fifty shades darker (63 page)

“This is so neat. The best birthday present I’ve ever had.” He glances at me, his eyes soft and warm. “Better than my signed Guiseppe DeNatale poster.”

“I would have told you earlier, but as it was your birthday . . . What do you give the man who has everything? I thought I’d give you . . . me.”

He puts the keychain down on the bedside table and snuggles in beside me, pulling me into his arms against his chest so that we’re spooning.

“It’s perfect. Like you.”

I smirk, though he can’t see my expression. “I am far from perfect, Christian.”

“Are you smirking at me, Miss Steele?”

How does he know? “Maybe.” I giggle. “Can I ask you something?

“Of course,” he nuzzles my neck.

“You didn’t call on your trip back from Portland. Was that really because of José? You were worried about me being here alone with him?”

Christian says nothing. I turn to face him, and his eyes are wide as I reproach him.

“Do you know how ridiculous that is? How much stress you put your family and me through? We all love you very much.”

He blinks a couple of times and then gives me his shy smile. “I had no idea you’d all be so worried.”

I purse my lips. “When are you going to get it through your thick skull that you are loved?”

“Thick skull?” His eyebrows widen in surprise.

I nod. “Yes. Thick skull.”

“I don’t think the bone density of my head is significantly higher than anywhere else in my body.”

“I’m serious! Stop trying to make me laugh. I am still a little mad at you, though that’s partially eclipsed by the fact that you’re home safe and sound when I thought . . .” My voice fades as I recall those anxious few hours. “Well, you know what I thought.”

His eyes soften and he reaches up to caress my face. “I’m sorry. Okay.”

“Your poor mom, too. It was very moving, seeing you with her,” I whisper.

He smiles shyly. “I’ve never seen her that way.” He blinks at the memory. “Yes, that was really something. She’s normally so self-possessed. It was quite a shock.”

“See? Everyone loves you.” I smile. “Perhaps now you’ll start believing it.” I lean down and kiss him gently.

“Happy birthday, Christian. I’m glad you’re here to share your day with me. And you haven’t seen what I’ve got for you tomorrow um . . . today.” I smirk.

“There’s more?” he says, astounded, and his face erupts into a breathtaking grin.

“Oh yes, Mr. Grey, but you’ll have to wait until then.”

I wake suddenly from a dream or nightmare, and my pulse is thumping. I turn, panicked, and to my relief, Christian is fast asleep beside me. Because I’ve shifted, he stirs and reaches out in his sleep, draping his arm over me, and rests his head on my shoulder, sigh-ing softly.

The room is flooded with light. It’s eight o’clock. Christian never sleeps this late. I lie back and let my racing heart calm. Why the anxiety? Is it the aftermath of last night?

I turn and stare at him. He’s here. He’s safe. I take a deep steadying breath and gaze at his lovely face. A face that is now so familiar, all its dips and shadows eternally etched on my mind.

He looks much younger when he’s asleep, and I grin because today he’s a whole year older. I hug myself, thinking about my present. Oooh . . . what will he do? Perhaps I should start by bringing him breakfast in bed. Besides, José may still be here.

I find José at the counter, eating a bowl of cereal. I can’t help but flush when I see him.

He knows I’ve spent the night with Christian. Why do I suddenly feel so shy? It’s not as if I’m naked or anything. I’m wearing my silk floor-length wrap.

“Morning, José,” I smile, brazening it out.

“Hey, Ana!” His face lights up, genuinely pleased to see me. There’s no hint of teasing or salacious contempt in his expression.

“Sleep well?” I ask.

“Sure. Some view from up here.”

“Yeah. It’s pretty special.” Like the owner of this apartment. “Want a real man’s breakfast?” I tease.

“Love some.”

“It’s Christian’s birthday today—I’m making him breakfast in bed.”

“He awake?”

“No, I think he’s fried from yesterday.” I quickly glance away from him and head to the fridge so he can’t see my blush.
Jeez, it’s only José.
When I take the eggs and bacon out of the fridge, José is grinning at me.

“You really like him, don’t you?”

I purse my lips. “I love him, José.”

His eyes widen momentarily then he grins. “What’s not to love?” he asks gesturing round the great room.

I scowl at him. “Gee, thanks!”

“Hey, Ana, just kidding.”

Hmm . . . will I always have this leveled at me? That I’m marrying Christian for his money?

“Seriously, I’m kidding. You’ve never been that kind of girl.”

“Omelet good for you?” I ask, changing the subject. I don’t want to argue.

“Sure.”

“And me,” Christian says as he saunters into the great room. Holy fuck, he’s wearing only pajama bottoms that hang in that totally hot way off his hips—
Jeez!

“José.” He nods.

“Christian.” José returns his nod solemnly.

Christian turns to me and smirks as I stare. He’s done this on purpose. I narrow my eyes at him, desperately trying to recover my equilibrium, and Christian’s expression alters subtly. He knows that I know what he’s up to, and he doesn’t care.

“I was going to bring you breakfast in bed.”

Swaggering over, he wraps his arm around me, tilts my chin up, and plants a loud wet kiss on my lips. Very unFifty!

“Good morning, Anastasia,” he says. I want to scowl at him and tell him to behave—

but it’s his birthday. I flush. Why is he so territorial?

“Good morning, Christian. Happy birthday.” I give him a smile, and he smirks at me.

“I’m looking forward to my other present,” he says and that’s it. I flush the color of the Red Room of Pain and glance nervously at José, who looks like he’s swallowed something unpleasant. I turn away and start preparing the food.

“So what are your plans today, José?” Christian asks, seemingly casual as he sits down on a barstool.

“I’m heading up to see my dad and Ray, Ana’s dad.”

Christian frowns.

“They know each other?”

“Yeah, they were in the army together. They lost contact until Ana and I were in college together. It’s kinda cute. They’re best buds now. We’re going on a fishing trip.”

“Fishing?” Christian is genuinely interested.

“Yeah—some great catches in these coastal waters. The steelheads can grow way big.”

“True. My brother Elliot and I landed a thirty-four pound steelhead once.”

They’re talking fishing? What is it about fishing? I have never understood it.

“Thirty-four pounds? Not bad. Ana’s father though, he holds the record. A forty-three pounder.”

“You’re kidding! He never said.”

“Happy birthday, by the way.”

“Thanks. So, where do you like to fish?”

I zone out. This I do not need to know. But at the same time I’m relieved. See, Christian? José’s not so bad.

By the time José makes to leave, both of them are much more relaxed with each other.

Christian quickly changes into T-shirt and jeans and barefoot he accompanies José and me to the foyer.

“Thanks for letting me crash here,” José says to Christian as they shake hands.

“Anytime,” Christian smiles.

José hugs me quickly. “Stay safe, Ana.”

“Sure. Great to see you. Next time we’ll have a proper evening out.”

“I’ll hold you to that.” He waves at us from inside the elevator, and then he’s gone.

“See, he’s not so bad.”

“He still wants into your panties, Ana. But can’t say I blame him.”

“Christian, that’s not true!”

“You have no idea, do you?” He smirks down at me. “He wants you. Big time. ”

I frown. “Christian, he’s just a friend, a good friend.” And I’m suddenly aware that I sound like Christian when he’s talking about Mrs. Robinson. The thought is unsettling.

Christian holds up his hands in a placating gesture.

“I don’t want to fight,” he says softly.

Oh! We’re not fighting . . . are we?
“Me neither.”

“You didn’t tell him we were getting married.”

“No. I figured I ought to tell Mom and Ray first.”
Shit.
It’s the first time I’ve thought about this since I said yes. Jeez—what are my parents going to say?

Christian nods. “Yes, you’re right. And I . . . um, I should ask your father.”

I laugh. “Oh, Christian—this isn’t the eighteenth century.”

Holy shit. What will Ray say?
The thought of that conversation fills me with horror.

“It’s traditional.” Christian shrugs.

“Let’s talk about that later. I want to give you your other present.” My aim is to distract him. The thought of my present is burning a hole in my consciousness. I need to give it to him and see how he reacts.

He gives me his shy smile, and my heart skips a beat. For as long as I live, I’ll never tire of looking at that smile.

“You’re biting your lip,” he says and pulls on my chin.

A thrill runs through my body as his fingers touch me. Without a word, and while I still have a modicum of courage, I take his hand and lead him back to the bedroom. I drop his hand, leaving him standing by the bed, and from under my side of the bed, I take out the two remaining gift boxes.

“Two?” he says, surprised.

I take a deep breath. “I bought this before the, um . . . incident yesterday. I’m not sure about it now.” I quickly hand him one of the parcels before I can change my mind. He gazes at me, puzzled, sensing my uncertainty.

“Sure you want me to open it?”

I nod, anxious.

Christian tears off the packaging and gazes in surprise at the box.

“Charlie Tango,” I whisper.

He grins. The box contains a small wooden helicopter with a large, solar-powered rotor blade. He opens it up.

“Solar powered,” he murmurs. “Wow.” And before I know it he’s sitting on the bed assembling it. It snaps together quickly, and Christian holds it up in the palm of his hand.

A blue wooden helicopter. He looks up at me and gives me his glorious, all-American-boy smile, then heads to the window so that the little helicopter is bathed in sunlight and the rotor starts to spin.

“Look at that,” he breathes, examining it closely. “What we can already do with this technology.” He holds it at eye level, watching the blades spin. He’s fascinated and fascinating to watch as he loses himself in thought, staring at the little helicopter. What is he thinking?

“You like it?”

“Ana, I love it. Thank you.” He grabs me and kisses me swiftly, then turns back to watch the rotor spin. “I’ll add it to the glider in my office,” he says distractedly, watching the blade spin. He moves his hand out of the sunlight, and the blade slows down and comes to a stop.

I can’t help my face-splitting grin, and I want to hug myself. He loves it. Of course, he’s all about alternative technologies. I’d forgotten that in my haste to buy it. Placing it on the chest of drawers, he turns to face me.

“It’ll keep me company while we salvage Charlie Tango.”

“Is it salvageable?”

“I don’t know. I hope so. I’ll miss her, otherwise.”

Her?
I am shocked at myself for the small pang of jealousy I feel for an inanimate object. My subconscious snorts with derisory laughter. I ignore her.

“What’s in the other box?” he asks, his eyes wide with almost childish excitement.

Holy fuck.
“I’m not sure if this present is for you or me.”

“Really?” he asks, and I know I have piqued his interest. Nervously I hand him the second box. He shakes it gently and we both hear a heavy rattle. He glances up at me.

“Why are you so nervous?” he asks, bemused. I shrug, embarrassed and excited as I flush. He raises an eyebrow at me.

“You have me intrigued, Miss Steele,” he whispers, and his voice runs right through me, desire and anticipation spawning in my belly. “I have to say I’m enjoying your reaction. What have you been up to?” He narrows his eyes speculatively.

I remain tight-lipped as I hold my breath.

He removes the lid of the box and takes out a small card. The rest of the contents are wrapped in tissue. He opens the card, and his eyes dart quickly to mine—widening with shock or surprise. I just don’t know.

“Do rude things to you?” he murmurs. I nod and swallow. He cocks his head to one side warily, assessing my reaction, and frowns. Then turns his attention back to the box. He tears through the pale-blue tissue paper and fishes out an eye mask, some nipple clamps, a butt plug, his iPod, his silver-gray tie—and last but by no means least—the key to his playroom.

He gazes at me, his expression dark, unreadable.
Oh shit
. Is this a bad move?

“You want to play?” he asks softly.

“Yes,” I breathe.

“For my birthday?”

“Yes.” Could my voice sound any smaller?

A myriad of emotions cross his face, none of which I can place, but he settles for anxious.
Hmm . . .
Not quite the reaction I was expecting.

“You’re sure?” he asks.

“Not the whips and stuff.”

“I understand that.”

“Yes, then. I’m sure.”

He shakes his head and gazes down at the contents of the box. “Sex mad and insatiable.

Well, I think we can do something with this lot,” he murmurs almost to himself, then puts the contents back in the box. When he glances at me again, his expression has completely changed. Holy cow, his gray eyes burn, and his mouth lifts in a slow erotic smile. He holds out his hand.

“Now,” he says, and it’s not a request. My belly clenches, tight and hard, deep, deep down.

I put my hand in his.

“Come,” he orders, and I follow him out of the bedroom, my heart in my mouth. Desire races slick and hot through my blood as my insides tighten with hungry anticipation. My inner goddess somersaults round her chaise longue. Finally!