Fifty Shades Trilogy 02 - Fifty Shades Darker

the crack whore baking. I remember the smell. A birthday cake I think. For me. And then there’s Mia’s arrival with my mom and dad. My mom was worried about my reaction, but I adored baby Mia immediately. My first word was Mia . I remember my first piano lesson. Miss Kathie, my tutor, was awesome. She kept horses, too.” He smiles wistfully.
    “You said your mom saved you. How?”
    His reverie is broken, and he gazes at me as if I don’t understand the elementary math of two plus two.
    “She adopted me,” he says simply. “I thought she was an angel when I first met her. She was dressed in white and so gentle and calm as she examined me. I’ll never forget that. If she’d said no or if Carrick had said no . . .” He shrugs and glances over his shoulder at the alarm clock. “This is all a little deep for so early in the morning,” he mutters.
    “I have made a vow to get to know you better.”
    “Did you now, Miss Steele? I thought you wanted to know if I preferred coffee or tea.” He smirks. “Anyway, I can think of one way you can get to know me.” He pushes his hips suggestively against me.
    “I think I know you quite well enough that way.” My voice is haughty and scolding, and it makes him smile more broadly.
    “I don’t think I’ll ever get to know you well enough that way,” he murmurs. “There are definite advantages to waking up beside you.” His voice is soft and bone-meltingly seductive.
    “Don’t you have to get up?” My voice is low and husky. Jeez, what he does to me . . .
    “Not this morning. Only one place I want to be up right now, Miss Steele.” And his eyes sparkle salaciously.
    “Christian!” I gasp, shocked. He shifts suddenly so that he’s on top of me, pressing me into the bed. Grabbing my hands, he pulls them up above my head and begins to kiss my throat.
    “Oh, Miss Steele.” He smiles against my skin, sending delicious tingles through me, as his hand travels down my body and starts to slowly hitch up my satin nightdress. “Oh, what I’d like to do to you,” he murmurs.
    And I am lost, interrogation over.

    Mrs. Jones sets down my breakfast of pancakes and bacon, and for Christian an omelet and bacon. We sit side by side at the bar in a comfortable silence.
    “When am I going to meet your trainer, Claude, and put him through his paces?” I ask. Christian glances down at me, grinning.
    “Depends if you want to go to New York this weekend or not—unless you’d like to see him early one morning this week. I’ll ask Andrea to check on his schedule and come back to you.”
    “Andrea?”
    “My PA.”
    Oh yes. “One of your many blondes,” I tease him.
    “She’s not mine. She works for me. You’re mine.”
    “I work for you,” I mutter sourly.
    He grins as if he’s forgotten. “So you do.” His beaming smile is infectious.
    “Maybe Claude can teach me to kickbox,” I warn.
    “Oh yeah? Fancy your chances against me?” Christian raises an eyebrow, amused. “Bring it on, Miss Steele.” He is so damned happy compared to yesterday’s foul mood after Elena left. It’s totally disarming. Maybe it’s all the sex . . . perhaps that’s what’s making him so buoyant.
    I glance behind me at the piano, savoring the memory of last night. “You put the lid of the piano back up.”
    “I closed it last night so as not to disturb you. Guess it didn’t work, but I’m glad it didn’t.” Christian’s lips twitch into a lascivious smile as he takes a bite of omelet. I go crimson and smirk back at him.
    Oh yes . . . fun times on the piano .
    Mrs. Jones leans over and places a paper bag containing my lunch in front of me, making me flush guiltily.
    “For later, Ana. Tuna okay?”
    “Oh yes. Thank you, Mrs. Jones.” I give her a shy smile, which she reciprocates warmly before leaving the great room. I suspect it’s to give us some privacy.
    “Can I ask you something?” I turn back to Christian.
    His amused expression slips. “Of course.”
    “And you won’t be angry?”
    “Is it about Elena?”
    “No.”
    “Then I won’t be angry.”
    “But I now have a supplementary question.”
    “Oh?”
    “Which is about her.”
    He rolls his eyes. “What?” he says, and now he’s exasperated.
    “Why do you get so mad when I ask you about her?”
    “Honestly?”
    I scowl at him. “I thought you were always honest with me.”
    “I endeavor to be.”
    I narrow my eyes at him. “That sounds like a very evasive answer.”
    “I am