When he pulls into the garage, his mouth is set in a tense, grim line. I wonder why we’ve come back here if he’s going to be so wary and uptight. Sawyer is in the garage, patrolling. The defiled Audi is gone. He comes to open my door as Christian pulls in beside the SUV.
«Hello, Sawyer,” I murmur my greeting.
«Miss Steele.» He nods. «Mr. Grey.»
«No sign?» Christian asks.
«No, sir.»
Christian nods, grasps my hand, and heads for the elevator. I know his brain is working overtime—he’s distracted. Once we’re inside he turns to me.
«You are not allowed out of here alone. You understand?» he snaps.
«Okay.» Jeez—keep your hair on. But his attitude makes me smile. I want to hug myself—now this man, all domineering and short with me I know. I marvel that I would have found it so threatening only a week or so ago when he spoke to me this way. But now, I understand him so much better. This is his coping mechanism. He’s stressed about Leila, he loves me, and he wants to protect me.
«What’s so funny?» he murmurs, a hint of amusement in his expression.
«You are.»
«Me? Miss Steele? Why am I funny?» he pouts.
Christian pouting is… hot.
«Don’t pout.»
«Why?» He’s even more amused.
«Because it has the same effect on me as I have on you when I do this.» I bite my lip deliberately.
He raises his eyebrows, surprised and pleased at the same time. «Really?» He pouts again and leans down to give me a swift chaste kiss.
I raise my lips to meet his, and in the nanosecond when our lips touch, the nature of the kiss changes—wildfire spreading through my veins from this intimate point of contact, driving me to him.
Suddenly, my fingers are curling in his hair as he grabs me and pushes me against the elevator wall, his hands framing my face, holding me to his lips as our tongues thrash against each other. And I don’t know if it’s the confines of the elevator making everything much more real, but I feel his need, his anxiety, his passion.
Holy shit. I want him, here, now.
The elevator pings to a halt, the doors slide open, and Christian drags his face from mine, his hips still pinning me to the wall, his erection digging into me.
«Whoa,” he murmurs panting.
«Whoa,” I mirror him, dragging a welcome breath into my lungs.
He gazes at me, eyes blazing. «What you do to me, Ana.» He traces my lower lip with his thumb.
Out of the corner of my eye, Taylor steps backward so he’s no longer in my line of sight. I reach up and kiss Christian at the corner of his beautifully sculptured mouth.
«What you do to me, Christian.»
He steps back and takes my hand, his eyes darker now, hooded. «Come,” he orders.
Taylor is still in the foyer, waiting discreetly for us.
«Good evening, Taylor,” Christian says cordially.
«Mr. Grey, Miss Steele.»
«I was Mrs. Taylor yesterday.» I grin at Taylor, who flushes.
«That has a nice ring to it, Miss Steele,” Taylor says matter–of–factly.
«I thought so, too.»
Christian tightens his hold on my hand, scowling. «If you two have quite finished, I’d like a debrief.» He glares at Taylor, who now looks uncomfortable, and I cringe inwardly. I have overstepped the mark.
«Sorry,” I mouth at Taylor, who shrugs and smiles kindly before I turn to follow Christian.
«I’ll be with you shortly. I just want a word with Miss Steele,” Christian says to Taylor, and I know I’m in trouble.
Christian leads me into his bedroom and closes the door.
«Don’t flirt with the staff, Anastasia,” he scolds.
I open my mouth to defend myself—then close it again, then open it. «I wasn’t flirting. I was being friendly—there is a difference.»
«Don’t be friendly with the staff or flirt with them. I don’t like it.»
Oh. Good–bye, carefree Christian. «I’m sorry,” I mutter and stare down at my fingers. 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.
