Fifty Shades Trilogy 02 - Fifty Shades Darker

now,” he snarls and once more sweeps his hand through his hair. “Get in the car.”
    “Christian, please—”
    “Get in the fucking car, Anastasia, or so help me I’ll put you in there myself,” he threatens, his eyes blazing with fury.
    Oh shit. “Don’t do anything stupid, please,” I beg.
    “ STUPID !” he explodes. “I told you to use your fucking Blackberry. Don’t talk to me about stupid. Get in the motherfucking car, Anastasia— NOW !” he snarls and a frisson of fear runs through me. This is Very Angry Christian. I’ve not seen him this mad before. He’s barely holding on to his self-control.
    “Okay,” I mutter, placating him. “But please, be careful.”
    Pressing his lips together in a hard line, he points angrily to the car, glaring at me.
    Jeez, okay, I get the message.
    “Please be careful. I don’t want anything to happen to you. It would kill me,” I murmur. He blinks rapidly and stills, lowering his arm while he takes a deep breath.
    “I’ll be careful,” he says, his eyes softening. Oh, thank the Lord. His eyes burn into me as I head to the car, open the front passenger door, and climb in. Once I’m safely in the comfort of the Audi, he disappears into the building, and my heart leaps again into my throat. What’s he planning to do?
    I sit and wait. And wait. And wait. Five eternal minutes. Jack’s cab pulls up in front of the Audi. Ten minutes. Fifteen. Jeez, what are they doing in there, and how is Taylor? The wait is agonizing.
    Twenty-five minutes later, Jack emerges from the building, clutching a cardboard storage box. Behind him is the security guard. Where was he earlier? And after them, Christian and Taylor. Jack looks sick. He heads straight for the cab, and I’m grateful for the Audi’s heavily tinted windows so he cannot see me. The cab drives off—presumably not to Sea-Tac—as Christian and Taylor reach the car.  
    Opening the driver’s door, Christian slides smoothly into the seat, presumably because I am in the front, and Taylor gets in behind me. Neither of them says a word as Christian starts the car and pulls out into the traffic. I risk a quick glance at Fifty. His mouth is set in a firm line, but he seems distracted. The in-car phone rings.
    “Grey,” Christian snaps.
    “Mr. Grey, Barney here.”
    “Barney, I’m on speaker phone, and there are others in the car,” Christian warns.
    “Sir, it’s all done. But I need to talk to you about what else I found on Mr. Hyde’s computer.”
    “I’ll call you when I reach my destination. And thanks, Barney.”
    “No problem, Mr. Grey.”
    Barney hangs up. He sounds much younger than I expected.
    What else is on Jack’s computer?
    “Are you talking to me?” I ask quietly.
    Christian glances at me, before fixing his eyes back on the road ahead, and I can tell he’s still mad.
    “No,” he mutters sullenly.
    Oh, there we go . . . how childish. I wrap my arms around myself and stare unseeing out the window. Perhaps I should just ask him to drop me off at my apartment, then he can “not talk” to me from the safety of Escala and save us both the inevitable quarrel. But even as I think it, I know I don’t want to leave him to brood, not after yesterday.
    Eventually, we pull up in front of his apartment building, and Christian climbs out of the car. Moving with easy grace around to my side, he opens my door.
    “Come,” he orders as Taylor clambers into the driver’s seat. I take his proffered hand and follow him through the grand foyer to the elevator. He doesn’t let go of me.
    “Christian, why are you so mad at me?” I whisper as we wait.
    “You know why,” he mutters as we step into the elevator, and he punches in the code to his floor. “God, if something had happened to you, he’d be dead by now.” Christian’s tone chills me to the bone. The doors close.
    “As it is, I’m going to ruin his career so he can’t take advantage of young women anymore, miserable excuse for a man that he is.” He shakes his head. “Jesus, Ana!” He grabs me suddenly, imprisoning me in the corner of the elevator.  
    His hands fist in my hair as he pulls my face up to his, and his mouth is on mine, a passionate desperation in his kiss. I don’t know why this takes me by surprise, but it does. I taste his relief, his longing, and his residual anger while his tongue possesses my mouth. He stops, gazing down at me, resting his weight against me so I can’t move. He leaves me breathless,