Grey

  Good girl.

  She pales as I saunter into the room.

  Keep it casual, Grey. You don't want to be charged with kidnapping.

  She closes her eyes, and I assume it's because she's embarrassed.

  "Good morning, Anastasia. How are you feeling?"

  "Better than I deserve," she mutters, as I place the bag on the chair. When she turns her gaze to me her eyes are impossibly big and blue, and though her hair is a tangled mess...she looks stunning.

  "How did I get here?" she asks, as though she's afraid of the answer.

  Reassure her, Grey.

  I sit down on the edge of the bed and stick to the facts. "After you passed out, I didn't want to risk the leather upholstery in my car, taking you all the way to your apartment. So I brought you here."

  "Did you put me to bed?"

  "Yes."

  "Did I throw up again?"

  "No." Thank God.

  "Did you undress me?"

  "Yes." Who else would have undressed you?

  She blushes, and at last she has some color in her cheeks. Perfect teeth bite down on her lip. I suppress a groan.

  "We didn't--?" she whispers, staring at her hands.

  Christ, what kind of animal does she think I am?

  "Anastasia, you were comatose. Necrophilia is not my thing." My tone is dry. "I like my women sentient and receptive." She sags with relief, which makes me wonder if this has happened to her before, that she's passed out and woken up in a stranger's bed and found out he's fucked her without her consent. Maybe that's the photographer's modus operandi. The thought is disturbing. But I recall her confession last night--that she'd never been drunk before. Thank God she hasn't made a habit of this.

  "I'm so sorry," she says, her voice full of shame.

  Hell. Maybe I should go easy on her.

  "It was a very diverting evening. Not one that I'll forget in a while." I hope that sounds conciliatory, but her brow creases.

  "You didn't have to track me down with whatever James Bond gadgetry you're developing for the highest bidder."

  Whoa! Now she's pissed. Why?

  "First, the technology to track cell phones is available over the Internet."

  Well, the Deep Net...

  "Second, my company does not invest or manufacture any kind of surveillance devices."

  My temper is fraying, but I'm on a roll. "And third, if I hadn't come to get you, you'd probably be waking up in the photographer's bed, and from what I can remember, you weren't overly enthused about him pressing his suit."

  She blinks a couple of times, then starts giggling.

  She's laughing at me again.

  "Which medieval chronicle did you escape from? You sound like a courtly knight."

  She's beguiling. She's calling me out...again, and her irreverence is refreshing, really refreshing. However, I'm under no illusion that I'm a knight in shining armor. Boy, has she got the wrong idea. And though it may not be to my advantage, I'm compelled to warn her that there's nothing chivalrous or courtly about me. "Anastasia, I don't think so. Dark knight, maybe." If only she knew--and why are we discussing me? I change the subject. "Did you eat last night?"

  She shakes her head.

  I knew it!

  "You need to eat. That's why you were so ill. Honestly, it's drinking rule number one."

  "Are you going to continue to scold me?"

  "Is that what I'm doing?"

  "I think so."

  "You're lucky I'm just scolding you."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Well, if you were mine, you wouldn't be able to sit down for a week after the stunt you pulled yesterday. You didn't eat, you got drunk, you put yourself at risk." The fear in my gut surprises me; such irresponsible, risk-taking behavior. "I hate to think what could have happened to you."

  She scowls. "I would have been fine. I was with Kate."

  Some help she was!

  "And the photographer?" I retort.

  "Jose just got out of line," she says, dismissing my concern and tossing her tangled hair over her shoulder.

  "Well, the next time he gets out of line, maybe someone should teach him some manners."

  "You're quite the disciplinarian," she snaps.

  "Oh, Anastasia, you have no idea."

  An image of her shackled to my bench, peeled gingerroot inserted in her ass so she can't clench her buttocks, comes to mind, followed by judicious use of a belt or strap. Yeah...That would teach her not to be so irresponsible. The thought is hugely appealing.

  She's staring at me wide-eyed and dazed, and it makes me uncomfortable. Can she read my mind? Or is she just looking at a pretty face.

  "I'm going to have a shower. Unless you'd like to shower first?" I tell her, but she continues to gape. Even with her mouth open she's quite lovely. She's hard to resist, and I grant myself permission to touch her, tracing the line of her cheek with my thumb. Her breath catches in her throat as I stroke her soft bottom lip.

  "Breathe, Anastasia," I murmur, before I stand and inform her that breakfast will be here in fifteen minutes. She says nothing, her smart mouth silent for once.

  In the bathroom I take a deep breath, strip, and climb into the shower. I'm half tempted to jerk off, but the familiar fear of discovery and disclosure, from an earlier time in my life, stops me.

  Elena would not be pleased.

  Old habits.

  As the water cascades over my head I reflect on my latest interaction with the challenging Miss Steele. She's still here, in my bed, so she cannot find me completely repulsive. I noticed the way her breath caught in her throat, and how her gaze followed me around the room.

  Yeah. There's hope.

  But would she make a good submissive?

  It's obvious she knows nothing of the lifestyle. She couldn't even say "fuck" or "sex" or whatever bookish college students use as a euphemism for fucking these days. She's quite the innocent. She's probably been subjected to a few fumbling encounters with boys like the photographer.

  The thought of her fumbling with anyone irks me.

  I could just ask her if she's interested.

  No. I'd have to show her what she'd be taking on if she agreed to a relationship with me.

  Let's see how we both fare over breakfast.

  Rinsing off the soap, I stand beneath the hot stream and gather my wits for round two with Anastasia Steele. I switch off the water and, stepping out of the shower, grab a towel. A quick check in the steamed-up mirror and I decide to skip shaving today. Breakfast will be here shortly, and I'm hungry. Quickly I brush my teeth.

  When I open the bathroom door she's out of bed and searching for her jeans. She looks up like the archetypal startled fawn, all long legs and big eyes.

  "If you're looking for your jeans, I've sent them to the laundry." She really has great legs. She shouldn't hide them in pants. Her eyes narrow, and I think she's going to argue with me, so I tell her why. "They were spattered with your vomit."

  "Oh," she says.

  Yes. "Oh." Now, what do you have to say to that, Miss Steele?

  "I sent Taylor out for another pair and some shoes. They're in the bag on the chair." I nod at the shopping bag.

  She raises her eyebrows--in surprise, I think. "Um. I'll have a shower," she mutters, and then as an afterthought she adds, "Thanks."

  Grabbing the bag, she dodges around me, darts into the bathroom, and locks the door.

  Hmm...she couldn't get into the bathroom quick enough.

  Away from me.

  Perhaps I'm being too optimistic.

  Disheartened, I briskly dry off and get dressed. In the living room I check my e-mail, but there's nothing urgent. I'm interrupted by a knock on the door. Two young women have arrived from room service.

  "Where would you like breakfast, sir?"

  "Set it up on the dining table."

  Walking back into the bedroom, I catch their furtive looks, but I ignore them and suppress the guilt I feel over how much food I've ordered.
We'll never eat it all.

  "Breakfast is here," I call, and rap on the bathroom door.

  "O-okay." Ana's voice sounds a little muted.

  Back in the living room, our breakfast is on the table. One of the women, who has dark, dark eyes, hands me the check to sign, and from my wallet I pull a couple of twenties for them.

  "Thank you, ladies."

  "Just call room service when you want the table cleared, sir," Miss Dark Eyes says with a coquettish look, as if she's offering more.

  My chilly smile warns her off.

  Sitting down at the table with the newspaper, I pour myself a coffee and make a start on my omelet. My phone buzzes--a text from Elliot.

  Kate wants to know if Ana is still alive.

  I chuckle, somewhat mollified that Ana's so-called friend is thinking about her. It's obvious that Elliot hasn't given his dick a rest after all his protestations yesterday. I text back.

  Alive and kicking ;)

  Ana appears a few moments later: hair wet, in the pretty blue blouse that matches her eyes. Taylor has done well; she looks lovely. Scanning the room, she spots her purse.

  "Crap, Kate!" she blurts.

  "She knows you're here and still alive. I texted Elliot."

  She gives me an uncertain smile as she walks toward the table.

  "Sit," I say, pointing to the place that's been set for her. She frowns at the amount of food on the table, which only accentuates my guilt.

  "I didn't know what you liked, so I ordered a selection from the breakfast menu," I mutter by way of an apology.

  "That's very profligate of you," she says.

  "Yes, it is." My guilt blooms. But as she opts for the pancakes, scrambled eggs, and bacon with maple syrup, and tucks in, I forgive myself. It's good to see her eat.

  "Tea?" I ask.

  "Yes, please," she says between mouthfuls. She's obviously famished. I pass her the small teapot of water. She gives me a sweet smile when she notices the Twinings English Breakfast tea.

  I have to catch my breath at her expression. And it makes me uneasy.

  It gives me hope.

  "Your hair's very damp," I observe.

  "I couldn't find the hair dryer," she says, embarrassed.

  She'll get sick.

  "Thank you for the clothes," she adds.

  "It's a pleasure, Anastasia. That color suits you."

  She stares down at her fingers.

  "You know, you really should learn to take a compliment."

  Perhaps she doesn't get many...but why? She's gorgeous in an understated way.

  "I should give you some money for these clothes."

  What?

  I glare at her, and she continues quickly, "You've already given me the books, which, of course, I can't accept. But these, please let me pay you back."

  Sweetheart.

  "Anastasia, trust me, I can afford it."

  "That's not the point. Why should you buy these for me?"

  "Because I can." I'm a very rich man, Ana.

  "Just because you can doesn't mean that you should." Her voice is soft, but suddenly I'm wondering if she's looked through me and seen my darkest desires. "Why did you send me the books, Christian?"

  Because I wanted to see you again, and here you are...

  "Well, when you were nearly run over by the cyclist--and I was holding you and you were looking up at me--all 'kiss me, kiss me, Christian'--" I stop, recalling that moment, her body pressed against mine. Shit. Quickly I shrug off the memory. "I felt I owed you an apology and a warning. Anastasia, I'm not a hearts-and-flowers kind of man. I don't do romance. My tastes are very singular. You should steer clear of me. There's something about you, though, and I'm finding it impossible to stay away. But I think you've figured that out already."

  "Then don't," she whispers.

  What?

  "You don't know what you're saying."

  "Enlighten me, then."

  Her words travel straight to my cock.

  Fuck.

  "You're not celibate?" she asks.

  "No, Anastasia, I'm not celibate." And if you'd let me tie you up I'd prove it to you right now.

  Her eyes widen and her cheeks pink.

  Oh, Ana.

  I have to show her. It's the only way I'll know. "What are your plans for the next few days?" I ask.

  "I'm working today, from midday. What time is it?" she exclaims in panic.

  "It's just after ten; you've plenty of time. What about tomorrow?"

  "Kate and I are going to start packing. We're moving to Seattle next weekend, and I'm working at Clayton's all this week."

  "You have a place in Seattle already?"

  "Yes."

  "Where?"

  "I can't remember the address. It's in the Pike Market District."

  "Not far from me." Good! "So what are you going to do for work in Seattle?"

  "I've applied for some internships. I'm waiting to hear."

  "Have you applied to my company, as I suggested?"

  "Um...no."

  "And what's wrong with my company?"

  "Your company or your company?" She arches an eyebrow.

  "Are you smirking at me, Miss Steele?" I can't hide my amusement.

  Oh, she'd be a joy to train...challenging, maddening woman.

  She examines her plate, chewing at her lip.

  "I'd like to bite that lip," I whisper, because it's true.

  Her face flies to mine and she shuffles in her seat. She tilts her chin toward me, her eyes full of confidence. "Why don't you?" she says quietly.

  Oh. Don't tempt me, baby. I can't. Not yet.

  "Because I'm not going to touch you, Anastasia--not until I have your written consent to do so."

  "What does that mean?" she asks.

  "Exactly what I say. I need to show you, Anastasia." So you know what you're getting yourself into. "What time do you finish work this evening?"

  "About eight."

  "Well, we could go to Seattle this evening or next Saturday for dinner at my place, and I'll acquaint you with the facts then. The choice is yours."

  "Why can't you tell me now?"

  "Because I'm enjoying my breakfast and your company. Once you're enlightened, you probably won't want to see me again."

  She frowns as she processes what I've said. "Tonight," she says.

  Whoa. That didn't take long.

  "Like Eve, you're so quick to eat from the tree of knowledge," I taunt her.

  "Are you smirking at me, Mr. Grey?" she asks.

  I look at her through narrowed eyes.

  Okay, baby, you asked for this.

  I pick up my phone and press Taylor on speed dial. He answers almost immediately.

  "Mr. Grey."

  "Taylor. I'm going to need Charlie Tango."

  She watches me closely as I make arrangements to bring my EC135 to Portland.

  I'll show her what I have in mind...and the rest will be up to her. She may want to come home once she knows. I'll need Stephan, my pilot, to be on standby so he can bring her back to Portland if she decides to have nothing more to do with me. I hope that's not the case.

  And it dawns on me that I'm thrilled that I can take her to Seattle in Charlie Tango.

  It'll be a first.

  "Standby pilot from 22:30," I confirm with Taylor and hang up.

  "Do people always do what you tell them?" she asks, and the disapproval in her voice is obvious. Is she scolding me now? Her challenge is annoying.

  "Usually, if they want to keep their jobs." Don't question how I treat my staff.

  "And if they don't work for you?" she adds.

  "Oh, I can be very persuasive, Anastasia. You should finish your breakfast. And then I'll drop you off at home. I'll pick you up at Clayton's at eight when you finish. We'll fly up to Seattle."

  "Fly?"

  "Yes. I have a helicopter."

  Her mouth drops open, forming a small o. It's a pleasing moment.

  "We'll go by helicopter to Seattle
?" she whispers.

  "Yes."

  "Why?"

  "Because I can." I grin. Sometimes it's just fucking great to be me. "Finish your breakfast."

  She seems stunned.

  "Eat!" My voice is more forceful. "Anastasia, I have an issue with wasted food. Eat."

  "I can't eat all this." She studies all the food on the table and I feel guilty once more. Yes, there is too much food here.

  "Eat what's on your plate. If you'd eaten properly yesterday, you wouldn't be here, and I wouldn't be declaring my hand so soon."

  Hell. This could be a huge mistake.

  She gives me a sideways look as she chases her food around on the plate with a fork, and her mouth twitches.

  "What's so funny?"

  She shakes her head and pops the last piece of pancake into her mouth, and I try not to laugh. As ever, she surprises me. She's awkward, unexpected, and disarming. She really makes me want to laugh, and what's more, it's at myself.

  "Good girl," I mutter. "I'll take you home when you've dried your hair. I don't want you getting ill."

  You'll need all your strength for tonight, for what I have to show you.

  Suddenly, she gets up from the table and I have to stop myself from telling her that she doesn't have permission.

  She's not your submissive...yet, Grey.

  On the way back to the bedroom, she pauses by the sofa.

  "Where did you sleep last night?" she asks.

  "In my bed." With you.

  "Oh."

  "Yes, it was quite a novelty for me, too."

  "Not having...sex."

  She said the s-word...and the telltale pink cheeks appear.

  "No."

  How can I tell her this, without it sounding weird?

  Just tell her, Grey.

  "Sleeping with someone." Nonchalantly, I turn my attention back to the sports section and the write-up on last night's game, then watch as she disappears into the bedroom.

  No, that didn't sound weird at all.

  Well, I have another date with Miss Steele. No, not a date. She needs to know about me. I let out a long breath and drink what's left of my orange juice. This is shaping up to be a very interesting day. I'm pleased when I hear the buzz of the hair dryer and surprised that she's doing what she's been told.

  While I'm waiting for her, I phone the valet to bring my car up from the garage and check her address once more on Google Maps. Next, I text Andrea to send me an NDA via e-mail; if Ana wants enlightenment, she'll need to keep her mouth shut. My phone buzzes. It's Ros.

  As I'm on the phone, Ana emerges from the bedroom and picks up her purse. Ros is talking about Darfur, but my attention is on Miss Steele. She rummages around in her purse and she's pleased when she finds a hair tie.

  Her hair is beautiful. Lush. Long. Thick. Idly, I wonder what it would be like to braid. She ties it back and puts on her jacket, then sits down on the sofa, waiting for me to finish my call.