Fifty Shades Darker (Fifty Shades #2)(59)
Author: E.L. James

"Ana, you do reciprocate, more than you know. Please, please don’t feel like this."

Gone is carefree Christian. His eyes are wider now with alarm, and it’s gut-wrenching.

"Baby, it’s only been one weekend," he continues. "Give us some time. I thought a great deal about us last week when you left. We need time. You need to trust me, and I you.

Maybe in time we can indulge, but I like how you are now. I like seeing you this happy, this relaxed and carefree, knowing that I had something to do with it. I have never – " He stops and runs his hand through his hair. "We have to walk before we can run." Suddenly he smirks.

"What’s so funny?"

"Flynn. He says that all the time. I never thought I’d be quoting him."

"A Flynnism."

Christian laughs. "Exactly."

The waiter arrives with our starters and bruschetta, and our conversation changes tack as Christian relaxes.

But when the unfeasibly large plates are placed before us, I can’t help think how I have thought of Christian today – relaxed, happy and carefree. At least he’s laughing now, at ease again.

I breathe an inward sigh of relief as he starts quizzing me about places I’ve been. This is a short discussion, since I have never been anywhere except the continental US. Christian, on the other hand, has traveled the world. We slip into an easier, happier conversation, talking about all the places he’s visited.

After our tasty and filling meal, Christian drives back to Escala, Eva Cassidy’s gentle sweet voice singing over the speakers. It allows me a peaceful interlude in which to think. I have had a mind-blowing day. Dr. Greene, our shower, Christian’s admission, making love at the hotel and on the boat, buying the car. Even Christian himself has been so different. It’s as if he’s letting go of something or rediscovering something – I don’t know.

Who knew he could be so sweet? Did he?

When I glance at him, he, too, looks lost in thought. It strikes me then that he never really had an adolescence – a normal one anyway. I shake my head.

My mind drifts back to the ball and dancing with Dr. Flynn and Christian’s fear that Flynn had told me all about him. Christian is still hiding something from me. How can we move on if he feels that way?

He thinks I might leave if I know him. He thinks that I might leave if he’s himself. Oh, this man is so complicated.

As we get closer to his home, he starts radiating tension until it becomes palpable. As we drive, he scans the sidewalks and side alleys, his eyes darting everywhere, and I know he’s looking for Leila. I start looking, too. Every young brunette is a suspect, but we don’t see her.

When he pulls into the garage, his mouth is set in a tense, grim line. I wonder why we’ve come back here if he’s going to be so wary and uptight. Sawyer is in the garage, patrolling. The defiled Audi is gone. He comes to open my door as Christian pulls in beside the SUV.

"Hello, Sawyer," I murmur my greeting.

"Miss Steele." He nods. "Mr. Grey."

"No sign?" Christian asks.

"No, sir."

Christian nods, grasps my hand, and heads for the elevator. I know his brain is working overtime – he’s distracted. Once we’re inside he turns to me.

"You are not allowed out of here alone. You understand?" he snaps.

"Okay." Jeez – keep your hair on. But his attitude makes me smile. I want to hug myself – now this man, all domineering and short with me I know. I marvel that I would have found it so threatening only a week or so ago when he spoke to me this way. But now, I understand him so much better. This is his coping mechanism. He’s stressed about Leila, he loves me, and he wants to protect me.

"What’s so funny?" he murmurs, a hint of amusement in his expression.

"You are."

"Me? Miss Steele? Why am I funny?" he pouts.

Christian pouting is… hot.

"Don’t pout."

"Why?" He’s even more amused.

"Because it has the same effect on me as I have on you when I do this." I bite my lip deliberately.

He raises his eyebrows, surprised and pleased at the same time. "Really?" He pouts again and leans down to give me a swift chaste kiss.

I raise my lips to meet his, and in the nanosecond when our lips touch, the nature of the kiss changes – wildfire spreading through my veins from this intimate point of contact, driving me to him.

Suddenly, my fingers are curling in his hair as he grabs me and pushes me against the elevator wall, his hands framing my face, holding me to his lips as our tongues thrash against each other. And I don’t know if it’s the confines of the elevator making everything much more real, but I feel his need, his anxiety, his passion.

Holy shit. I want him, here, now.

The elevator pings to a halt, the doors slide open, and Christian drags his face from mine, his hips still pinning me to the wall, his erection digging into me.

"Whoa," he murmurs panting.

"Whoa," I mirror him, dragging a welcome breath into my lungs.

He gazes at me, eyes blazing. "What you do to me, Ana." He traces my lower lip with his thumb.

Out of the corner of my eye, Taylor steps backward so he’s no longer in my line of sight. I reach up and kiss Christian at the corner of his beautifully sculptured mouth.

"What you do to me, Christian."

He steps back and takes my hand, his eyes darker now, hooded. "Come," he orders.

Taylor is still in the foyer, waiting discreetly for us.

"Good evening, Taylor," Christian says cordially.

"Mr. Grey, Miss Steele."

"I was Mrs. Taylor yesterday." I grin at Taylor, who flushes.

"That has a nice ring to it, Miss Steele," Taylor says matter-of-factly.

"I thought so, too."

Christian tightens his hold on my hand, scowling. "If you two have quite finished, I’d like a debrief." He glares at Taylor, who now looks uncomfortable, and I cringe inwardly.

I have overstepped the mark.

"Sorry," I mouth at Taylor, who shrugs and smiles kindly before I turn to follow Christian."I’ll be with you shortly. I just want a word with Miss Steele," Christian says to Taylor, and I know I’m in trouble.

Christian leads me into his bedroom and closes the door.

"Don’t flirt with the staff, Anastasia," he scolds.

I open my mouth to defend myself – then close it again, then open it. "I wasn’t flirting.

I was being friendly – there is a difference."

"Don’t be friendly with the staff or flirt with them. I don’t like it."

Oh. Good-bye, carefree Christian. "I’m sorry," I mutter and stare down at my fingers.