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五十度灰英文版 - Part II 12
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  I narrow my eyes at him. “That sounds like a very
  evasive answer.”
  “I am always honest with you, Ana. I don’t want to
  play games. Well, not those sorts of games,” he qualifies,
  as his eyes heat.
  “What sort of games do you want to play?”
  He inclines his head to one side and smirks at me.
  “Miss Steele, you are so easily distracted.”
  I giggle. He’s right. “Mr. Grey, you are distracting on
  so many levels.” I gaze at his dancing gray eyes alight with
  humor.
  “My favorite sound in the whole world is your giggle,
  Anastasia. Now—what was your original question?” he
  asks smoothly, and I think he’s laughing at me. I try to
  twist my mouth to show my displeasure, but I like playful
  Fifty—he’s fun. I love some early morning banter. I frown,
  trying to recall my question.
  “Oh yes. You only saw your subs on the weekends?”
  “Yes, that’s correct,” he says regarding me nervously.
  I grin at him. “So, no sex during the week.”
  He laughs. “Oh, that’s where we’re going with this.”
  He looks vaguely relieved. “Why do you think I work out
  He looks vaguely relieved. “Why do you think I work out
  every weekday?” Now he really is laughing at me, but I
  don’t care. I want to hug myself with glee. Another first—
  well, several firsts.
  “You look very pleased with yourself, Miss Steele.”
  “I am, Mr. Grey.”
  “You should be.” He grins. “Now eat your breakfast.”
  Oh, bossy Fifty . . . he’s never far away.
  We are in the back of the Audi. Taylor is driving with the
  intention of dropping me off at work, then Christian.
  Sawyer is riding shotgun.
  “Didn’t you say your roommate’s brother was arriving
  today?” Christian asks, almost casually, his voice and
  expression giving nothing away.
  “Oh, Ethan,” I gasp. “I forgot. Oh Christian, thank you
  for reminding me. I’ll have to go back to the apartment.”
  His face falls. “What time?”
  “I’m not sure what time he’s arriving.”
  “I don’t want you going anywhere on your own,” he
  says sharply.
  “I know,” I mutter and resist rolling my eyes at Mr.
  Over-Reaction. “Will Sawyer be spying—um . . .
  patrolling today?” I glance slyly in Sawyer’s direction to
  see the backs of his ears turn red.
  “Yes,” Christian snaps, his eyes glacial.
  “If I was driving the Saab it would be easier,” I mutter
  petulantly.
  “Sawyer will have a car, and he can drive you to your
  “Sawyer will have a car, and he can drive you to your
  apartment, depending on what time.”
  “Okay. I think Ethan will probably contact me during
  the day. I’ll let you know what the plans are then.”
  He gazes at me, saying nothing. Oh, what is he
  thinking?
  “Okay,” he acquiesces. “Nowhere on your own. Do
  you understand?” He waves a long finger at me.
  “Yes, dear,” I mutter.
  There’s a trace of a smile on his face. “And maybe you
  should just use your Blackberry—I’ll e-mail you on it.
  That should prevent my IT guy having a thoroughly
  interesting morning, okay?” His voice is sardonic.
  “Yes, Christian.” I can’t resist. I roll my eyes at him,
  and he smirks at me.
  “Why Miss Steele, I do believe you’re making my
  palm twitch.”
  “Ah, Mr. Grey, your perpetually twitching palm. What
  are we going to do with that?”
  He laughs and then is distracted by his Blackberry,
  which must be on vibrate because it doesn’t ring. He
  frowns when he sees the caller ID.
  “What is it?” he snaps into the phone, then listens
  intently. I use the opportunity to study his lovely features—
  his straight nose, his hair hanging scruffily over his
  forehead. I am distracted from my surreptitious ogling by
  his expression, which turns from incredulity to amusement.
  I pay attention.
  “You’re kidding . . . For a scene . . . When did he tell
  you this?” Christian chuckles, almost reluctantly. “No,
  you this?” Christian chuckles, almost reluctantly. “No,
  don’t worry. You don’t have to apologize. I’m glad
  there’s a logical explanation. It did seem a ridiculously low
  amount of money . . . I have no doubt you’ve something
  evil and creative planned for your revenge. Poor Isaac.”
  He smiles. “Good . . . Good-bye.” He snaps the phone
  shut and glances at me. His eyes are suddenly wary, but
  oddly, he looks relieved, too.
  “Who was that?” I ask.
  “You really want to know?” he asks quietly.
  And, I know. I shake my head and stare out my
  window at the gray Seattle day, feeling forlorn. Why can’t
  she leave him alone?
  “Hey.” He reaches for my hand and kisses each of my
  knuckles in turn, and suddenly he’s sucking my little finger,
  hard. Then biting it softly.
  Whoa! He has a hotline to my groin, I gasp and glance
  nervously at Taylor and Sawyer, then at Christian, and his
  eyes are darker. He gives me a slow carnal smile.
  “Don’t sweat it, Anastasia,” he murmurs. “She’s in the
  past.” And he plants a kiss in the center of my palm,
  sending tingles everywhere, and my momentary pique is
  forgotten.
  “Morning, Ana,” Jack mutters as I make my way to my
  desk. “Nice dress.”
  I flush. The dress is part of my new wardrobe,
  courtesy of my incredibly rich boyfriend. It’s a sleeveless
  shift dress of pale blue linen, quite fitted, and I’m wearing
  shift dress of pale blue linen, quite fitted, and I’m wearing
  cream high-heeled sandals. Christian likes heels, I think. I
  smile secretly at the thought but quickly recover my bland
  professional smile for my boss.
  “Good morning, Jack.”
  I set about ordering a messenger to take his brochure
  to the printers. He pops his head around his office door.
  “Could I have a coffee, please, Ana?”
  “Sure.” I wander into the kitchen and bump into Claire
  from reception, who is also fixing coffee.
  “Hey, Ana,” she says cheerfully.
  “Hi, Claire.”
  We chat briefly about her extended-family gathering
  over the weekend, which she enjoyed immensely, and I tell
  her about sailing with Christian.
  “Your boyfriend is so dreamy, Ana,” she says, her
  eyes glazing over.
  I am tempted to roll my eyes at her.
  “He’s not bad-looking,” I smile and we both start
  laughing.
  “You took your time!” Jack snaps when I bring in his
  coffee.
  Oh! “I’m sorry.” I flush then frown. I took the usual
  amount of time. What’s his problem? Perhaps he’s
  nervous about something.
  He shakes his head. “Sorry, Ana. I didn’t mean to
  bark at you, honey.”
  Honey?
  “There’s something going on at senior management
  level, and I don’t know what it is. Keep your ear to the
  ground, okay? If you hear anything—I know how you girls
  talk.” He grins at me, and I feel slightly sick. He has no
  idea how we “girls” talk. Besides, I know what’s
  happening.
  “You’ll let me know, right?”
  “Sure,” I mutter. “I’ve sent the brochure to the
  printers. It will be back by two o’clock.”
  “Great. Here.” He hands me a pile of manuscripts. “All
  these need synopses of the first chapter, then filing.”
  “I’ll get on it.”
  I am relieved to step out of his office and sit down at
  my desk. Oh, it’s hard being in the know. What will he do
  when he finds out? My blood runs cold. Something tells
  me Jack will be annoyed. I glance at my Blackberry and
  smile. There’s an e-mail from Christian.
  From: Christian Grey
  Subject: Sunrise
  Date: June 14, 2011 09:23
  To: Anastasia Steele
  I love waking up to you in the morning.
  Christian Grey
  Completely & Utterly Smitten CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.
  I think my face splits in two with my grin, and my inner
  goddess back-flips over her chaise longue.
  From: Anastasia Steele
  Subject: Sundown
  Date: June 14, 2011 09:35
  To: Christian Grey
  Dear Completely & Utterly Smitten
  I love waking up to you, too. But I love being in bed with you and
  in elevators and on pianos and billiard tables and boats and desks
  and showers and bathtubs and strange wooden crosses with
  shackles and four-poster beds with red satin sheets and
  boathouses and childhood bedrooms.
  Yours
  Sex Mad and Insatiable xx
  From: Christian Grey
  Subject: Wet Hardware
  Date: June 14, 2011 09:37
  To: Anastasia Steele
  Dear Sex Mad and Insatiable
  I’ve just spat coffee all over my keyboard.
  I don’t think that’s ever happened to me before.
  I do admire a woman who concentrates on geography.
  Am I to infer you just want me for my body?
  Christian Grey
  Completely & Utterly Shocked CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings
  Inc.
  From: Anastasia Steele
  Subject: Giggling—and wet too
  Date: June 14, 2011: 09:42
  To: Christian Grey
  Dear Completely & Utterly Shocked
  Always.
  I have work to do.
  Stop bothering me.
  SM&I xx
  From: Christian Grey
  Subject: Do I have to?
  Date: June 14, 2011 09:50
  To: Anastasia Steele
  To: Anastasia Steele
  Dear SM&I
  As ever, your wish is my command.
  Love that you are giggling and wet.
  Laters, baby.
  x
  Christian Grey,
  Completely & Utterly Smitten, Shocked and Spellbound CEO, Grey
  Enterprises Holdings Inc.
  I put the Blackberry down and get on with my work.
  At lunchtime, Jack asks me to go down to the deli for his
  lunch. I call Christian as soon as I leave Jack’s office.
  “Anastasia.” He answers immediately, his voice warm
  and caressing. How is it that this man can make me melt
  over the phone?
  “Christian, Jack has asked me to get his lunch.”
  “Lazy bastard,” Christian gripes.
  I ignore him and continue. “So I’m going to get it. It
  might be handy if you gave me Sawyer’s number, so I
  don’t have to bother you.”
  “It’s no bother, baby.”
  “Are you on your own?”
  “No. There are six people staring at me at the moment
  wondering who the hell I’m talking to.”
  Shit . . . “Really?” I gasp, panicked.
  “Yes. Really. My girlfriend,” he announces away from
  the phone.
  Holy cow! “They probably all thought you were gay,
  you know.”
  He laughs. “Yeah, probably.” I hear his grin.
  “Er—I’d better go.” I am sure he can tell how
  embarrassed I am to be interrupting him.
  “I’ll let Sawyer know.” He laughs again. “Have you
  heard from your friend?”
  “Not yet. You’ll be the first to know, Mr. Grey.”
  “Good. Laters, baby.”
  “Bye, Christian.” I grin. Every time he says that, it
  makes me smile . . . so un-Fifty, but somehow so him, too.
  When I exit moments later, Sawyer is waiting on the
  doorstep of the building.
  “Miss Steele,” he greets me formally.
  “Sawyer.” I nod in response and together we head
  down to the deli.
  I don’t feel as comfortable with Sawyer as I do with
  Taylor. He continually scans the street as we make our
  way along the block. It actually makes me more nervous,
  and I find myself mirroring his actions.
  Is Leila out there? Or are we all infected by Christian’s
  paranoia? Is this part of his fifty shades? What I’d give for
  half an hour of candid discussion with Dr. Flynn, to find
  out.
  out.
  There’s nothing amiss, just lunchtime Seattle—people
  rushing for lunch, shopping, meeting friends. I watch two
  young women hug as they meet up.
  I miss Kate. It’s only been two weeks since she left for
  her vacation, but it feels like the longest two weeks of my
  life. So much has happened—she’ll never believe me when
  I tell her. Well, tell her the edited NDA-compliant version.
  I frown. I’ll have to talk to Christian about that. What
  would Kate make of it? I blanch at the thought. Perhaps

  she’ll be back with Ethan. I feel a rush of excitement at the
  thought, but I think it’s unlikely. She’d stay on with Elliot
  surely.
  “Where do you stand when you’re waiting and
  watching outside?” I ask Sawyer as we get in line for
  lunch. Sawyer is in front of me, facing the door, continually
  monitoring the street and anyone who comes in. It’s
  unnerving.
  “I sit in the coffee shop directly across the street, Miss
  Steele.”
  “Doesn’t it get very boring?”
  “Not to me, ma’am. It’s what I do,” he says stiffly.
  I flush. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to imply . . .” My voice
  trails off at his kind, understanding expression.
  “Please, Miss Steele. My job is to protect you. And
  that’s what I’ll do.”
  “So, no sign of Leila?”
  “No, ma’am.”
  I frown. “How do you know what she looks like?”
  “I’ve seen her photograph.”
  “I’ve seen her photograph.”
  “Oh, do you have it on you?”
  “No, ma’am.” He taps his skull. “Committed to
  memory.”
  Of course. I’d really like to examine a photograph of
  Leila to see what she looked like before she became
  Ghost Girl. I wonder if Christian would let me have a
  copy? Yes, he probably would—for my safety. I hatch a
  plan, and my subconscious gloats and nods approvingly.
  The brochures arrive back at the office, and I have to say,
  they look great. I take one into Jack’s office. His eyes light
  up, and I don’t know if it’s at me or the brochure. I
  choose to believe it’s the latter.
  “These look great, Ana.” Idly, he flicks through it.
  “Yeah, good job. Are you seeing your boyfriend this
  evening?” His lip curls as he says boyfriend.
  “Yes. We live together.” It’s sort of the truth. Well, we
  do at the moment. And I have officially agreed to move in,
  so it’s not much of a white lie. I hope that it’s enough to
  throw him off the scent.
  “Would he object to you coming out for a quick drink
  tonight? To celebrate all your hard work?”
  “I have a friend coming in from out of town tonight,
  and we’re all going out for dinner.” And I’ll be busy every
  night, Jack.
  “I see.” He sighs, exasperated. “Maybe when I’m
  back from New York, huh?” He raises his eyebrows in
  expectation, and his gaze darkens suggestively.
  expectation, and his gaze darkens suggestively.
  Oh no. I smile, noncommittal, stifling a shudder.
  “Would you like some coffee or tea?” I ask.
  “Coffee, please.” His voice is low and husky as if he’s
  asking for something else. Fuck. He’s not going to back
  off. I can see that now. Oh . . . What to do?
  I breathe a long sigh of relief when I am out of his
  office. He makes me tense. Christian is right about him,
  and part of me is pissed that Christian is right about him.
  I sit down at my desk and my Blackberry rings—a
  number I don’t recognize.
  “Ana Steele.”
  “Hi, Steele!” Ethan’s drawl catches me momentarily off
  guard.
  “Ethan! How are you?” I almost squeal with delight.
  “Glad to be back. I am seriously fed up with sunshine
  and rum punches, and my baby sister being hopelessly in
  love with the big guy. It’s been hell, Ana.”
  “Yeah! Sea, sand, sun, and rum punches sounds like
  Dante’s Inferno.” I giggle. “Where are you?”
  “I’m at Sea-Tac, waiting for my bag. What are you
  doing?”
  “I’m at work. Yes, I am gainfully employed,” I
  respond to his gasp. “Do you want to come here and
  collect the keys? I can meet you later at the apartment.”
  “Sounds great. I’ll see you in about 45 minutes, an
  hour maybe? What’s the address?”
  I give him SIP’s address.
  “See you soon, Ethan.”
  “Laters,” he says and hangs up. What? Not Ethan,
  “Laters,” he says and hangs up. What? Not Ethan,
  too? And it dawns on me that he’s just spent a week with
  Elliot. I quickly type an e-mail to Christian.
  From: Anastasia Steele
  Subject: Visitors from Sunny Climes.
  Date: June 14, 2011: 14:55
  To: Christian Grey
  Dearest Completely & Utterly SS&S
  Ethan is back, and he’s coming here to collect keys to the
  apartment.
  I’d really like to make sure he’s settled in okay.
  Why don’t you collect me after work? We can go to the apartment
  then we can ALL go out for a meal maybe?
  My treat?
  Your
  Ana x
  Still SM&I
  Anastasia Steele
  Assistant to Jack Hyde, Commissioning Editor, SIP
  From: Christian Grey
  Subject: Dinner Out
  Date: June 14, 2011 15:05
  To: Anastasia Steele
  I approve of your plan. Except the part about you paying!
  My treat.
  I’ll collect you at 6:00.
  x
  PS: Why aren’t you using your Blackberry!!!
  Christian Grey
  Completely and Utterly Annoyed, CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings
  Inc.
  From: Anastasia Steele
  Subject: Bossiness
  Date: June 14, 2011: 15:11
  To: Christian Grey
  Oh, don’t be so crusty and cross.
  It’s all in code.
  I’ll see you at 6:00.
  Ana x
  Anastasia Steele
  Assistant to Jack Hyde, Commissioning Editor, SIP
  From: Christian Grey
  Subject: Maddening Woman
  Date: June 14, 2011 15:18
  To: Anastasia Steele
  Crusty and cross!
  I’ll give you crusty and cross.
  And look forward to it.
  Christian Grey
  Completely and Utterly More Annoyed, but smiling for some
  unknown reason, CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.
  From: Anastasia Steele
  Subject: Promises. Promises.
  Date: June 14, 2011: 15:23
  To: Christian Grey
  Bring it on, Mr. Grey
  I look forward to it too. ;D
  Ana x
  Anastasia Steele
  Assistant to Jack Hyde, Commissioning Editor, SIP
  He doesn’t reply, but then I don’t expect him to. I imagine
  him moaning about mixed signals, and the thought makes
  me smile. I daydream briefly about what he might do to me
  but find myself shifting about in my chair. My subconscious
  gazes at me disapprovingly over her half-moon specs—get
  on with your work.
  A little later, my phone buzzes. It’s Claire at reception.
  “There’s a real cute guy in reception to see you. We
  must go out for drinks sometime, Ana. You sure know
  some hunky guys,” she hisses conspiratorially through the
  phone.
  Ethan! Grabbing my keys from my purse, I hurry out to
  the foyer.
  Holy shit—sun-bleached blond hair, a tan to die for,
  and glowing hazel eyes gaze up at me from the green
  leather couch. As soon as he sees me, his mouth drops
  open, and he’s on his feet coming toward me.
  “Wow, Ana.” He frowns at me as he bends to give me
  hug.
  “You look well.” I grin up at him.
  “You look . . . wow—different. Worldly, more
  sophisticated. What’s happened? You changed your hair?
  Clothes? I don’t know, Steele, but you look hot!”
  I blush furiously. “Oh, Ethan. I’m just in my work
  clothes,” I scold as Claire looks on with an arched
  eyebrow and a wry smile.
  “How was Barbados?”
  “How was Barbados?”
  “Fun,” he says.
  “When’s Kate back?”
  “She and Elliot are flying back Friday. They’re pretty
  damn serious about each other.” Ethan rolls his eyes.
  “I’ve missed her.”
  “Yeah? How have you been doing with Mr. Mogul?”
  “Mr. Mogul?” I snicker. “Well, it’s been interesting.
  He’s taking us out for dinner this evening.”
  “Cool.” Ethan seems genuinely pleased. Phew!
  “Here.” I hand him the keys. “You have the address?”
  “Yeah. Laters.” He leans over and kisses my cheek.
  “Elliot’s expression?”
  “Yeah, kind of grows on you.”
  “It does. Laters.” I smile at him as he collects his large
  shoulder bag from beside the green couch and exits the
  building.
  When I turn, Jack is watching me from the far side of
  the foyer, his expression unreadable. I smile brightly at him
  and head back to my desk, feeling his eyes on me the
  whole time. This is beginning to get on my nerves. What to
  do? I have no idea. I’ll have to wait until Kate is back.
  She’s bound to come up with a plan. The thought dispels
  my bleak mood, and I pick up the next manuscript.
  At five to six, my phone buzzes. It’s Christian.
  “Crusty and Cross here,” he says and I grin. He’s still
  playful Fifty. My inner goddess is clapping her hands with
  glee like a small child.
  glee like a small child.
  “Well, this is Sex Mad and Insatiable. I take it you’re
  outside?” I ask dryly.
  “I am indeed, Miss Steele. Looking forward to seeing
  you.” His voice is warm and seductive, and my heart
  flutters wildly.
  “Ditto, Mr. Grey. I’ll be right out.” I hang up.
  I switch off my computer and gather up my purse and
  cream cardigan.
  “I’m off now, Jack,” I call through.
  “Okay, Ana. Thanks for today, honey! Have a great
  evening.”
  “You, too.”
  Why can’t he be like that all the time? I don’t
  understand him.
  The Audi is parked at the curb, and Christian climbs out as
  I approach. He’s taken off his jacket, and he’s wearing his
  gray pants, my favorite ones that hang from his hips—in
  that way. How can this Greek god be meant for me? I find
  myself grinning like a loon in answer to his own idiotic
  grin.
  He’s spent the whole day acting like a boyfriend in
  love—in love with me. This adorable, complex, flawed
  man is in love with me, and I with him. Joy bursts
  unexpectedly inside me, and I savor the moment as I feel
  briefly that I could conquer the world.
  “Miss Steele, you look as captivating as you did this
  morning.” Christian pulls me into his arms and kisses me
  soundly.
  “Mr. Grey, so do you.”
  “Let’s go get your friend.” He smiles down at me and
  opens the car door.
  As Taylor heads to the apartment, Christian fills me in
  on his day—a much better one than yesterday, it seems. I
  gaze at him adoringly as he attempts to explain some
  breakthrough the environmental science department at
  WSU in Vancouver has made. His words mean very little
  to me, but I’m captivated by his passion and interest in this
  subject. Maybe this is what it will be like, good days and
  bad days, and if the good days are like this, I won’t have
  much to complain about. He hands me a sheet of paper.
  “These are the times that Claude is free this week,” he
  says.
  Oh! The trainer.
  As we pull up to my apartment building, he fishes his
  Blackberry from his pocket.
  “Grey,” he answers. “Ros, what is it?” He listens
  intently, and I can tell it’s an involved conversation.
  “I’ll go and get Ethan. I’ll be two minutes,” I mouth at
  Christian and hold up two fingers.
  He nods, obviously distracted by the call. Taylor opens
  my door, smiling at me warmly. I grin at him, even Taylor’s
  feeling it. I press the entry phone and shout happily into it.
  “Hi, Ethan, it’s me. Let me in.”
  The door buzzes, and I head upstairs to the apartment.
  It occurs to me that I have not been here since Saturday
  morning. That seems so long ago. Ethan has kindly left the
  front door open. I step into the apartment, and I don’t
  know why, but I freeze instinctively as soon as I step
  inside. I take a moment to realize it’s because the pale,
  wan figure standing by the kitchen island, holding a small
  revolver is Leila, and she’s gazing impassively at me.
  Holy fuck.
  She’s here, gazing at me with an unnerving blank
  expression, holding a gun. My subconscious swoons into a
  dead faint, and I don’t think even smelling salts will bring
  her back.
  I blink repeatedly at Leila as my mind goes into
  overdrive. How did she get in? Where’s Ethan? Holy shit!
  Where is Ethan?
  A creeping cold fear grips my heart, and my scalp
  prickles as each and every follicle on my head tightens with

  prickles as each and every follicle on my head tightens with
  terror. What if she’s harmed him? I start breathing rapidly
  as adrenaline and bone-numbing dread course through my
  body. Keep calm, keep calm—I repeat the mantra over
  and over in my head.
  She tilts her head to one side, regarding me as if I’m an
  exhibit in a freak show. Jeez, I’m not the freak here.
  It feels like an eon has passed while I process all this,
  though in reality it is only a split second. Leila’s expression
  remains blank, and her appearance is as scruffy and illkempt
  as ever. She’s still wearing that grubby trench coat,
  and she looks desperately in need of a wash. Her hair is
  greasy and lank, plastered against her head, and her eyes
  are a dull brown, cloudy, and vaguely confused.
  Despite the fact that my mouth has no moisture in it
  whatsoever, I attempt to speak. “Hi. Leila, isn’t it?” I rasp.
  She smiles, but it’s a disturbing curl of her lip rather than a
  true smile.
  “She speaks,” she whispers, and her voice is soft and
  hoarse at the same time, an eerie sound.
  hoarse at the same time, an eerie sound.
  “Yes, I speak,” I say gently as if to a child. “Are you
  here alone?” Where is Ethan? My heart pounds at the
  thought that he might have come to some harm.
  Her face falls, so much so that I think she’s about to
  burst into tears—she looks so forlorn.
  “Alone,” she whispers. “Alone.” And the depth of
  sadness in that one word is heart wrenching. What does
  she mean? I am alone? She’s alone? She’s alone because
  she’s harmed Ethan? Oh . . . no . . . I have to fight the
  choking fear clawing at my throat as tears threaten.
  “What are you doing here? Can I help you?” My
  words are a calm, gentle interrogation despite the
  suffocating fear in my throat. Her brow furrows as if she’s
  completely befuddled by my questions. But she makes no
  violent move against me. Her hand is still relaxed around
  her gun. I take a different tack, trying to ignore my
  tightening scalp.
  “Would you like some tea?” Why am I asking her if
  she wants tea? It’s Ray’s answer to any emotional
  situation, resurfacing inappropriately. Jeez, he’d have a fit
  if he saw me right this minute. His army training would
  have kicked in, and he’d have disarmed her by now. She’s
  not actually pointing that gun at me. Perhaps I can move.
  She shakes her head and tilts it from side to side as if
  stretching her neck.
  I take a deep precious lungful of air, trying to calm my
  panicked breathing, and move toward the kitchen island.
  She frowns as if she can’t quite understand what I am
  doing and shifts a little so she is still facing me. I reach the
  kettle and with a shaking hand fill it from the faucet. As I
  move, my breathing eases. Yes, if she wanted me dead,
  surely she would have shot me by now. She watches me
  with an absent, bemused curiosity. As I switch on the
  kettle, I’m plagued by the thought of Ethan. Is he hurt?
  Tied up?
  “Is there anyone else in the apartment?” I ask
  tentatively.
  She inclines her head the other way, and with her right
  hand—the hand not holding the revolver—she grabs a
  hand—the hand not holding the revolver—she grabs a
  strand of her long greasy hair and starts twirling and
  fiddling with it, pulling and twisting. It’s obviously a
  nervous habit, and while I am distracted by this, I am
  struck once again by how much she resembles me. I hold
  my breath, waiting for her answer, the anxiety building to
  an almost unbearable pitch.
  “Alone. All alone,” she murmurs. I find this comforting.
  Maybe Ethan isn’t here. The relief is empowering.
  “Are you sure you don’t want tea or coffee?”
  “Not thirsty,” she answers softly, and she takes a
  cautious step toward me. My feeling of empowerment
  evaporates. Fuck! I start panting with fear again, feeling it
  surge thick and rough through my veins. In spite of this and
  feeling beyond brave, I turn and fetch a couple of cups
  from the cupboard.
  “What do you have that I don’t?” she asks, her voice
  assuming the singsong intonation of a child.
  “What do you mean, Leila?” I ask as gently as I can.
  “Master—Mr. Grey—he lets you call him by his given
  “Master—Mr. Grey—he lets you call him by his given
  name.”
  “I’m not his submissive, Leila. Er . . . Master
  understands that I am unable, inadequate to fulfill that
  role.”
  She tilts her head to the other side. It’s wholly
  unnerving and unnatural as a gesture.
  “In-ad-e-quate.” She tests the word, sounding it out,
  seeing how it feels on her tongue. “But Master is happy. I
  have seen him. He laughs and smiles. These reactions are
  rare . . . very rare for him.”
  Oh.
  “You look like me.” Leila changes tack, surprising me,
  her eyes seeming to focus on me properly for the first time.
  “Master likes obedient ones who look like you and me.
  The others, all the same . . . all the same . . . and yet you
  sleep in his bed. I saw you.”
  Shit! She was in the room. I didn’t imagine it.
  “You saw me in his bed?” I whisper.
  “I never slept in Master’s bed,” she murmurs. She’s
  like a fallen ethereal wraith. Half a person. She looks so
  slight, and in spite of the fact that she’s holding a gun, I
  suddenly feel overwhelmed with sympathy for her. Her
  hands flex around the weapon, and my eyes widen,
  threatening to pop from my head.
  “Why does Master like us like this? It makes me think
  something . . . something . . . Master is dark . . . Master is
  a dark man, but I love him.”
  No, no, he’s not. I bristle internally. He’s not dark.
  He’s a good man, and he’s not in the dark. He’s joined
  me in the light. And now she’s here, trying to drag him
  back with some warped idea that she loves him.
  “Leila, do you want to give me the gun?” I ask softly.
  Her hand grips it tightly, and she hugs it to her chest.
  “This is mine. It’s all I have left.” She gently caresses
  the gun. “So she can join her love.”
  Holy shit! Which love—Christian? It’s like she’s
  punched me in the stomach. I know he will be here
  momentarily to find out what’s keeping me. Does she
  mean to shoot him? The thought is so horrific, I feel my
  mean to shoot him? The thought is so horrific, I feel my
  throat swell and ache as a huge knot forms there, almost
  choking me, matching the fear that’s balled tightly in my
  stomach.
  Right on cue the door bursts open, and Christian is
  standing in the doorway, Taylor behind him.
  Glancing at me briefly, Christian’s eyes sweep over me
  from head to toe, and I notice the small spark of relief in
  his look. But his relief is fleeting as his gaze darts to Leila
  and stills, focusing on her, not wavering in the slightest. He
  glares at her with an intensity I have not seen before, his
  eyes wild, wide, angry, and scared.
  Oh no . . . oh no.
  Leila’s eyes widen, and for a moment, it seems her
  reason returns. She blinks rapidly while her hand tightens
  once more around the gun.
  My breath catches in my throat, and my heart starts
  thumping so loud that I hear the blood pounding in my
  ears. No, no, no!
  My world teeters precariously in the hands of this
  My world teeters precariously in the hands of this
  poor, fucked-up woman. Will she shoot? Both of us?
  Christian? The thought is crippling.
  But after an eternity, as time hangs suspended around
  us, her head dips slightly and she gazes up at him, through
  her long lashes, her expression contrite.
  Christian holds up his hand, signaling to Taylor to stay
  where he is. Taylor’s blanched face betrays his fury. I have
  never seen him like this, but he stands stock-still as
  Christian and Leila stare at each other.
  I realize I’m holding my breath. What will she do?
  What will he do? But they just continue to stare at each
  other. Christian’s expression is raw, full of some unnamed
  emotion. It could be pity, fear, affection . . . or is it love?
  No, please, not love!
  His eyes bore into her, and agonizingly slowly, the
  atmosphere in the apartment changes. The tension is
  building so that I can sense their connection, the charge
  between them.
  No! Suddenly I feel I’m the interloper, intruding on
  them as they stand gazing at each other. I’m an outsider—
  a voyeur, spying on a forbidden, intimate scene behind
  closed curtains.
  Christian’s intense gaze burns brighter, and his bearing
  changes subtly. He looks taller, more angular somehow,
  colder, and more distant. I recognize this stance. I’ve seen
  him like this before—in his playroom.
  My scalp prickles anew. This is Dominant Christian,
  and how at ease he looks. Whether he was born to or
  made for this role, I just don’t know, but with a sinking
  heart and sickened stomach, I watch as Leila responds,
  her lips parting, her breathing picking up as the first flush of
  color stains her cheeks. No! It’s such an unwelcome
  glimpse into his past, agonizing to witness.
  Finally, he mouths a word at her. I can’t make out
  what it is, but the effect on Leila is immediate. She drops
  to the floor on her knees, her head bowed, and the gun
  falls and skitters uselessly across the wooden floor. Holy
  fuck.
  Christian walks calmly over to where the gun has fallen
  Christian walks calmly over to where the gun has fallen
  and bends gracefully to pick it up. He regards it with illdisguised
  disgust then slips it into his jacket pocket. He
  gazes once more at Leila as she kneels compliantly beside
  the kitchen island.
  “Anastasia, go with Taylor,” he commands. Taylor
  crosses the threshold and stares at me.
  “Ethan,” I whisper.
  “Downstairs.” He responds matter-of-factly, his eyes
  never leaving Leila.
  Downstairs. Not here. Ethan’s okay. Relief floods hard
  and fast through my blood, and for a moment I think I’m
  going to faint.
  “Anastasia,” Christian’s tone is clipped in warning.
  I blink at him, and I’m suddenly unable to move. I
  don’t want to leave him—leave him with her. He moves to
  stand beside Leila as she kneels at his feet. He’s hovering
  over her, protectively. She’s so still, it’s unnatural. I can’t
  take my eyes off the two of them—together . . .
  “For the love of God, Anastasia, will you do as you’re
  “For the love of God, Anastasia, will you do as you’re
  told for once in your life and go!” Christian’s eyes lock
  with mine as he glowers at me, his voice a blistering cold
  shard of ice. The anger beneath the quiet, deliberate
  delivery of his words is palpable.
  Angry at me? Surely not. Please—No! I feel like he’s
  slapped me hard. Why does he want to stay with her?
  “Taylor. Take Miss Steele downstairs. Now.”
  Taylor nods at him as I stare at Christian.
  “Why?” I whisper.
  “Go. Back to the apartment.” His eyes blaze frostily at
  me. “I need to be alone with Leila.” He says it urgently.
  I think he’s trying to convey some kind of message, but
  I’m so thrown by all that’s happened that I’m not sure. I
  glance down at Leila and notice a very small smile cross
  her lips, but otherwise she remains truly impassive. A
  complete submissive. Fuck! My heart chills.
  This is what he needs. This is what he likes. No! I want
  to wail.
  “Miss Steele. Ana.” Taylor holds his hand out to me,
  imploring me to come. I am immobilized by the horrific
  spectacle before me. It confirms my worst fears and plays
  on all my insecurities: Christian and Leila together—the
  Dom and his sub.
  “Taylor,” Christian urges, and Taylor leans down and
  scoops me into his arms. The last thing I see as we leave is
  Christian gently stroking Leila’s head as he murmurs
  something softly to her.
  No!
  As Taylor carries me down the stairs, I lie limply in his
  arms trying to grasp what’s happened in the last ten
  minutes—was it longer? Or shorter? The concept of time

  has deserted me.
  Christian and Leila, Leila and Christian . . . together?
  What is he doing with her now?
  “Jesus, Ana! What the fuck is going on?”
  I am relieved to see Ethan as he paces the small lobby,
  still carrying his large shoulder bag. Oh, thank heavens
  he’s okay! When Taylor sets me down, I practically throw
  myself at Ethan, wrapping my arms around his neck.
  myself at Ethan, wrapping my arms around his neck.
  “Ethan. Oh, thank God!” I hug him, holding him close.
  I was so worried, and for a brief moment, I enjoy some
  respite from my rising panic at what is unfolding upstairs in
  my apartment.
  “What the fuck is going on, Ana? Who’s this guy?”
  “Oh, sorry, Ethan, this is Taylor. He works with
  Christian. Taylor, this is Ethan, my roommate’s brother.”
  They nod at each other.
  “Ana, upstairs, what’s going on? I was fishing for the
  apartment keys when these guys jumped out of nowhere
  and grabbed them. One of them was Christian . . .”
  Ethan’s voice trails off.
  “You were late . . . Thank God.”
  “Yeah. I met a friend from Pullman—we had a quick
  drink. Upstairs, what’s going on?”
  “There’s a girl, an ex of Christian’s. In our apartment.
  She’s gone postal, and Christian is . . .” My voice cracks,
  and tears pool in my eyes.
  “Hey,” Ethan whispers and pulls me close once more.
  “Hey,” Ethan whispers and pulls me close once more.
  “Has anyone called the cops?”
  “No, it’s not like that.” I sob into his chest and now
  I’ve started, I can’t stop crying, the tension of this latest
  episode releasing through my tears. Ethan tightens his arms
  around me, but I sense his bemusement.
  “Hey, Ana, let’s go get a drink.” He pats my back
  awkwardly. Abruptly, I feel awkward, too, and
  embarrassed, and in all honesty, I want to be on my own.
  But I nod, accepting his offer. I want to be away from
  here, away from whatever’s going on upstairs.
  I turn to Taylor.
  “Was the apartment checked?” I ask him tearfully,
  wiping my nose with the back of my hand.
  “This afternoon.” Taylor shrugs apologetically as he
  hands me a handkerchief. He looks devastated. “I’m
  sorry, Ana,” he murmurs.
  I frown. Jeez, he looks so guilty. I don’t want to make
  him feel worse.
  “She does seem to have an uncanny ability to evade
  us,” he adds scowling again.
  “Ethan and I will go for a quick drink then head back
  to Escala.” I dry my eyes.
  Taylor shuffles from foot to foot uncomfortably. “Mr.
  Grey wanted you to go back to the apartment,” he says
  quietly.
  “Well, we know where Leila is now.” I can’t keep the
  bitterness out of my voice. “So, no need for all the
  security. Tell Christian we’ll see him later.”
  Taylor opens his mouth to speak and then wisely
  closes it again.
  “Do you want to leave your bag with Taylor?” I ask
  Ethan.
  “No, I’ll keep it with me, thanks.”
  Ethan nods at Taylor, then ushers me out of the front
  door. Too late, I remember that I’ve left my purse in the
  back of Audi. I have nothing.
  “My purse—”
  “Don’t worry,” Ethan murmurs, his face full of concern.
  “It’s cool, it’s on me.”
  “It’s cool, it’s on me.”
  We choose a bar across the street, settling onto wooden
  bar stools by the window. I want to see what’s going on—
  who’s coming, and more importantly who’s going. Ethan
  hands me a bottle of beer.
  “Trouble with an ex?” he says gently.
  “It’s a bit more complicated than that,” I mutter,
  abruptly guarded. I can’t talk about this—I have signed an
  NDA. And for the first time, I really resent that fact and
  that Christian’s said nothing about rescinding it.
  “I’ve got time,” Ethan says kindly and takes a long slug
  of his beer.
  “She’s an ex, from years back. She left her husband
  for some guy. Then a couple of weeks or so ago he was
  killed in a car crash, and now she’s come after Christian.”
  I shrug. There, that didn’t give too much away.
  “Come after him?”
  “She had a gun.”
  “She had a gun.”
  “What the fuck!”
  “She didn’t actually threaten anyone with it. I think she
  meant to harm herself. But that’s why I was so worried
  about you. I didn’t know if you were in the apartment.”
  “I see. She sounds unstable.”
  “Yes, she is.”
  “And what’s Christian doing with her now?”
  The blood drains from my face and bile rises in my
  throat. “I don’t know,” I whisper.
  Ethan’s eyes widen—at last he’s got it.
  This is the crux of my problem. What the fuck are they
  doing? Talking, I hope. Just talking. Yet all I can see in my
  mind’s eye is his hand, tenderly stroking her hair.
  She’s disturbed and Christian cares about her ,
  that’s all this is, I rationalize. But in the back of my mind,
  my subconscious is shaking her head sadly.
  It’s more than that. Leila was able to fulfill his needs in
  a way I cannot. The thought is depressing.
  I try to focus on all we’ve done in the last few days—
  his declaration of love, his flirty humor, his playfulness. But
  Elena’s words keep coming back to taunt me. It’s true
  what they say about eavesdroppers.
  Don’t you miss it . . . your playroom?
  I finish my beer in record time, and Ethan lines up
  another. I am not much of a companion, but to his credit
  he stays with me, chatting, trying to lift my spirits, talking
  about Barbados, and Kate and Elliot’s antics, which is
  wonderfully distracting. But it’s just that—a distraction.
  My mind, my heart, my soul are all still in that
  apartment with my Fifty Shades and the woman who used
  to be his submissive. A woman who thinks she still loves
  him. A woman who looks like me.
  During our third beer, a large cruiser with heavily-tinted
  windows pulls up next to the Audi in front of the
  apartment. I recognize Dr. Flynn as he climbs out,
  accompanied by a woman dressed in what look like pale
  blue scrubs. I glimpse Taylor as he lets them in through the
  front door.
  “Who’s that?” Ethan asks.
  “Who’s that?” Ethan asks.
  “His name’s Dr. Flynn. Christian knows him.”
  “What kind of doctor?”
  “A shrink.”
  “Oh.”
  We both watch, and a few minutes later they are back.
  Christian is carrying Leila who is wrapped in a blanket.
  What? I watch horrified as they all climb into the cruiser,
  and it speeds away.
  Ethan glances at me sympathetically, and I feel
  desolate, completely desolate.
  “Can I have something a bit stronger?” I ask Ethan, my
  voice small.
  “Sure. What would you like?”
  “A brandy. Please.”
  Ethan nods and retreats to the bar. I gaze through the
  window at the front door. Moments later Taylor emerges,
  climbs into the Audi, and heads off toward Escala . . . after
  Christian? I don’t know.
  Ethan places a large brandy in front of me.
  Ethan places a large brandy in front of me.
  “Come on, Steele. Let’s get drunk.”
  Sounds like the best offer I’ve had in a while. We clink
  glasses, and I take a gulp of the burning amber liquid, the
  fiery heat a welcome distraction from the hideous
  blossoming pain in my heart.
  It’s late, and I feel fuzzy. Ethan and I are locked out of the
  apartment. He insists on walking me back to Escala, but
  he won’t stay. He’s called the friend he met earlier for a
  drink and arranged to crash with him.
  “So, this is where the Mogul lives.” Ethan whistles
  through his teeth, impressed.
  I nod.
  “Sure you don’t want me to come in with you?” he
  asks.
  “No, I need to face this—or just go to bed.”
  “See you tomorrow?”
  “Yes. Thanks, Ethan.” I hug him.
  “Yes. Thanks, Ethan.” I hug him.
  “You’ll work it out, Steele,” he murmurs against my
  ear. He releases me and watches while I head into the
  building.
  “Laters,” he calls. I offer him a weak smile and a wave
  then press the button to call the elevator.
  The elevator doors open, and I step into Christian’s
  apartment. Taylor is not waiting, which is unusual. Opening
  the double doors, I head toward the great room. Christian
  is on the phone, pacing the room near the piano.
  “She’s here,” he snaps. He turns to glare at me as he
  switches off his phone. “Where the fuck have you been?”
  he growls but doesn’t make a move toward me.
  Holy crap, he’s angry with me? He’s the one that just
  spent God knows how long with his loony ex-girlfriend,
  and he’s angry with me?
  “Have you been drinking?” he asks, appalled.
  “A bit.” I didn’t think it was that obvious.
  He gasps and runs his hand through his hair. “I told you
  to come back here.” His voice is menacingly quiet. “It’s
  now fifteen after ten. I’ve been worried about you.”
  “I went for a drink or three with Ethan while you
  attended to your ex,” I hiss at him. “I didn’t know how
  long you were going to be . . . with her.”
  He narrows his eyes and takes a few paces toward me
  but stops.
  “Why do you say it that like that?”
  I shrug and stare down at my fingers.
  “Ana, what’s wrong?” And for the first time, I hear
  something other than anger in his voice. What? Fear?
  I swallow, trying to work out what I want to say.
  “Where’s Leila?” I ask looking up at him.
  “In a psychiatric hospital in Fremont,” he says, and his
  face is scrutinizing mine. “Ana, what is it?” He moves
  toward me until he’s standing right in front of me. “What’s
  wrong?” he breathes.
  I shake my head. “I’m no good for you.”
  “What?” he breathes, his eyes widening in alarm. “Why
  do you think that? How can you possibly think that?”
  “I can’t be everything you need.”
  “I can’t be everything you need.”
  “You are everything I need.
  “Just seeing you with her . . .” My voice trails off.
  “Why do you do this to me? This is not about you,
  Ana. It’s about her.” He takes a sharp breath, running his
  hand through his hair again. “At the moment she’s a very
  sick girl.”
  “But I felt it . . . what you had together.”
  “What? No.” He reaches for me, and I step back
  instinctively. He drops his hand, blinking at me. He looks
  as though he’s seized with panic.
  “You’re running?” he whispers as his eyes widen with
  fear.
  I say nothing as I try to collect my scattered thoughts.
  “You can’t,” he pleads.
  “Christian . . . I—” I struggle to collect my thoughts.
  What am I trying to say? I need time, time to process this.
  Give me time.
  “No. No!” he says.
  “I . . .”
  “I . . .”
  He looks wildly around the room. For inspiration? For
  divine intervention? I don’t know.
  “You can’t go. Ana, I love you!”
  “I love you, too, Christian, it’s just—”
  “No . . . no!” he says in desperation and puts both
  hands on his head.
  “Christian . . .”
  “No,” he breathes, his eyes wide with panic, and
  suddenly he drops to his knees in front of me, head
  bowed, long-fingered hands spread out on his thighs. He
  takes a deep breath and doesn’t move.
  What? “Christian, what are you doing?”
  He continues to stare down, not looking at me.
  “Christian! What are you doing?” My voice is highpitched.
  He doesn’t move. “Christian, look at me!” I
  command in panic.
  His head sweeps up without hesitation, and he regards
  me passively with his cool gray gaze—he’s almost
  serene . . . expectant.
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作者:佚名
章节:20 人气:0
摘要:任何人在重新体验到跟往日相同的经验,或重温跟昔日同样的心情时,可不会不觉为之愕然的吗?“从前也有过这样的事……”这句话总是常常剧烈地震撼心灵。为什么呢?我眺望火车窗外平坦的艾色克斯的风光,自言自语地问向自己。从前,我曾经有过一次一模一样的旅游,但那是几年前的事呢?对我来说,人生的颠峰时代已经结束了……我正在肤浅的这样想着!想当年,我在那次大战中,只是负伤的的份儿。 [点击阅读]
幽巷谋杀案
作者:佚名
章节:36 人气:0
摘要:管家上菜的时候,梅菲尔德勋爵殷勤地俯向他右手的座邻朱丽娅·卡林顿夫人。作为完美的主人而知名,梅菲尔德勋爵力求做得和他的名誉相称。虽然没有结过婚,他还是一位有吸引力的男子。朱丽娅·卡林顿夫人四十来岁,高而且黑,态度活泼。她很瘦,但依然美丽。手和脚尤其精致。她的风度是急促不宁的,正像每个靠神经过日子的女人那样。坐在圆桌对面的是她的丈夫空军元帅乔治·卡林顿爵士。 [点击阅读]
幽灵塔
作者:佚名
章节:42 人气:0
摘要:我要讲的这段亲身经历,其离奇恐怖的程度恐怕无人能比。虽不清楚世上到底有没有幽灵,可我的这段经历,却发生在孤寂山村中一栋传说有幽灵出没的老房子里。故事的主人公就像幽灵一样飘忽不定,徘徊哀叹,而且她还像《牡丹灯笼》中的小露①一样,是个年轻美丽的女子。那是发生在大正初年的事情。虽说已经过去20多年了,但每次当我回想起来,都不禁怀疑自己是否做了一个恐怖的噩梦。 [点击阅读]
幽谷百合
作者:佚名
章节:7 人气:0
摘要:“那里展现一座山谷,起自蒙巴宗镇,延至卢瓦尔河。两边山峦有腾跃之势,上面古堡错落有致;整个山谷宛如一个翡翠杯,安德尔河在谷底蜿蜒流过。……我注意到在一棵白桃树下,葡萄架中间,有一个白点,那是她的轻纱长裙。可能您已经知道她就是这座幽谷的百合花。为天地而生长,满谷飘溢着她美德的馨香。而她自己却毫无觉察。无限的柔情充满我的心灵,它没有别种滋养,只有那依稀可见的身影。 [点击阅读]
广岛札记
作者:佚名
章节:11 人气:0
摘要:1994年10月13日,日本媒体报道大江健三郎荣获该年度诺贝尔文学奖的时候,我正在东京作学术访问,一般日本市民都普遍觉得突然,纷纷抢购大江的作品,以一睹平时没有注目的这位诺贝尔文学奖新得主的文采。回国后,国内文坛也就大江健三郎获奖一事议论沸腾。 [点击阅读]