Fifty Shades of Grey (Fifty Shades #1)(66)
Author: E.L. James

The elevator doors open on the ground floor. Christian shakes his head slightly as if to clear his thoughts and gestures for me to exit before him in a most gentlemanly manner.

Who’s he kidding He’s no gentleman. He has my panties.

Taylor draws up in the large Audi. Christian opens the rear door for me, and I climb inside as elegantly as I can, considering my state of wanton undress. I’m grateful that Kate’s plum dress is so clingy and hangs to the top of my knees.

We speed up the I-5, both of us quiet, no doubt inhibited by Taylor’s steady presence in the front. Christian’s mood is almost tangible and seems to shift, the humor dissipating slowly as we head north. He’s brooding, staring out of the window, and I can feel him slipping away from me. What is he thinkingI can’t ask him. What can I say in front of Taylor?

"Where did you learn to dance?" I ask tentatively. He turns to gaze at me, his eyes unreadable beneath the intermittent light of the passing street lamps.

"Do you really want to know?" he replies softly.

My heart sinks, and now I don’t because I can guess.

"Yes," I murmur, reluctantly.

"Mrs. Robinson was fond of dancing."

Oh, my worst suspicions confirmed. She has taught him well, and the thought depresses me – there’s nothing I can teach him. I have no special skills.

"She must have been a good teacher."

"She was," he says softly.

My scalp prickles. Did she have the best of himBefore he became so closedOr did she bring him out of himselfHe has such a fun, playful side. I smile involuntarily as I recall being in his arms as he spun me around his living room, so unexpected, and he has my panties, somewhere.

And then there’s the Red Room of Pain. I rub my wrists reflexively – thin strips of plastic will do that to a girl. She taught him all that too or ruined him, depending on one’s point of view. Or perhaps he would have found his way there anyway in spite of Mrs. R.

I realize, in that moment, that I hate her. I hope that I never meet her because I will not be responsible for my actions if I do. I can’t remember ever feeling this passionately about anyone, especially someone I’ve never met. Gazing unseeing out of the window, I nurse my irrational anger and jealousy.

My mind drifts back to the afternoon. Given what I understand of his preferences, I think he’s been easy on me. Would I do it again I can’t even pretend to put up an argument against that. Of course I would, if he asked me – as long as he didn’t hurt me and if it’s the only way to be with him.

That’s the bottom line. I want to be with him. My inner goddess sighs with relief. I reach the conclusion that she rarely uses her brain to think but another vital part of her anatomy, and at the moment, it’s a rather exposed part.

"Don’t," he murmurs.

I frown and turn to look at him.

"Don’t what?" I haven’t touched him.

"Over-think things, Anastasia." Reaching out, he grasps my hand, draws it up to his lips, and kisses my knuckles gently. "I had a wonderful afternoon. Thank you."

And he’s back with me again. I blink up at him and smile shyly. He’s so confusing. I ask a question that’s been bugging me.

"Why did you use a cable tie?"

He grins at me.

"It’s quick, it’s easy, and it’s something different for you to feel and experience. I know they’re quite brutal, and I do like that in a restraining device." He smiles at me mildly.

"Very effective at keeping you in your place."

I flush and glance nervously at Taylor, who remains impassive, eyes on road. What am I supposed to say to that Christian shrugs innocently.

"All part of my world, Anastasia." He squeezes my hand and lets go, staring out of the window again.

His world indeed, and I want to belong in it, but on his termsI just don’t know. He hasn’t mentioned that damned contract. My inner musings do nothing to cheer me. I stare out of the window and the landscape has changed. We’re crossing one of the bridges, surrounded by inky darkness. The somber night reflects my introspective mood, closing in, suffocating.

I glance briefly at Christian, and he’s staring at me.

"Penny for your thoughts?" he asks.

I sigh and frown.

"That bad, huh?"

"I wish I knew what you were thinking."

He smirks at me.

"Ditto, baby," he says softly as Taylor speeds into the night toward Bellevue.

It is just before eight when the Audi draws into the driveway of a colonial-style mansion.

It’s breathtaking, even down to the roses around the door. Picture-book perfect.

"Are you ready for this?" Christian asks as Taylor pulls up outside the impressive front door.

I nod, and he gives my hand another reassuring squeeze.

"First for me too," he whispers, then smiles wickedly. "Bet you wish you were wearing your underwear right now," he teases.

I flush. I’d forgotten my missing panties. Fortunately, Taylor has climbed out of the car and is opening my door so he can’t hear our exchange. I scowl at Christian who grins broadly as I turn and climb out of the car.

Dr. Grace Trevelyan-Grey is on the doorstep waiting for us. She looks elegantly sophisticated in a pale blue silk dress; behind her stands Mr. Grey, I presume, tall, blond, and as handsome in his own way as Christian.

"Anastasia, you’ve met my mother, Grace. This is my dad, Carrick."

"Mr. Grey, what a pleasure to meet you." I smile and shake his outstretched hand.

"The pleasure is all mine, Anastasia."

"Please call me, Ana."

His blue eyes are soft and gentle.

"Ana, how lovely to see you again." Grace wraps me in a warm hug. "Come in, my dear."

"Is she here?" I hear a screech from within the house. I glance nervously at Christian.

"That would be Mia, my little sister," he says almost irritably, but not quite.

There’s an undercurrent of affection in his words, the way his voice grows softer and his eyes crinkle as he mentions her name. Christian obviously adores her. It’s a revelation.

And she comes barreling down the hall, raven haired, tall, and curvaceous. She’s about my age.

"Anastasia! I’ve heard so much about you." She hugs me hard.

Holy Cow. I can’t help but smile at her boundless enthusiasm.

"Ana, please," I murmur as she drags me into the large vestibule. It’s all dark wood floors and antique rugs with a sweeping staircase to the second floor.

"He’s never brought a girl home before," says Mia, dark eyes bright with excitement.

I glimpse Christian rolling his eyes, and I raise an eyebrow at him. He narrows his eyes at me.

"Mia, calm down," Grace admonishes softly. "Hello, darling," she says as she kisses Christian on both cheeks. He smiles down at her warmly, and then shakes hands with his father.

We all turn and head into the living room. Mia has not let go of my hand. The room is spacious, tastefully furnished in creams, browns, and pale blue, comfortable, understated, and very stylish. Kate and Elliot are cuddled together on a couch, clutching champagne flutes. Kate bounces up to embrace me, and Mia finally releases my hand.

"Hi, Ana!" She beams. "Christian." She nods curtly to him.

"Kate." He is equally formal with her.

I frown at their exchange. Elliot grasps me in an all-embracing hug. What is this, hug Ana weekThis dazzling display of affection – I’m just not used to it. Christian stands at my side, wrapping his arm around me. Placing his hand on my hip, he spreads out his fingers and pulls me close. Everyone is staring at us. It’s unnerving.

"Drinks?" Mr. Grey seems to recover himself. "Prosecco?"

"Please," Christian and I speak in unison.

Oh… this is beyond weird. Mia claps her hands.

"You’re even saying the same things. I’ll get them." She scoots out of the room.

I flush scarlet, and seeing Kate sitting with Elliot, it occurs to me suddenly that the only reason Christian invited me is because Kate is here. Elliot probably freely and happily asked Kate to meet his parents. Christian was trapped – knowing that I would have found out via Kate. I frown at the thought. He’s been forced into the invitation. The realization is bleak and depressing. My subconscious nods sagely, a you’ve-finally-worked-it-out-stupid look on her face.

"Dinner’s almost ready," Grace says as she follows Mia out of the room.

Christian frowns as he gazes at me.

"Sit," he commands, pointing to the plush couch, and I do as I’m told, carefully crossing my legs. He sits down beside me but doesn’t touch me.