fifty shades darker полностью

The house is enormous: twelve thousand square feet on six acres of land. As well as this main living room, there’s the eat-in—no, banquet-in—kitchen with family room attached— Family! —a music room, a library, a study and, much to my amazement, an indoor pool and exercise suite with sauna and steam room attached. Downstairs in the basement there’s a cinema— Jeez—and game room. Hmm . . . what sort of games could we play in here?Miss Kelly points out all sorts of features, but basically the house is beautiful and was obviously at one time a happy family home. It’s a little shabby now, but nothing that some TLC couldn’t cure.

As we follow Miss Kelly up the magnificent main stairs to the second floor, I can hardly contain my excitement . . . this house has everything I could ever wish for in a home.

“Couldn’t you make the existing house more ecological and self-sustaining?” Christian blinks at me, nonplussed. “I’d have to ask Elliot. He’s the expert in all this.” Miss Kelly leads us into the master suite where full height windows open onto a balcony, and the view is still spectacular. I could sit in bed and gaze out all day, watching the sailing boats and the changing weather.

There are five additional bedrooms on this floor. Jeez—kids. I push the thought hastily to one side. I have too much to process already. Miss Kelly is busily suggesting to Christian how the grounds could accommodate riding stables and a paddock. Horses! Terrifying images of my few riding lessons flash through my mind, but Christian doesn’t appear to be listening.

“The paddock would be where the meadow is at the moment?” I ask.

“Yes,” Miss Kelly says brightly.

To me the meadow looks like somewhere to lie in the long grass and have picnics, not for some four-legged fiend of Satan to roam.

Back in the main room, Miss Kelly discreetly disappears, and Christian leads me out once more onto the terrace. The sun has set and lights from the towns on the Olympic pen-insula are twinkling on the far side of the Sound.

Christian pulls me into his arms and tips my chin up with his index finger, staring intently down at me.

“Lot to take in?” he asks, his expression unreadable.

I nod.

“I wanted to check you liked it before I bought it.”

“The view?”

He nods.

“I love the view, and I like the house that’s here.”

“You do?”

I smile shyly at him. “Christian, you had me at the meadow.” His lips part as he inhales sharply, then his face transforms with a grin, and his hands are suddenly fisting into my hair and his mouth is on mine.

Back in the car as we head for Seattle, Christian’s mood has lifted considerably.

“So you’re going to buy it?” I ask.

“Yes.”

“You’ll put Escala on the market?”

He frowns. “Why would I do that?”

“To pay for . . .” My voice trails off—of course. I flush.

He smirks at me. “Trust me, I can afford it.”

“Do you like being rich?”

“Yes. Show me someone who doesn’t,” he says darkly.

Okay, get off that subject quickly.

“Anastasia, you’re going to have to learn to be rich, too, if you say yes,” he says softly.

“Wealth isn’t something I’ve ever aspired to, Christian.” I frown.

“I know. I love that about you. But then you’ve never been hungry,” he says simply.

His words are sobering.

“Where are we going?” I ask brightly, changing the subject.

“To celebrate.” Christian relaxes.

Oh! “Celebrate what, the house?”

“Have you forgotten already? Your acting editor role.”

“Oh yes.” I grin. Unbelievably, I had forgotten.

“Where?”

“Up high at my club.”

“Your club?”

“Yes. One of them.”

The Mile High Club is on the seventy-sixth floor of Columbia Tower, higher even than Christian’s apartment. It’s very now and has the most head-spinning views over Seattle.

“Cristal, ma’am?” Christian hands me a glass of chilled champagne as I sit perched on a barstool.

“Why thank you, sir. ” I stress the last word flirtatiously, batting my eyelashes at him deliberately.

He gazes at me and his face darkens. “Are you flirting with me, Miss Steele?”

“Yes, Mr. Grey, I am. What are you going to do about it?”

“I’m sure I can think of something,” he says, his voice low. “Come—our table’s ready.” As we approach the table, Christian stops me, his hand on my elbow.

“Go and take your panties off,” he whispers.

Oh? A delicious tingle runs down my spine.

“Go,” he commands quietly.

Whoa, what? I blink up at him. He’s not smiling—he’s dead serious. Every muscle below my waistline tightens. I hand him my glass of champagne, turn sharply on my heel, and head for the restroom.

Shit. What’s he going to do? Perhaps this club is aptly named.

The restrooms are the height of modern design—all dark wood, black granite, and pools of light from strategically placed halogens. In the privacy of the stall, I smirk as I divest myself of my underwear. Again I’m grateful I changed into the navy blue shift dress.

I thought it appropriate attire to meet the good Dr. Flynn—I hadn’t expected the evening to take this unexpected course.