Fifty Shades Darker (Fifty Shades #2)(60)
Author: E.L. James

He hasn’t made me feel like a child all day. Reaching down he cups my chin, pulling my head up to meet his eyes.

"You know how jealous I am," he whispers.

"You have no reason to be jealous, Christian. You own me body and soul."

He blinks as if he’s finding this fact hard to process. He leans down and kisses me quickly, but with none of the passion we experienced a moment ago in the elevator.

"I won’t be long. Make yourself at home," he says sulkily and turns, leaving me standing in his bedroom, dazed and confused.

Why on earth would he be jealous of Taylor? I shake my head in disbelief.

Glancing at the alarm clock, I notice it’s just after eight. I decide to get my clothes ready for work tomorrow. I head upstairs to my room and open the walk-in closet. It’s empty. All the clothes have gone. Oh no! Christian has taken me at my word and disposed of the clothes. Shit.

My subconscious glares at me. Well, that will be you and your big mouth.

Why did he take me at my word? My mother’s advice comes back to haunt me, "Men are so literal, darling." I pout, staring at the empty space. There were some lovely clothes, too, like the silver dress I wore to the ball.

I wander disconsolately into the bedroom, Wait a moment – what is going on? The iPad is gone. Where’s my Mac? Oh no. My first uncharitable thought is that Leila may have stolen them.

I fly back downstairs and back into Christian’s bedroom. On the bedside table are my Mac, my iPad, and my satchel. It’s all here.

I open the walk-in closet door. My clothes are here – all of them – sharing space with Christian’s clothes. When did this happen? Why does he never warn me before he does things like this?

I turn, and he’s standing in the doorway.

"Oh, they managed the move," he mutters, distracted.

"What’s wrong?" I ask. His face is grim.

"Taylor thinks Leila was getting in through the emergency stairwell. She must have had a key. All the locks have been changed now. Taylor’s team has done a sweep of every room in the apartment. She’s not here." He stops and runs a hand through his hair. "I wish I knew where she was. She’s evading all our attempts to find her when she needs help."

He frowns, and my earlier pique vanishes. I put my arms around him. Folding me into his embrace, he kisses my hair.

"What will you do when you find her?" I ask.

"Dr. Flynn has a place."

"What about her husband?"

"He’s washed his hands of her." Christian’s tone is bitter. "Her family is in Connecti-cut. I think she’s very much on her own out there."

"That’s sad."

"Are you okay with all your stuff being here? I want you to share my room," he murmurs. Whoa, quick change of direction.

"Yes."

"I want you sleeping with me. I don’t have nightmares when you’re with me."

"You have nightmares?"

"Yes."

I tighten my hold around him. Holy cow. More baggage. My heart contracts for this man."I was just getting my clothes ready for work tomorrow," I mutter.

"Work!" Christian exclaims as if it’s a dirty word, and he releases me, glaring.

"Yes, work," I reply, confused by his reaction.

He stares at me with complete incomprehension. "But Leila – she’s out there," he pauses. "I don’t want you to go to work."

What? "That’s ridiculous, Christian. I have to go to work."

"No, you don’t."

"I have a new job, which I enjoy. Of course I have to go to work." What does he mean?

"No, you don’t," he repeats, emphatically.

"Do you think I am going to stay here twiddling my thumbs while you’re off being Master of the Universe?"

"Frankly… yes."

Oh, Fifty, Fifty, Fifty… give me strength.

"Christian, I need to go to work."

"No, you don’t."

"Yes. I. Do." I say it slowly as if he’s a child.

He scowls at me. "It’s not safe."

"Christian… I need to work for a living, and I’ll be fine."

"No, you don’t need to work for a living – and how do you know you’ll be fine?" He’s almost shouting.

What does he mean? He’s going to support me? Oh, this is beyond ridiculous – I’ve known him for what – five weeks?

He’s angry now, his gray eyes stormy and flashing, but I don’t give a shit.

"For heaven’s sake, Christian, Leila was standing at the end of your bed, and she didn’t harm me, and yes, I do need to work. I don’t want to be beholden to you. I have my student loans to pay."

His mouth presses into a grim line, as I place my hands on my hips. I am not budging on this. Who the f**k does he think he is?

"I don’t want you going to work."

"It’s not up to you, Christian. This is not your decision to make."

He runs his hand through his hair as he stares at me. Seconds, minutes tick by as we glare at each other.

"Sawyer will come with you."

"Christian, that’s not necessary. You’re being irrational."

"Irrational?" he growls. "Either he comes with you, or I will be really irrational and keep you here."

He wouldn’t, would he? "How, exactly?"

"Oh, I’d find a way, Anastasia. Don’t push me."

"Okay!" I concede, holding up both my hands, placating him. Holy f**k – Fifty is back with a vengeance.

We stand, scowling at each other.

"Okay – Sawyer can come with me if it makes you feel better." I concede rolling my eyes. Christian narrows his and takes a menacing step in my direction. I immediately step back. He stops and takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, and runs both his hands through his hair. Oh no. Fifty is well and truly wound up.

"Shall I give you a tour?"

A tour? Are you kidding me? "Okay," I mutter warily. Another change of tack – Mr.

Mercurial is back in town. He holds out his hand and when I take it, he squeezes mine softly.

"I didn’t mean to frighten you."

"You didn’t. I was just getting ready to run," I quip.

"Run?" Christian eyes widen.

"I’m joking!" Oh jeez.

He leads me out of the closet, and I take a moment to calm down. Adrenaline is still coursing through my body. A fight with Fifty is not to be undertaken lightly.

He gives me a tour of the apartment, showing me the various rooms. Along with the playroom and three spare bedrooms upstairs, I’m intrigued to find that Taylor and Mrs.

Jones have a wing to themselves – a kitchen, spacious living area, and a bedroom each.

Mrs. Jones has not yet returned from visiting her sister who lives in Portland.