for more than a few days. As everyone leaves the boardroom, they shake my hand and wish me well. “I’ll be here tomorrow,” I remind Marco.

  “Christian, you deserve a break,” he says. “Enjoy your honeymoon.”

  “Thank you.”

  Blowing out a breath, I scrape a hand through my hair. Why the hell am I so apprehensive? Ros sidles up to me when everyone else has left. “The house. It’s yours.”