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五十度灰英文版 - Part II 18
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  Oh, please, let him be okay. He cannot be gone. He is
  the center of my universe.
  An involuntary sob escapes my throat, and I clutch my
  hand to my mouth. No. I must be strong.
  José is suddenly at my side, or has he been there a
  while? I have no idea.
  “Do you want to call your mom or dad?” he asks
  gently.
  No! I shake my head and clutch José’s hand. I cannot
  speak, I know I will dissolve if I do, but the warmth and
  gentle squeeze of his hand offers me no solace.
  Oh, Mom. My lip trembles at the thought of my
  mother. Should I call her? No. I couldn’t deal with her
  reaction. Maybe Ray, he wouldn’t get emotional—he
  never gets emotional, not even when the Mariners lose.
  Grace rises to join the boys, distracting me. That must
  be the longest she’s sat still. Mia comes to sit beside me
  too and grabs my other hand.
  “He will come back,” she says, her voice initially
  determined but cracking on the last word. Her eyes are
  wide and red-rimmed, her face pale and pinched from lack
  of sleep.
  I gaze up at Ethan, who is watching Mia and Elliot,
  who has his arms around Grace. I glance at the clock. It’s
  after eleven, heading toward midnight. Damn time! With
  after eleven, heading toward midnight. Damn time! With
  each passing hour, the clawing emptiness expands,
  consuming me, choking me. I know deep down inside I
  am preparing myself, preparing myself for the worst. I
  close my eyes and offer up another silent prayer, clasping
  both Mia and José’s hands.
  Opening them again, I stare into the flames once more.
  I can see his shy smile—my favorite of all his expressions,
  a glimpse of the real Christian, my real Christian. He is so
  many people: control freak, CEO, stalker, sex god, Dom
  —and at the same time—such a boy with his toys. I smile.
  His car, his boat, his plane . . . Charlie Tango . . . no . . .
  no . . . my lost boy, truly lost right now. My smile fades
  and pain lances through me. I remember him in the
  shower, wiping away the lipstick marks.
  “I’m nothing, Anastasia. I’m a husk of a man. I
  don’t have a heart.”
  The lump in my throat expands. Oh, Christian, you do,
  you do have a heart, and it’s mine. I want to cherish it
  forever. Even though he’s so complex and difficult, I love
  forever. Even though he’s so complex and difficult, I love
  him. I will always love him. There will never be anyone
  else. Ever.
  I remember sitting in Starbucks weighing up my
  Christian pros and cons. All those cons, even those
  photographs I found this morning, melt into insignificance
  now. There’s just him and whether he’ll come back. Oh
  please, Lord, bring him back, please let him be okay.
  I’ll go to church . . . I’ll do anything. Oh, if I get him
  back, I shall seize the day. His voice echoes around my
  head once more: “Carpe diem, Ana.”
  I gaze deeper into the fire, the flames still licking and
  curling around each other, blazing brightly. Then Grace
  shrieks, and everything goes into slow motion.
  “Christian!”
  I turn my head in time to see Grace barreling across
  the great room from where she had been pacing
  somewhere behind me, and there in the entrance stands a
  dismayed Christian. He’s dressed in just his shirtsleeves
  and suit pants, and he’s holding his navy jacket, shoes, and
  socks. He looks tired, dirty, and utterly beautiful.
  Holy fuck . . . Christian. He’s alive. I gaze numbly at
  him, trying to work out if I’m hallucinating or if he’s really
  here.
  His expression is one of utter bewilderment. He
  deposits his jacket and shoes on the floor in time to catch
  Grace, who throws her arms around his neck and kisses
  him hard on the cheek.
  “Mom?”
  Christian gazes down at her, completely at a loss.
  “I thought I’d never see you again,” Grace whispers,
  voicing our collective fear.
  “Mom, I’m here.” I hear the consternation in his voice.
  “I died a thousand deaths today,” she whispers, her
  voice barely audible, echoing my thoughts. She gasps and
  sobs, no longer able to hold back her tears. Christian
  frowns, horrified or mortified—I don’t know which—then
  after a beat, envelops her in a huge hug, holding her close.
  “Oh, Christian,” she chokes, wrapping her arms
  around him, weeping into his neck—all self-restraint
  around him, weeping into his neck—all self-restraint
  forgotten—and Christian doesn’t balk. He just holds her,
  rocking to and fro, comforting her. Scalding tears pool in
  my eyes. Carrick hollers from the hallway.
  “He’s alive! Shit—you’re here!” He appears from
  Taylor’s office, clutching his cell phone, and embraces
  both of them, his eyes closed in sweet relief.
  “Dad?”
  Mia squeals something unintelligible from beside me,
  then she’s up, running, joining her parents, hugging all of
  them, too.
  Finally the tears start to cascade down my cheeks.
  He’s here, he’s fine. But I cannot move.
  Carrick is the first to pull away, wiping his eyes and
  clapping Christian on the shoulder. Mia releases them and
  Grace steps back.
  “Sorry,” she mumbles.
  “Hey, Mom—it’s okay,” Christian says, consternation
  still evident on his face.
  “Where were you? What happened?” Grace cries and
  “Where were you? What happened?” Grace cries and
  puts her head in her hands.
  “Mom,” Christian mutters. He draws her into his arms
  again and kisses the top of her head. “I’m here. I’m good.
  It’s just taken me a hell of a long time to get back from
  Portland. What’s with the welcoming committee?” He
  looks up and scans the room until his eyes lock with mine.
  He blinks and glances briefly at José, who lets go of
  my hand. Christian’s mouth tightens. I drink in the sight of
  him and relief courses through me, leaving me spent,
  exhausted, and completely elated. Yet my tears don’t
  stop. Christian turns his attention back to his mother.
  “Mom, I’m good. What’s wrong?” Christian says
  reassuringly. She places her hands on either side of his
  face.
  “Christian, you’ve been missing. Your flight plan—you
  never made it to Seattle. Why didn’t you contact us?”
  Christian’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “I didn’t
  think it would take this long.”
  “Why didn’t you call?”
  “No power in my cell.”
  “You didn’t stop . . . call collect?”
  “Mom—it’s a long story.”
  “Oh, Christian! Don’t you ever do that to me again!
  Do you understand?” she half shouts at him.
  “Yes, Mom.” He wipes her tears away with his thumb
  and hugs her once more. When she composes herself, he
  releases her to hug Mia, who slaps him hard on the chest.
  “You had us so worried!” she blurts out, and she, too,
  is in tears.
  “I’m here now, for heaven’s sake,” Christian mutters.
  As Elliot comes forward, Christian relinquishes Mia to
  Carrick, who already has one arm around his wife. He
  curls the other around his daughter. Elliot hugs Christian
  briefly, much to Christian’s surprise, and slaps him hard on
  the back.
  “Great to see you.” Elliot says loudly, if a little gruffly,
  trying to hide his emotion.
  As the tears stream down my face, I can see it all. The
  great room is bathed in it—unconditional love. He has it in
  great room is bathed in it—unconditional love. He has it in
  spades; he’s just never accepted it before, and even now
  he’s at a total loss.
  Look, Christian, all these people love you! Perhaps
  now you’ll start believing it.
  Kate is standing behind me—she must have left the TV
  room—and she gently strokes my hair.
  “He’s really here, Ana,” she murmurs comfortingly.
  “I’m going to say hi to my girl now,” Christian tells his
  parents. Both nod, smile, and step aside.
  He moves toward me, gray eyes bright though weary
  and still bemused. From somewhere deep inside, I find the
  strength to stagger to my feet and bolt into his open arms.
  “Christian!” I sob.
  “Hush,” he says and holds me, burying his face in my
  hair and inhaling deeply. I raise my tear-stained face to his,
  and he kisses me far too briefly.
  “Hi,” he murmurs.
  “Hi,” I whisper back, the lump in the back of my throat
  burning.
  burning.
  “Miss me?”
  “A bit.”
  He grins. “I can tell.” And with a gentle touch of his
  hand, he wipes away the tears that refuse to stop running
  down my cheeks.
  “I thought . . . I thought—” I choke.
  “I can see. Hush . . . I’m here. I’m sorry. Later,” he
  murmurs and kisses me chastely again.
  “Are you okay?” I ask, releasing him and touching his
  chest, his arms, his waist—oh, the feel of this warm, vital,
  sensual man beneath my fingers—reassures me that he’s
  here, standing in front of me. He’s back. He doesn’t so
  much as flinch. He just regards me intently.
  “I’m okay. I’m not going anywhere.”
  “Oh, thank God,” I clasp him round his waist again,
  and he hugs me once more. “Are you hungry? Do you
  need something to drink?”
  “Yes.”
  I step back to fetch him something, but he doesn’t let
  me go. He tucks me under his arm and extends a hand to
  José.
  “Mr. Grey,” says José evenly.
  Christian snorts. “Christian, please,” he says.
  “Christian, welcome back. Glad you’re okay . . . and
  um—thanks for letting me stay.”
  “No problem.” Christian narrows his eyes, but he’s
  distracted by Mrs. Jones, who is suddenly at his side. It
  only occurs to me now that she’s not her usual smart self. I
  hadn’t noticed it before. Her hair is loose, and she’s in soft
  gray leggings and a large gray sweatshirt that dwarfs
  her with WSU Cougars emblazoned on the front. She
  looks years younger.
  “Can I get you something, Mr. Grey?” She wipes her
  eyes with a tissue.
  Christian smiles fondly at her. “A beer, please, Gail—
  Budvar—and a bite to eat.”
  “I’ll fetch it,” I murmur, wanting to do something for
  my man.
  “No. Don’t go,” he says softly, tightening his arm
  “No. Don’t go,” he says softly, tightening his arm
  around me.
  The rest of his family close in, and Ethan and Kate join
  us. He shakes Ethan’s hand and gives Kate a quick peck
  on the cheek. Mrs. Jones returns with a bottle of beer and
  a glass. He takes the bottle but shakes his head at the
  glass. She smiles and returns to the kitchen.
  “Surprised you don’t want something stronger,”
  mutters Elliot. “So what the fuck happened to you? First I
  knew was when Dad called me to say the chopper was
  missing.”
  “Elliot!” Grace scolds.
  “Helicopter,” Christian growls, correcting Elliot, who
  grins, and I suspect this is a family joke.
  “Let’s sit and I’ll tell you.” Christian pulls me over to
  the couch, and everyone sits down, all eyes on Christian.
  He takes a long draft of his beer. He spies Taylor hovering
  at the entrance and nods. Taylor nods back.
  “Your daughter?”
  “She’s fine now. False alarm, sir.”
  “She’s fine now. False alarm, sir.”
  “Good.” Christian smiles.
  Daughter? What happened to Taylor’s daughter?
  “Glad you’re back, sir. Will that be all?”
  “We have a helicopter to collect.”
  Taylor nods. “Now? Or will the morning do?”
  “Morning, I think, Taylor.”
  “Very good, Mr. Grey. Anything else, sir?”
  Christian shakes his head and raises his bottle to him.
  Taylor gives him a rare smile—rarer than Christian’s, I
  think—and heads out presumably to his office or up to his
  room.
  “Christian, what happened?” Carrick demands.
  Christian launches into his story. He was flying with
  Ros, his number two in Charlie Tango to deal with a
  funding issue at WSU in Vancouver. I can barely keep up
  I’m so dazed. I just hold Christian’s hand and stare at his
  manicured fingernails, his long fingers, the creases on his
  knuckles, his wristwatch—an Omega with three small

  dials. I gaze up at his beautiful profile as he continues his
  tale.
  “Ros had never seen Mount St. Helens, so on the way
  back as a celebration, we took a quick detour. I heard the
  TFR was lifted a while back and I wanted to take a look.
  Well, it’s fortunate that we did. We were flying low, about
  two hundred feet AGL, when the instrument panel lit up.
  We had a fire in the tail—I had no choice but to cut all the
  electronics and land.” He shakes his head. “I set her down
  by Silver Lake, got Ros out, and managed to put the fire
  out.”
  “A fire? Both engines?” Carrick is horrified.
  “Yep.”
  “Shit! But I thought.”
  “I know,” Christian interrupts him. “It was sheer luck I
  was flying so low,” he murmurs. I shudder. He releases my
  hand and puts his arm around me.
  “Cold?” he asks me. I shake my head.
  “How did you put out the fire?” asks Kate, her Carla
  Bernstein instincts kicking in. Jeez, she sounds terse
  sometimes.
  sometimes.
  “Extinguisher. We have to carry them—by law.”
  Christian answers levelly.
  His words from long ago circle my mind. “I thank
  divine providence every day that it was you that came
  to interview me and not Katherine Kavanagh.”
  “Why didn’t you call or use the radio?” Grace asks.
  Christian shakes his head. “With the electronics out,
  we had no radio. And I wasn’t going to risk turning them
  on because of the fire. GPS was still working on the
  Blackberry, so I was able to navigate to the nearest road.
  Took us four hours to walk there. Ros was in heels.”
  Christian’s mouth presses into a disapproving flat line.
  “We had no cell reception. There’s no coverage at
  Gifford. Ros’s battery died first. Mine dried up on the
  way.”
  Holy hell. I tense and Christian pulls me into his lap.
  “So how did you get back to Seattle?” Grace asks,
  blinking slightly at the sight of the two of us, no doubt. I
  flush.
  flush.
  “We hitched and pooled our resources. Between us,
  Ros and I had six hundred dollars, and we thought we’d
  have to bribe someone to drive us back, but a truck driver
  stopped and agreed to bring us home. He refused the
  money and shared his lunch with us.” Christian shakes his
  head in dismay at the memory. “Took forever. He didn’t
  have a cell—weird, but true. I didn’t realize.” He stops,
  gazing at his family.
  “That we’d worry?” Grace scoffs. “Oh, Christian!” she
  scolds him. “We’ve been going out of our minds!”
  “You’ve made the news, bro.”
  Christian rolls his eyes. “Yeah. I figured that much
  when I arrived to this reception and the handful of
  photographers outside. I’m sorry, Mom—I should have
  asked the driver to stop so I could phone. But I was
  anxious to be back.” He glances at José.
  Oh, that’s why, because José is staying here. I
  frown at the thought. Jeez—all that worry.
  Grace shakes her head. “I’m just glad you’re back in
  one piece, darling.”
  I start to relax, resting my head against his chest. He
  smells outdoorsy, slightly sweaty, of body wash, and
  Christian, the most welcome scent in the world. Tears start
  to trickle down my face again, tears of gratitude.
  “Both engines?” Carrick says again, frowning in
  disbelief.
  “Go figure.” Christian shrugs and runs his hand down
  my back.
  “Hey,” he whispers. He puts his fingers under my chin
  and tilts my head back. “Stop with the crying.”
  I wipe my nose with the back of my hand in a most
  unladylike way. “Stop with the disappearing.” I sniff and
  his lips quirk up.
  “Electrical failure . . . that’s odd, surely?” Carrick says
  again.
  “Yes, crossed my mind, too, Dad. But right now, I’d
  just like to go to bed and think about all that shit
  tomorrow.”
  “So the media know that the Christian Grey has been
  “So the media know that the Christian Grey has been
  found safe and well?” Kate says.
  “Yes. Andrea and my PR people will deal with the
  media. Ros called her after we dropped her home.”
  “Yes, Andrea called me to let me know you were still
  alive.” Carrick grins.
  “I must give that woman a raise. Sure is late,” says
  Christian.
  “I think that’s a hint, ladies and gentlemen, that my
  dear bro needs his beauty sleep,” Elliot scoffs suggestively.
  Christian grimaces at him.
  “Cary, my son is safe. You can take me home now.”
  Cary? Grace looks adoringly at her husband.
  “Yes. I think we could use the sleep,” Carrick replies
  smiling down at her.
  “Stay,” Christian offers.
  “No, sweetheart, I want to get home. Now that I
  know you’re safe.”
  Christian reluctantly eases me onto the couch and
  stands. Grace hugs him once more, presses her head
  stands. Grace hugs him once more, presses her head
  against his chest and closes her eyes, content. He wraps
  his arms around her.
  “I was so worried, darling,” she whispers.
  “I’m okay, Mom.”
  She leans back and studies him intently while he holds
  her. “Yes. I think you are,” she says slowly, glances at me,
  and smiles. I flush.
  We follow Carrick and Grace as they make their way
  to the foyer. Behind me, I’m aware that Mia and Ethan are
  having a heated whispered conversation, but I can’t hear
  it.
  Mia is smiling shyly at Ethan, and he’s gaping at her
  and shaking his head. Suddenly, she folds her arms and
  turns on her heel. He rubs his forehead with one hand,
  obviously frustrated.
  “Mom, Dad—wait for me,” Mia calls sullenly. Perhaps
  she’s as mercurial as her brother.
  Kate hugs me hard. “I can tell some serious shit’s been
  going down while I’ve been blissfully ignorant in Barbados.
  It’s kind of obvious you two are nuts about each other.
  I’m glad he’s safe. Not just for him, Ana—for you, too.”
  “Thank you, Kate,” I whisper.
  “Yeah. Who knew we’d find love at the same time?”
  She grins. Wow. She’s admitted it.
  “With brothers!” I giggle.
  “We could end up sisters-in-law,” she quips.
  I tense, then mentally kick myself as Kate stands back
  to gaze at me with her what-aren’t-you-telling-me-Steele
  look. I flush. Damn, should I tell her he’s asked me?
  “Come on, baby,” Elliot summons her from the
  elevator.
  “Let’s talk tomorrow, Ana. You must be exhausted.”
  I am reprieved. “Sure. You, too, Kate—you’ve
  traveled long distance today.”
  We hug once more, then she and Elliot follow the
  Greys into the elevator. Ethan shakes Christian’s hand and
  gives me a quick hug. He looks distracted, but he follows
  them into the elevator and the doors close.
  José is hovering in the hallway as we come out of the
  José is hovering in the hallway as we come out of the
  foyer.
  “Look. I’ll turn in . . . leave you guys,” he says.
  I blush. Jeez, why is this awkward?
  “Do you know where to go?” Christian asks.
  José nods.
  “Yeah, the housekeeper—”
  “Mrs. Jones,” I prompt.
  “Yeah, Mrs. Jones, she showed me earlier. Quite a
  place you have here, Christian.”
  “Thank you,” Christian says politely as he comes to
  stand beside me, placing his arm around my shoulders.
  Leaning over, he kisses my hair.
  “I’m going to eat whatever Mrs. Jones has put out for
  me. Goodnight, José.” Christian wanders back into the
  great room, leaving José and me at the entrance.
  Wow! Left alone with José.
  “Well, goodnight.” José looks uncomfortable all of a
  sudden.
  “Goodnight, José, and thank you for staying.”
  “Goodnight, José, and thank you for staying.”
  “Sure, Ana. Any time your rich, hotshot boyfriend goes
  missing—I’ll be there.”
  “José!” I admonish him.
  “Only kidding. Don’t get mad. I’ll be leaving early in
  the morning—I’ll see you sometime, yeah? I’ve missed
  you.”
  “Sure, José. Soon I hope. Sorry tonight was so . . .
  shitty.” I smirk apologetically.
  “Yeah.” He grins. “Shitty.” He hugs me. “Seriously,
  Ana, I’m glad you’re happy, but I’m here if you need me.”
  I gaze up at him. “Thank you.”
  He flashes me a sad, bittersweet smile, and then he
  goes upstairs.
  I turn back to the great room. Christian stands beside
  the couch, watching me with an unreadable expression on
  his face. We’re finally alone and we gaze at each other.
  “He’s still got it bad, you know,” he murmurs.
  “And how would you know that, Mr. Grey?”
  “I recognize the symptoms, Miss Steele. I believe I
  have the same affliction.”
  “I thought I’d never see you again,” I whisper. There
  —the words are out. All my worst fears packaged neatly
  in one short sentence now exorcised.
  “It wasn’t as bad as it sounds.”
  I pick up his suit jacket and shoes from where they lie
  on the floor and move toward him.
  “I’ll take that,” he whispers, reaching for his jacket.
  Christian gazes down at me as if I’m his reason for
  living and mirrors my look, I’m sure. He is here, really
  here. He pulls me into his arms and wraps himself around
  me.
  “Christian,” I gasp, and my tears start anew.
  “Hush,” he soothes, kissing my hair. “You know . . . in
  the few seconds of sheer terror before I landed, all my
  thoughts were of you. You’re my talisman, Ana.”
  “I thought I’d lost you,” I breathe. We stand, holding
  each other, reconnecting and reassuring each other. As I
  tighten my arms around him, I realize I’m still holding his
  shoes. I drop them noisily to the floor.
  shoes. I drop them noisily to the floor.
  “Come and shower with me,” he murmurs.
  “Okay.” I glance up at him. I don’t want to let go.
  Reaching down he tilts my chin up with his fingers.
  “You know even tear-stained, you are beautiful, Ana
  Steele.” He leans down and kisses me gently. “And your
  lips are so soft.” He kisses me again, deepening it.
  Oh my . . . and to think, I could have lost . . . no . . .
  I stop thinking and surrender myself.
  “I need to put my jacket down,” he murmurs.
  “Drop it,” I murmur against his lips.
  “I can’t.”
  I lean back to gaze up at him, puzzled.
  He smirks at me. “This is why.” From the inside breast
  pocket he pulls out the small box I gave him, containing my
  present. He slings the jacket over the back of the couch
  and places the box on top.
  Seize the day, Ana, my subconscious prods me. Well,
  it’s after midnight, so technically it’s his birthday.
  “Open it,” I whisper, and my heart starts pounding.
  “Open it,” I whisper, and my heart starts pounding.
  “I was hoping you’d say that,” he murmurs. “This has
  been driving me crazy.”
  I grin impishly at him. Jeez, I feel giddy. He gives me
  his shy smile, and I melt despite my thumping heart,
  delighting in his amused yet intrigued expression. With deft
  long fingers, he unwraps and opens the box. His brow
  creases as he fishes out a small, rectangular, plastic
  keychain bearing a picture made up of tiny pixels that flash
  on and off like an LED screen. It depicts the Seattle
  skyline, focusing on the Space Needle, with the
  word SEATTLE written boldly across the landscape,
  flashing on and off.
  He stares at it for a moment and then gazes at me
  bemused, a frown marring his lovely brow.
  “Turn it over,” I whisper, holding my breath.
  He does, and his eyes shoot to mine, wide and gray,
  alive with wonder and joy. His lips part in disbelief.
  The word yes flashes on and off on the key ring.
  “Happy birthday,” I whisper.
  “You’ll marry me?” he whispers, incredulous.
  I nod nervously, flushing and anxious and not quite
  believing his reaction—this man whom I thought I’d lost.
  How could he not understand how much I love him?
  “Say it,” he orders softly, his gaze intense and hot.

  “Yes, I’ll marry you.”
  He inhales sharply and moves suddenly, grabbing me
  and swinging me round in a most un-Fiftylike manner. He’s
  laughing, young and carefree, radiating joyful elation. I
  grab his arms to hold on, feeling his muscles ripple beneath
  grab his arms to hold on, feeling his muscles ripple beneath
  my fingers, and his infectious laughter sweeps me up—
  dizzy, addled, a girl totally and utterly smitten with her
  beautiful man. He puts me down and kisses me. Hard. His
  hands are on either side of my face, his tongue insistent,
  persuasive . . . arousing.
  “Oh, Ana,” he breathes against my lips, and it’s an
  exultation that leaves me reeling. He loves me, of that I
  have no doubt, and I savor the taste of this delicious man,
  this man I thought I might never see again. His joy is
  evident—his eyes shining, his youthful smile—and his relief
  is almost palpable.
  “I thought I’d lost you,” I murmur, still dazzled and
  breathless from his kiss.
  “Baby, it will take more than a malfunctioning 135 to
  keep me away from you.”
  “135?”
  “Charlie Tango. She’s a Eurocopter 135, the safest in
  its class.” Some unnamed but dark emotion crosses his
  face briefly, distracting me. What isn’t he saying? Before I
  face briefly, distracting me. What isn’t he saying? Before I
  can ask him, he stills and looks down at me, frowning, and
  for a moment I think he’s going to tell me. I blink up into
  his speculative gray eyes.
  “Wait a minute. You gave this to me before we saw
  Flynn,” he says, holding up the keychain. He looks almost
  horrified.
  Oh dear, where’s he going with this? I nod, keeping a
  straight face.
  His mouth drops open.
  I shrug apologetically. “I wanted you to know that
  whatever Flynn said, it wouldn’t make a difference to me.”
  Christian blinks at me in disbelief. “So all yesterday
  evening, when I was begging you for an answer, I had it
  already?” He’s dismayed. I nod again, trying desperately
  to gauge his reaction. He gazes at me in stupefied wonder,
  but then narrows his eyes and his mouth twists with
  amused irony.
  “All that worry,” he whispers ominously. I grin at him
  and shrug once more. “Oh, don’t try and get cute with me,
  Miss Steele. Right now, I want . . .” He runs his hand
  through his hair, then shakes his head and changes tack.
  “I can’t believe you left me hanging.” His whisper is
  laced with disbelief. His expression alters subtly, his eyes
  gleaming wickedly, his mouth twitching into a carnal smile.
  Holy hell. A thrill runs through me. What’s he thinking?
  “I believe some retribution is in order, Miss Steele,” he
  says softly.
  Retribution? Oh shit! I know he’s playing—but I take
  a cautious step back from him anyway.
  He grins. “Is that the game?” he whispers. “Because I
  will catch you.” And his eyes burn with a bright playful
  intensity. “And you’re biting your lip,” he says
  threateningly.
  All of my insides tighten at once. Oh my. My future
  husband wants to play. I take another step back, then turn
  to run—but in vain. Christian grabs me, and in one easy
  swoop while I squeal with delight, surprise, and shock. He
  hoists me over his shoulder and heads down the hall.
  “Christian!” I hiss, mindful that José is upstairs, though
  “Christian!” I hiss, mindful that José is upstairs, though
  whether he could hear us is doubtful. I steady myself by
  clasping his lower back, then on a brave impulse, I swat
  his behind. He swats me right back.
  “Ow!” I yelp.
  “Shower time,” he declares triumphantly.
  “Put me down!” I try and fail to sound disapproving.
  My struggle is futile—his arm is firmly clamped over my
  thighs—and for some reason I cannot stop giggling.
  “Fond of these shoes?” he asks amused as he opens
  the door to his bathroom.
  “I prefer them to be touching the floor.” I attempt to
  snarl at him, but it’s not very effective as I can’t keep the
  laughter out of my voice.
  “Your wish is my command, Miss Steele.” Without
  putting me down, he slips off both of my shoes and lets
  them clatter to the tile floor. Pausing by the vanity, he
  empties his pockets—dead Blackberry, keys, wallet, the
  keychain. I can only imagine what I look like in the mirror
  from this angle. When he’s finished, he marches directly
  from this angle. When he’s finished, he marches directly
  into his overlarge shower.
  “Christian!” I scold loudly—his intent is now clear.
  He switches the water on at max. Jeez! Arctic water
  spurts over my backside, and I squeal—then stop, mindful
  once more that José is above us. It’s cold and I’m fully
  clothed. The chilling water soaks into my dress, my
  panties, and my bra. I’m drenched and I cannot stop
  giggling.
  “No!” I squeal. “Put me down!” I swat him again,
  harder this time, and Christian releases me, letting me slide
  down his now soaked body. His white shirt is stuck to his
  chest and his suit pants are sodden. I am soaked, too,
  flushed, giddy and breathless, and he’s grinning down at
  me, looking so . . . so unbelievably hot.
  He sobers, his eyes shining, and cups my face again,
  drawing my lips to his. His kiss is gentle, cherishing, and
  totally distracting. I no longer care that I am fully clothed
  and soaking wet in Christian’s shower. It’s just the two of
  us beneath the cascading water. He’s back, he’s safe, he’s
  mine.
  My hands move involuntarily to his shirt as it clings to
  every line and sinew of his chest, revealing the hair
  scrunched beneath the white wetness. I yank the shirt hem
  out of his pants, and he groans against my mouth, but his
  lips do not leave mine. As I unbutton his shirt, he reaches
  for my zipper, slowly sliding the clasp down my dress. His
  lips become more insistent, more provocative, his tongue
  invading my mouth—and my body explodes with desire. I
  tug his shirt hard, ripping it open. The buttons fly
  everywhere, ricocheting off the tiles and disappearing onto
  the shower floor. As I strip the wet material off his
  shoulders and down his arms, I press him into the wall,
  hampering his attempts to undress me. “Cufflinks,” he
  murmurs, holding up his wrists where his shirt hangs
  sodden and limp.
  With scrambling fingers, I release first one and then the
  other cuff, letting his gold cufflinks fall carelessly to the tiled
  floor and his shirt follows. His eyes search mine through
  the cascading water, his gaze burning, carnal, heated like
  the cascading water, his gaze burning, carnal, heated like
  the water. I reach for the waistband of his pants, but he
  shakes his head and grabs my shoulders, spinning me
  round so I am facing away from him. He finishes the long
  journey south with my zipper, smoothes my wet hair away
  from my neck, and runs his tongue up my neck to my
  hairline and back again, kissing and sucking as he goes.
  I moan and slowly he peels my dress off my shoulders
  and down past my breasts, kissing my neck beneath my
  ear. He unclasps my bra and pushes it off my shoulders,
  freeing my breasts. His hands reach around and cup each
  one as he murmurs his appreciation in my ear.
  “So beautiful,” he whispers.
  My arms are trapped by my bra and dress, which hang
  unfastened below my breasts, my arms still in the sleeves
  but my hands are free. I roll my head, giving Christian
  better access to my neck and push my breasts into his
  magical hands. I reach round behind me and welcome his
  sharp intake of breath as my inquisitive fingers make
  contact with his erection. He pushes his groin into my
  contact with his erection. He pushes his groin into my
  welcoming hands. Dammit, why didn’t he let me take his
  pants off?
  He tugs on my nipples, and as they harden and stretch
  under his expert touch, all thoughts of his pants disappear
  and pleasure spikes sharp and libidinous in my belly. I lean
  my head back against him and groan.
  “Yes,” he breathes and turns me once more, capturing
  my mouth with his. He peels my bra, dress and panties
  down so they join his shirt in a soggy heap on the shower
  floor.
  I grab the body wash beside us. Christian stills as he
  realizes what I am about to do. Staring him straight in the
  eye, I squirt some of the sweet-smelling gel into my palm
  and hold my hand up in front of his chest, waiting for an
  answer to my unspoken question. His eyes widen, then he
  gives me an almost imperceptible nod.
  Gently I place my hand on his sternum and start to rub
  the soap into his skin. His chest rises as he inhales sharply,
  but he stands stock-still. After a beat, his hands clasp my
  hips, but he doesn’t push me away. He watches me warily,
  his look intense more than scared, but his lips are parted
  as his breathing increases.
  “Is this okay?” I whisper.
  “Yes.” His short, breathy reply is almost a gasp. I am
  reminded of the many showers we’ve had together, but the
  one at the Olympic is a bittersweet memory. Well, now I
  can touch him. I wash him using gentle circles, cleaning my
  man, moving to his underarms, over his ribs, down his flat
  firm belly, toward his happy trail, and the waistband of his
  pants.
  “My turn,” he whispers and reaches for the shampoo,
  shifting us out of range of the stream of water and squirting
  some on to the top of my head.
  I think this is my cue to stop washing him, so I hook
  my fingers into his waistband. He works the shampoo into
  my hair, his firm, long fingers massaging my scalp.
  Groaning in appreciation, I close my eyes and give myself
  over to the heavenly sensation. After all the stress of the
  evening, this is just what I need.
  evening, this is just what I need.
  He chuckles and I open one eye to find him smiling
  down at me. “You like?”
  “Hmm . . .”
  He grins. “Me, too,” he says and leans over to kiss my
  forehead, his fingers continuing their sweet, firm kneading
  of my scalp.
  “Turn round,” he says authoritatively. I do as I’m told,
  and his fingers slowly work over my head, cleansing,
  relaxing, loving me as they go. Oh, this is bliss. He reaches
  for more shampoo and gently washes the long tresses
  down my back. When he’s finished, he pulls me back
  under the shower.
  “Lean your head back,” he orders quietly.
  I willingly comply, and he carefully rinses out the suds.
  When he’s done, I face him once more and make a
  beeline for his pants.
  “I want to wash all of you,”
  I whisper. He smiles that lopsided smile and lifts his
  hands in a gesture that says “I’m all yours, baby.” I grin; it
  hands in a gesture that says “I’m all yours, baby.” I grin; it
  feels like Christmas. I make short work of his zipper, and
  soon his pants and boxers join the rest of our clothing. I
  stand and reach for the body wash and the freshwater
  sponge.
  “Looks like you’re pleased to see me,” I murmur
  dryly.
  “I’m always pleased to see you, Miss Steele.” He
  smirks at me.
  I soap the sponge, then retrace my journey over his
  chest. He’s more relaxed—maybe because I’m not
  actually touching him. I head south with the sponge, across
  his belly, along the happy trail, through his pubic hair, and
  over and up his erection.
  I peek up at him, and he regards me with hooded eyes
  and sensual longing. Hmm . . . I like this look. I drop the
  sponge and use my hands, grasping him firmly. He closes
  his eyes, tips his head back, and groans, thrusting his hips
  into my hands.
  Oh yes! It’s so arousing. My inner goddess has
  resurfaced after her evening of rocking and weeping in the
  corner, and she’s wearing harlot-red lipstick.
  His burning eyes suddenly lock with mine. He’s
  remembered something.
  “It’s Saturday,” he exclaims, eyes alight with salacious
  wonder, and he grasps my waist, pulling me to him and
  kissing me savagely.
  Whoa—change of pace!
  His hands sweep down my slick, wet body, round to
  my sex, his fingers exploring, teasing, and his mouth is
  relentless, leaving me breathless. His other hand is in my
  wet hair, holding me in place while I bear the full force of
  his passion unleashed. His fingers move inside me.
  “Ahh,” I moan into his mouth.
  “Yes,” he hisses and lifts me, his hands beneath my

  backside. “Wrap your legs around me, baby.” My legs
  fold around him, and I cling like a limpet to his neck. He
  braces me against the wall of the shower and pauses,
  gazing down at me.
  “Eyes open,” he murmurs. “I want to see you.”
  “Eyes open,” he murmurs. “I want to see you.”
  I blink up at him, my heart hammering, my blood
  pulsing hot and heavy through my body, desire, real and
  rampant surging through me. Then he eases into me oh-soslowly,
  filling me, claiming me, skin against skin. I push
  down against him and groan loudly. Once fully inside me,
  he pauses once more, his face strained, intense.
  “You are mine, Anastasia,” he whispers.
  “Always.”
  He smiles victoriously and shifts, making me gasp.
  “And now we can let everyone know, because you
  said yes.” His voice is reverential, and he leans down,
  capturing my mouth with his, and starts to move . . . slow
  and sweet. I close my eyes and tilt my head back as my
  body bows, my will submitting to his, slave to his
  intoxicating slow rhythm.
  His teeth graze my jaw, my chin, and down my neck as
  he picks up the pace, pushing me onward, upward—away
  from this earthly plane, the teeming shower, the evening’s
  chilling fright. It’s just me and my man moving in unison,
  chilling fright. It’s just me and my man moving in unison,
  moving as one—each completely absorbed in the other—
  our gasps and grunts mingling. I revel in the exquisite
  feeling of his possession as my body blooms and flowers
  around him.
  I could have lost him . . . and I love him . . . I love
  him so much, and I’m suddenly overcome by the enormity
  of my love and the depth of my commitment to him. I will
  spend the rest of my life loving this man, and with that
  awe-inspiring thought, I detonate around him—a healing,
  cathartic orgasm, crying out his name as tears flow down
  my cheeks.
  He reaches his climax and pours himself into me. With
  his face buried in my neck, he sinks to the floor, holding
  me tightly, kissing my face, and kissing away my tears as
  the warm water spills down around us, washing us clean.
  “My fingers are pruny,” I murmur, postcoital and sated as
  I lean against his chest. He raises my fingers to his lips and
  I lean against his chest. He raises my fingers to his lips and
  kisses each in turn.
  “We should really get out of this shower.”
  “I’m comfortable here.” I’m sitting between his legs
  and he’s holding me close. I don’t want to move.
  Christian murmurs his assent. But suddenly I’m bone
  tired, world-weary. So much has happened this last week
  —enough for a lifetime of drama—and now I’m
  getting married. A disbelieving giggle escapes my lips.
  “Something amusing you, Miss Steele?” he asks
  fondly.
  “It’s been a busy week.”
  He grins. “That it has.”
  “I thank God you’re back in one piece, Mr. Grey,” I
  whisper, sobering at the thought of what might have been.
  He tenses and I immediately regret reminding him.
  “I was scared,” he confesses much to my surprise.
  “Earlier?”
  He nods, his expression serious.
  Holy shit. “So you made light of it to reassure your
  family?”
  “Yes. I was too low to land well. But somehow I did.”
  Crap. My eyes sweep up to his, and he looks grave as
  the water cascades over us. “How close a call was it?” He
  gazes down at me.
  “Close,” he pauses. “For a few awful seconds, I
  thought I’d never see you again.”
  I hug him tightly. “I can’t imagine my life without you,
  Christian. I love you so much it frightens me.”
  “Me, too,” he breathes. “My life would be empty
  without you. I love you so much.” His arms tighten around
  me and he nuzzles my hair. “I won’t ever let you go.”
  “I don’t want to go, ever.” I kiss his neck, and he leans
  down and kisses me gently.
  After a moment, he shifts. “Come—let’s get you dry
  and into bed. I’m exhausted and you look beat.”
  I lean back and arch an eyebrow at his choice of
  words. He cocks his head to one side and smirks at me.
  “You have something to say, Miss Steele?”
  I shake my head and clamber unsteadily to my feet.
  I shake my head and clamber unsteadily to my feet.
  I am sitting up in bed. Christian insisted on drying my hair
  —he’s quite skilled at it. How that happened is an
  unpleasant thought, so I dismiss it immediately. It’s after
  two in the morning, and I am ready to sleep. Christian
  gazes down at me and reexamines the keychain before
  climbing into bed. He shakes his head, incredulous once
  more.
  “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.”
  “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.
  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, sighing 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
  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
  “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
  “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.
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作者:佚名
章节:14 人气:0
摘要:作者简介稻盛和夫,1932年生于鹿儿岛,鹿儿岛大学工业部毕业。1959年创立京都陶瓷株式会社(现在的京瓷公司)。历任总经理、董事长,1997年起任名誉董事长。此外,1984年创立第二电电株式会社(现在的KDDI公司)并任董事长。2001年起任最高顾问。1984年创立“稻盛集团”,同时设立“京都奖”,每年表彰为人类社会的发展进步作出重大贡献的人士。 [点击阅读]
海伯利安
作者:佚名
章节:76 人气:0
摘要:序章乌黑发亮的太空飞船的了望台上,霸主领事端坐在施坦威钢琴前,弹奏着拉赫马尼诺夫的《升C小调前奏曲》,虽然钢琴已是一件古董,却保存得完好如初。此时,舱下沼泽中,巨大的绿色蜥蜴状生物蠕动着,咆哮着。北方正酝酿着一场雷暴。长满巨大裸子植物的森林在乌青的黑云下现出黑色影像,而层积云就像万米高塔直插入狂暴天穹。闪电在地平线上肆虐。 [点击阅读]
海伯利安的陨落
作者:佚名
章节:76 人气:0
摘要:序章乌黑发亮的太空飞船的了望台上,霸主领事端坐在施坦威钢琴前,弹奏着拉赫马尼诺夫的《升C小调前奏曲》,虽然钢琴已是一件古董,却保存得完好如初。此时,舱下沼泽中,巨大的绿色蜥蜴状生物蠕动着,咆哮着。北方正酝酿着一场雷暴。长满巨大裸子植物的森林在乌青的黑云下现出黑色影像,而层积云就像万米高塔直插入狂暴天穹。闪电在地平线上肆虐。 [点击阅读]
海市蜃楼
作者:佚名
章节:8 人气:0
摘要:“大江山高生野远山险路遥不堪行,未尝踏入天桥立,不见家书载歌来。”这是平安时期的女歌人小式部内侍作的一首和歌,被收录在百人一首中,高宫明美特别喜欢它。当然其中一个原因是歌中描绘了她居住的大江町的名胜,但真正吸引她的是围绕这首和歌发生的一个痛快淋漓的小故事,它讲述了作者如何才华横溢。小式部内侍的父亲是和泉国的国守橘道贞,母亲是集美貌与艳闻于一身,同时尤以和歌闻名于世的女歌人和泉式部。 [点击阅读]
海边的卡夫卡
作者:佚名
章节:51 人气:0
摘要:这部作品于二零零一年春动笔,二零零二年秋在日本刊行。《海边的卡夫卡》这部长篇小说的基本构思浮现出来的时候,我脑袋里的念头最先是写一个以十五岁少年为主人公的故事。至于故事如何发展则完全心中无数(我总是在不预想故事发展的情况下动笔写小说),总之就是要把一个少年设定为主人公。这是之于我这部小说的最根本性的主题。 [点击阅读]
海顿斯坦诗选
作者:佚名
章节:20 人气:0
摘要:海神庙完成了,耸立在玫瑰如绣的花园里,旁边站着建造者,臂膀上,靠着他年轻的妻.她用孩童般的愉悦之声说:“我的杯中溢满了快乐,把我带到纳克萨斯①海滨的人,如今在这里建造了一座光辉的神庙,这是他不朽的故土。”她的丈夫严肃地说:“人死后,他的名字会消失,而神庙,却永远如此屹立。一个有作为的艺术家,在看到自己的精神为人传颂时,他就永远活着,行动着。 [点击阅读]
消失的地平线
作者:佚名
章节:14 人气:0
摘要:烟头的火光渐渐暗了下来。我们也渐渐感觉到一种幻灭般的失落:老同学又相聚在一起,发现彼此之间比原来想象的少了许多共同语言,这使得我们有一些难过。现在卢瑟福在写小说,而维兰德在使馆当秘书。维兰德刚刚在特贝霍夫饭店请我们吃饭,我觉得气氛并不热烈,席间,他都保持着作为一个外交官在类似场合必须具有的镇静。 [点击阅读]