Darker (23 page)

“A replacement will arrive on Monday,” I assure her, hoping that might make her feel better. I start the engine and put on my seatbelt.

“How could she have known it was my car?”

I sigh. This is not going to go down well. “She had an Audi A3. I buy one for all my submissives. It’s one of the safest cars in its class.”

“So, not so much a graduation present, then,” she says quietly.

“Anastasia, despite what I hoped, you have never been my submissive, so technically it is a graduation present.” I back out of the parking space and head to the garage exit where we pause, waiting for the barrier to lift.

“Are you still hoping?” she asks.

What?

The in-car phone rings. “Grey,” I answer.

“
Fairmont Olympic. In my name,” Taylor informs me.

“Thank you, Taylor. And Taylor, be careful.”

“Yes, sir,” he says, and hangs up.

It’s eerily quiet in downtown Seattle. That’s one of the advantages of driving at nearly three in the morning. I take a detour on I-5 just in case Leila is following us. Every few minutes I check the rearview mirror, anxiety gnawing at my gut.

Everything is out of control. Leila might be dangerous. Yet, she had the opportunity to harm Ana and didn’t. She was a gentle soul when I knew her, artistic, bright, mischievous. And when she ended our relationship as a means of self-preservation, I admired her for that. She was never destructive, not even to herself, until she turned up at Escala and cut herself in front of Mrs. Jones, and tonight when she vandalized Ana’s car.

She’s not herself.

And I don’t trust her not to hurt Ana.

How could I live with myself if that happened?

Ana is swimming in my clothes, looking small and miserable, staring out of the car window. She asked me a question and I was interrupted. She wanted to know if I’m still hoping for a submissive.

How can she ask that?

Reassure her, Grey.

“No. It’s not what I hope for, not anymore. I thought that was obvious.”

She turns to look at me, huddling down in my jacket, so that she looks even smaller. “I worry that, you know, that I’m not enough.”

Why is she bringing this up now?
“You’re more than enough. For the love of God, Anastasia, what do I have to do?”

She fiddles with a button on my denim jacket. “Why did you think I’d leave when I told you Dr. Flynn had told me all there was to know about you?”

Is this what she’s brooding about?

Keep it vague, Grey.

“You cannot begin to understand the depths of my depravity, Anastasia. And it’s not something I want to share with you.”

“And you really think I’d leave if I knew? Do you think so little of me?”

“I know you’ll leave,” I answer, and the thought is untenable.

“Christian, I think that’s very unlikely. I can’t imagine being without you.”

“You left me once. I don’t want to go there again.”

She pales and begins fiddling with the drawstring on my sweatpants.

Yeah. You hurt me.

And I hurt you…

“Elena said she saw you last Saturday,” she whispers.

No. That’s bullshit. “She didn’t.” Why the hell would Elena lie?

“You didn’t go to see her when I left?”

“No. I just told you I didn’t, and I don’t like to be doubted.” And I realize I’m taking my anger out on her. In a gentler tone I add, “I didn’t go anywhere last weekend. I sat and made the glider you gave me. Took me forever.”

Ana looks down at her fingers. She’s still fiddling with the drawstring.

“Contrary to what Elena thinks,” I continue, “I don’t rush to her with all my problems, Anastasia. I don’t rush to anybody. You may have noticed, I’m not much of a talker.”

“Carrick told me you didn’t talk for two years.”

“Did he, now?” Why can’t my family keep quiet?

“I kind of pumped him for information,” she confesses.

“So what else did Daddy say?”

“He said your mom was the doctor who examined you when you were brought into the hospital. After you were discovered in your apartment. He said learning the piano helped. And Mia.”

A vision of Mia as a baby, a shock of black hair and a gurgling smile, comes to mind. She was someone I could take care of, someone I
could
protect. “She was about six months old when she arrived. I was thrilled, Elliot less so. He’d already had to contend with my arrival. She was perfect. Less so now, of course.”

Ana giggles. And it’s so unexpected. I immediately feel more at ease.

“You find that amusing, Miss Steele?”

“She seemed determined to keep us apart.”

“Yes, she’s quite accomplished.” And annoying. She is…Mia. My baby sister. I squeeze Ana’s knee. “But we got there in the end.” I offer her a brief smile, then check the rearview mirror. “I don’t think we’ve been followed.”

I take the next off-ramp and head back into downtown Seattle.

“Can I ask you something about Elena?” Ana asks, when we’re stopped at a red light.

“If you must.” But I really wish she wouldn’t.

“You told me ages ago that she loved you in a way you found acceptable. What did that mean?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“Not to me.”

“I was out of control. I couldn’t bear to be touched. I can’t bear it now. For a fourteen-, fifteen-year-old adolescent boy with hormones raging, it was a difficult time. She showed me a way to let off steam.”

“Mia said you were a brawler.”

“Christ, what is it with my loquacious family?” We’re stopped at the next red. I glare at her. “Actually, it’s you. You inveigle information out of people.”

“Mia volunteered that information. In fact, she was very forthcoming. She was worried you’d start a brawl in the tent if you didn’t win me at the auction,” she says.

“Oh, baby, there was no danger of that. There was no way I would let anyone else dance with you.”

“You let Dr. Flynn.”

“He’s always the exception to the rule.”

I turn into the driveway of the Fairmont Olympic Hotel. A valet scrambles out to meet us and I pull up toward him.

“Come,” I say to Ana and get out of the car to retrieve our luggage. I toss the keys to the enthusiastic young man. “Name of Taylor,” I inform him.

The lobby is quiet, save for some random woman and her dog. At this time? Odd.

The receptionist checks us in. “Do you need a hand with your bags, Mr. Taylor?” she asks.

“No, Mrs. Taylor and I can manage.”

“You’re in the Cascade Suite, Mr. Taylor, eleventh floor. Our bellboy will help with your bags.”

“We’re fine. Where are the elevators?”

She directs us, and as we wait, I ask Ana how she’s holding up. She looks worn out.

“It’s been an interesting evening,” she says, with her usual gift for understatement.

Taylor has booked us into the largest suite in the hotel. I’m surprised to discover it has two bedrooms. I wonder if Taylor is expecting us to sleep apart, as I do with my submissives. Maybe I should tell him this doesn’t apply to Ana.

“Well, Mrs. Taylor, I don’t know about you, but I’d really like a drink,” I say, as Ana follows me into the master bedroom, where I set our overnight bags on the ottoman.

Back in the main living room there’s a fire burning in the hearth. Ana warms her hands while I fix a drink at the bar. She looks gamine, adorable, and her dark hair shines coppery and bright in the firelight.

“Armagnac?”

“Please,” she says.

By the fire, I hand her a brandy glass. “It’s been quite a day, huh?” I gauge her reaction. I’m amazed, given all the drama of the evening, that she hasn’t broken down and wept by now.

“I’m okay,” she says. “How about you?”

I’m wired.

Anxious.

Angry.

I know of one thing that will give me relief.

You, Miss Steele.

My panacea.

“Well, right now I’d like to drink this, and then, if you’re not too tired, take you to bed and lose myself in you.” I’m really chancing my luck. She must be exhausted.

“I think that can be arranged, Mr. Taylor,” she says, and rewards me with a shy smile.

Oh, Ana. You’re my heroine.

I slip out of my shoes and socks. “Mrs. Taylor, stop biting your lip,” I murmur. She takes a sip of her Armagnac and closes her eyes. She hums her appreciation for her drink. The sound soft and mellow and oh so sexy.

I feel it in my groin.

She really is something else.

“You never cease to amaze me, Anastasia. After a day like today, or yesterday, rather, you’re not whining or running off into the hills screaming. I am in awe of you. You’re very strong.”

“You’re a very good reason to stay,” she whispers.

That strange feeling swells in my chest. Scarier than the darkness. Bigger. More potent. It has the power to wound.

“I told you, Christian, I’m not going anywhere, no matter what you’ve done. You know how I feel about you.”

Oh, baby, you’d run if you knew the truth.

“Where are you going to hang José’s portraits of me?” she asks, throwing me for a loop.

“That depends,” I respond, bemused that she can change tack so quickly.

“On what?”

“Circumstances.” It’ll depend on whether she stays. I don’t think I could bear to look at them when she’s no longer mine.

If.
If she’s no longer mine.

“His show’s not over yet, so I don’t have to decide straightaway.” I still don’t know when the gallery will deliver them, in spite of my request.

She narrows her eyes, studying me, as if I’m hiding something.

Yeah. My fear. That’s what I’m hiding.

“You can look as sternly as you like, Mrs. Taylor. I’m saying nothing,” I tease.

“I may torture the truth from you.”

“Really, Anastasia, I don’t think you should make promises you can’t fulfill.”

She narrows her eyes once more, but this time, she’s amused. She places her glass on the mantelpiece, then takes mine and sets it beside hers. “We’ll just have to see about that,” she says with cool determination in her voice. Grasping my hand, she guides me into the bedroom.

Ana is taking the lead.

This hasn’t happened since that time in my study when she jumped me.

Go with it, Grey.

At the foot of the bed, she stops.

“Now that you have me in here, Anastasia, what are you going to do with me?”

She looks up at me, eyes shining, full of love, and I swallow, awed at the sight of her. “I’m going to start by undressing you. I want to finish what I started earlier.”

All the breath leaves my body.

She grasps the lapels of my jacket and gently eases it off my shoulders. She turns and places it on the ottoman and I catch a trace of her fragrance.

Ana.

“Now your T-shirt,” she says. I feel bolder. I know she won’t touch me. Her road-map idea was a good one, and I still have the smudged remains of the lipstick on my chest and back. I raise my arms and take a step back as she tugs my T-shirt over my head.

Her lips part as she surveys my torso, and I itch to touch her, but I’m loving her slow, sweet seduction.

We’re doing it her way.

“Now what?” I murmur.

“I want to kiss you here.” She runs a fingernail across my belly from hipbone to hipbone.

Fuck.

I tense everywhere as all the blood in my body heads south. “I’m not stopping you,” I whisper.

Grabbing my hand, she instructs me to lie down.

With my pants on?

Okay.

I remove the covers on the bed and sit down, my eyes on Ana, waiting to see what she’ll do next. She shrugs out of my denim jacket and lets it fall to the floor; my sweatpants follow, and it takes all my self-control not to grab her and toss her onto the bed.

Squaring her shoulders, her gaze fixed on mine, she grips the hem of my T-shirt and tugs it over her head, wiggling to get it free.

Naked before me, she’s beautiful. “You are Aphrodite, Anastasia.”

She cradles my face in her hands and stoops to kiss me, and I can resist her no more. When her lips touch mine, I reach for her hips and pull her onto the bed so that she’s beneath me. As we kiss, I push her legs apart so I’m resting at the junction of her thighs: my favorite place. She kisses me back with a ferocity that fires my blood, her mouth voracious, her tongue wrestling with mine. She tastes of Armagnac and Ana. My hands are on her. With one, I cup her head and I trail the other up her body, kneading and squeezing as I go. Palming her breast, I tweak her nipple and marvel as it hardens between my fingers.

I need this. I crave this contact.

She groans and tilts her pelvis, compressing my hardening denim-clad cock.

Fuck.

I suck in my breath. And stop kissing her.

What are you doing?

She’s panting, gazing up at me with a scorching, imploring expression.

She wants more.

I flex my hips, pushing my erection against her while watching her reaction. She closes her eyes and moans with carnal appreciation and tugs at my hair. I do it again, and this time she slides against me.

Whoa.

The feeling’s exquisite.

Her teeth scrape my chin and she claims my lips and my tongue in a passionate wet kiss as she and I grind against each other, moving in perfect opposition, creating a sweet, sweet friction that is delicious torture. The heat builds and burns between us, concentrated at our point of connection. Her fingers grasp my arms as her breathing accelerates. Panting, she moves her hand to my lower back and into the waistband of my jeans, where she cups my ass and urges me on.

I’m going to come.

No.

“You’re going to unman me, Ana.” I kneel up and tug down my pants, freeing my erection, and grab a condom from my pocket. I hand it to Ana, who lies, breathless, on the bed.

“You want me, baby, and I sure as hell want you. You know what to do.”

With greedy fingers she rips open the foil packet and unfurls the condom over my straining dick.

She’s so keen. I grin at her when she lies back down.

Insatiable Ana.

I run my nose along hers and slowly, slowly sink into her, claiming her.