Darker (45 page)

What the hell?

She stands on the sidewalk with arms crossed in what’s both a defensive and combative pose, glaring at me. I scramble out after her. “What are you doing?” I ask, completely thrown.

“No. What are
you
doing?”

“You can’t park here.” I point to the abandoned Saab.

“I know that.”

“So why have you?”

“Because I’ve had it with you barking orders. Either you drive or you shut up about my driving!”

“Anastasia, get back in the car before we get a ticket.”

“No.”

I run my hands through my hair. What’s got into her?

I look down at her. I’m at a loss. Her expression changes, softening. Damn it, is she laughing at me? “What?” I ask.

“You.”

“Oh, Anastasia! You are the most frustrating female on the planet.” I throw my hands in the air. “Fine. I’ll drive.”

She grabs my jacket and tugs me against her body. “No. You are the most frustrating man on the planet, Mr. Grey.”

She looks up at me with guileless blue eyes that pull me under and I’m drowning and I’m lost. Lost in a different way. I put my arms around her, holding her close. “Maybe we’re meant for each other, then.” She smells amazing. I should bottle this.

Soothing. Sexy. Ana.

She hugs me hard and rests her cheek against my chest.

“Oh. Ana, Ana, Ana.” I kiss her hair and hold her.

It’s weird, embracing in the street.

Another first. No. A second. I held her on the street near Esclava.

She moves and I release her, and without saying a word, I open the passenger door and she gets in the car.

At the wheel, I start the car and pull into the traffic. There’s a Van Morrison song playing over the sound system and I hum along as we head toward the on-ramp for I-5. “You know, if we had gotten a ticket, the title of this car is in your name,” I tell her.

“Well, good thing I’ve been promoted. I can afford the fine.”

And I hide my amusement as we head north on I-5.

“Where are we going?” she asks.

“It’s a surprise. What else did Flynn say?”

“He talked about FFFSTB or something.”

“SFBT. The latest therapy option.”

“You’ve tried others?”

“Baby, I’ve been subjected to them all. Cognitivism, Freud, functionalism, Gestalt, behaviorism. You name it, over the years I’ve done it.”

“Do you think this latest approach will help?”

“What did Flynn say?”

“He said not to dwell on your past. Focus on the future—on where you want to be.”

I nod, but I don’t understand why she hasn’t accepted my proposal.

That’s where I want to be.

Married.

Perhaps he said something to discourage her. “What else?” I ask, trying to get an inkling of what he might have said to dissuade her.

“He talked about your fear of being touched, although he called it something else. And about your nightmares and your self-abhorrence.” I turn to meet her gaze.

“Eyes on the road, Mr. Grey,” she scolds.

“You were talking forever, Anastasia. What else did he say?”

“He doesn’t think you’re a sadist.”

“Really?” Flynn and I have differing views on this. He cannot step into my shoes. He doesn’t really understand.

Ana continues. “He says that that term’s not recognized in psychiatry. Not since the nineties.”

“Flynn and I have differing opinions on this.”

“He said you always think the worst of yourself. I know that’s true. He also mentioned sexual sadism—but he said that was a lifestyle choice, not a psychiatric condition. Maybe that’s what you’re thinking about.”

Ana, you have no idea.

You will never know the depths of my depravity.

“So, one talk with the good doctor and you’re an expert.”

She sighs. “Look, if you don’t want to hear what he said, don’t ask me,” she says.

Fair point, Miss Steele.

Grey. Stop hounding the girl.

She turns her attention to the passing cars.

Damn.

“I want to know what you discussed,” I say in a tone that I hope sounds conciliatory. I leave I-5 and head west on Northwest Eighty-fifth Street.

“He called me your lover.”

“Did he, now? Well, he’s nothing if not fastidious about his terms. I think that’s an accurate description. Don’t you?”

“Did you think of your subs as lovers?”

Lovers?
Leila? Susannah? Madison? Each of my submissives comes to mind.

“No. They were sexual partners. You’re my only lover. And I want you to be more.”

“I know. I just need some time, Christian. To get my head around these last few days.”

I look over at her.

Why didn’t she say that earlier?

I can live with that.

Of course I can give her some time.

I’d wait until time stands still, for her.

I RELAX AND ENJOY
the drive. We’re in the suburbs of Seattle, but heading west toward the Sound. I think I’ve timed this appointment just right and we’ll catch the sunset over Puget Sound.

“Where are we going?” she asks.

“Surprise.”

She gives me a curious smile and turns to take in our surroundings through the window.

Ten minutes later I spy the corroded white metal gates that I recognize from the photograph I’ve seen online. I pull in at the bottom of an impressive driveway and punch the security code into the keypad. With a creaky groan, the heavy gates swing open.

I glance at Ana.

Will she like this place?

“What is it?” she asks.

“An idea.” I steer the Saab through the gates.

The driveway is longer than I thought. To one side there’s an overgrown meadow. It’s big enough to install a tennis court or basketball court—or both.

“Hey bro, let’s shoot some hoops.”

“Elliot, I’m reading.”

“Reading is not going to get you laid.”

“Fuck off.”

“Hoops. Come on, man,” he whines.

Reluctantly, I abandon my tattered copy of
Oliver Twist
and follow him out to the yard.

ANA LOOKS STUNNED AS
we arrive at the grand entrance portico and I park beside a BMW sedan. The house is sprawling and actually quite imposing from the outside.

I cut the engine, and Ana’s baffled.

“Will you keep an open mind?” I ask.

She arches a brow. “Christian, I’ve needed an open mind since the day I met you.”

And I can’t disagree. She’s right. As ever.

The realtor is waiting inside the large vestibule. “Mr. Grey.” She greets me warmly and we shake hands.

“Miss Kelly.”

“
Olga Kelly,” she announces to Ana.

“Ana Steele,” she responds.

The realtor steps aside. The house smells a little musty from what must be months of disuse. But I’m not here to look at the interior. “Come.” I direct Ana and take her hand. Having studied the floor plans at length I know where I want to go and how to get there. I lead her from the vestibule through an archway into an inner hallway, past a grand staircase, and into what was once the main living room.

There are several open French doors on the far side, which is great because the place needs airing. Tightening my hold on Ana’s hand, I take her through the nearest door, onto the terrace outside.

The view is every bit as arresting and dramatic as the photographs suggested: the Sound in all its glory at dusk. Already there are lights twinkling from the distant shores of Bainbridge Island, where we sailed last weekend, and beyond that, the Olympic Peninsula.

There is so much sky and the sunset is astounding.

Ana and I stand hand in hand and stare, enjoying the spectacular view. Her face is radiant. She loves it.

She turns to look at me. “You brought me here to admire the view?”

I nod.

“It’s staggering, Christian. Thank you,” she says, and stares once more at the opal sky.

“How would you like to look at it for the rest of your life?” My heart starts hammering.

This is one hell of a pitch, Grey.

Her face whips to mine. She’s startled.

“I’ve always wanted to live on the coast,” I explain. “I sail up and down the Sound, coveting these houses. This place hasn’t been on the market long. I want to buy it, demolish it, and build a new house—for us.”

Her eyes grow impossibly large.

“It’s just an idea,” I whisper.

She looks over her shoulder into the old living room. “Why do you want to demolish it?” she asks.

“I’d like to make a more sustainable home, using the latest ecological techniques. Elliot could build it.”

“Can we look around the house?”

“Sure.” I shrug. Why does she want to look around?

I follow Ana and the realtor as she gives us the tour. Olga Kelly is in her element as she takes us through the numerous rooms, describing the features of each. Why Ana wants to see the whole house is a mystery to me.

As we file up the sweeping staircase, she turns to me. “Couldn’t you make the existing house more ecological and self-sustaining?”

This house?

“I’d have to ask Elliot. He’s the expert in all this.”

Ana likes
this
house.

Keeping the house wasn’t what I had in mind.

The realtor takes us into the master suite. It has full-height windows opening onto a balcony that looks out at the spectacular view. We both pause for a moment and stare at the darkening sky, and the last traces of the sun that can still be seen. It’s a glorious vista.

We wander through the rest of the bedrooms; there are many, and the last overlooks the front of the house. The realtor suggests that the meadow might be a suitable place for a paddock and stables.

“The paddock would be where the meadow is now?” Ana asks, looking dubious.

“Yes,” the realtor replies.

Back downstairs, we make our way through to the terrace once more and I rethink my plans. The house wasn’t what I imagined living in, but it looks well built and solid enough and with a comprehensive update, it could serve our needs. I glance at Ana.

Who am I kidding?

Wherever Ana is, that’s my home.

If this is what she wants…

Outside on the terrace, I hold her. “Lot to take in?” I ask.

She nods.

“I wanted to check that you liked it before I bought it.”

“The view?”

I nod.

“I love the view, and I like the house that’s here.”

“You do?”

“Christian, you had me at the meadow,” she says with a shy smile.

This means she’s not leaving.

Surely.

I cup her face, my fingers in her hair, and pour all my gratitude into one kiss.

“THANKS FOR LETTING US
look around,” I say to Miss Kelly. “I’ll be in touch.”

“Thank you, Mr. Grey. Ana,” she says, eagerly shaking hands with each of us.

Ana likes it!

My relief is palpable as we climb into the Saab. Olga has switched on the external lights and the driveway is edged with winking lamps. The house is growing on me. It has a sprawling, grand quality to it. I’m sure Elliot can work his magic on the place and make it more ecologically sustainable.

“So, you’re going to buy it?” Ana asks when we’re on our way back to Seattle.

“Yes.”

“You’ll put Escala on the market?”

“Why would I do that?”

“To pay for—” She stops.

“Trust me, I can afford it.”

“Do you like being rich?”

I want to scoff. “Yes. Show me someone who doesn’t.”

She chews her finger.

“Anastasia, you’re going to have to learn to be rich, too, if you say yes.”

“Wealth isn’t something I’ve ever aspired to, Christian.”

“I know. I love that about you. But then again, you’ve never been hungry.”

In the periphery of my vision, I see her turn and look at me, but I can’t make out her expression in the darkness.

“Where are we going?” she asks, and I know she’s changing the subject.

“To celebrate.”

“Celebrate what, the house?”

“Have you forgotten already? Your acting-editor role.”

“Oh yes.”

“Where?”

“Up high at my club.” They’ll still be serving food at this hour, and I’m hungry.

“Your club?”

“Yes. One of them.”

“How many do you belong to?”

“Three.”

Please don’t ask me about them.

“Private gentleman’s clubs? No women allowed?” she teases, and I know she’s laughing at me.

“Women allowed. At all of them.” Especially one. A Dominant’s haven. Though I haven’t been for a while.

She gives me an inquisitive look.

“What?” I ask.

“Nothing,” she says.

I LEAVE THE CAR
with the valet and we travel up to The Mile High Club at the top of Columbia Tower. Our table isn’t ready immediately, so we sit at the bar.

“Cristal, ma’am?” I hand Ana a glass of chilled champagne.

“Why, thank you, Sir.” She stresses the last word and bats her eyelashes at me. She moves her legs, drawing my attention to them. Her dress is hiked up, exposing a little more of her thigh.

“Are you flirting with me, Miss Steele?”

“Yes, Mr. Grey, I am. What are you going to do about it?”

Oh, Ana. I love when you throw down the gauntlet.

“I’m sure I can think of something,” I murmur. Carmine, the maître d’, gives me a wave. “Come—our table’s ready.”

I step back and hold out my hand while she gracefully slips off the barstool, and I follow. Her ass looks great in this dress.

Ah.
A wicked idea pops into my mind.

Before she sits down at our table, I touch her elbow. “Go and take your panties off,” I whisper in her ear. “Go.” Now.

She inhales quickly, and I remember the last time she went pantyless and how she turned the tables on me then; maybe she will again. She gives me a haughty look, but without saying a word hands me her glass of champagne and saunters to the ladies’ restroom.

While I wait at the table I scan the menu. It reminds me of our dinner in the private room at The Heathman. I summon the waiter and hope that Ana won’t give me a hard time because I’m ordering her meal.