Fifty Shades Trilogy 02 - Fifty Shades Darker

Police suddenly fill the car. Christian turns the music down. Hmm . . . “King of Pain.”
    “Your anthem,” I tease him, then instantly regret it when his mouth tightens in a thin line. Oh no . “I have this album, somewhere.” I continue hastily to distract him. Hmm . . . somewhere in the apartment I have spent very little time in.
    I wonder how Ethan is. I should try to call him today. I won’t have much to do at work.  
    Anxiety blooms in my stomach. What will happen when I get to the office? Will everyone know about Jack? Will everyone know of Christian’s involvement? Will I still have a job? Sheesh, if I have no job, what will I do?  
    Marry the gazillionaire, Ana! My subconscious has her snarky face on. I ignore her—rapacious bitch.
    “Hey, Miss Smart Mouth. Come back.” Christian drags me into the here and now as I pull up at the next stoplight.
    “You’re very distracted. Concentrate, Ana,” he scolds. “Accidents happen when you don’t concentrate.”
    Oh, for heaven’s sake —and suddenly I’m catapulted back in time to when Ray was teaching me to drive. I don’t need another father. A husband maybe, a kinky husband. Hmm .
    “I’m just thinking about work.”
    “Baby, you’ll be fine. Trust me.” Christian smiles.
    “Please don’t interfere—I want to do this on my own. Christian, please. It’s important to me,” I say as gently as I can. I don’t want to argue. His mouth sets once more into a hard stubborn line, and I think he’s going to berate me again.
    Oh no.
    “Let’s not argue, Christian. We’ve had such a wonderful morning. And last night was—” Words fail me, last night was—“Heaven.”
    He says nothing. I glance over at him and his eyes are closed.
    “Yes. Heaven,” he says softly. “I meant what I said.”
    “What?”
    “I don’t want to let you go.”
    “I don’t want to go.”
    He smiles and it’s this new, shy smile that dissolves everything in its path. Boy, it’s powerful.
    “Good,” he says simply, and he visibly relaxes.
    I drive into the parking lot half a block from SIP.
    “I’ll walk you to work. Taylor will take me from there,” Christian offers. I clamber out of the car, restricted by my pencil skirt while Christian climbs out gracefully, at ease with his body or giving the impression of someone at ease with his body. Hmm . . . someone who can’t bear to be touched can’t be that at ease. I frown at my errant thought.
    “Don’t forget we’re seeing Flynn at seven this evening,” he says as he holds his hand out to me. I press the remote door lock and take his hand.
    “I won’t forget. I’ll compile a list of questions for him.”
    “Questions? About me?”
    I nod.
    “I can answer any questions you have about me.” Christian looks affronted.
    I smile at him. “Yes, but I want the unbiased, expensive charlatan’s opinion.”
    He frowns and suddenly pulls me into his embrace, holding both my hands tightly behind my back.
    “Is this a good idea?” he says, his voice low and husky. I lean back to see the anxiety looming large and wide in his eyes. It tears at my soul.
    “If you don’t want me to, I won’t.” I stare at him, blinking, wanting to caress the concern out of his face. I tug on one of my hands and he frees it. I touch his cheek tenderly—it’s smooth from shaving this morning.
    “What are you worried about?” I ask, my voice soft and soothing.
    “That you’ll go.”
    “Christian, how many times do I have to tell you—I’m not going anywhere. You’ve already told me the worst. I’m not leaving you.”
    “Then why haven’t you answered me?”
    “Answered you?” I murmur disingenuously.
    “You know what I’m talking about, Ana.”
    I sigh. “I want to know that I’m enough for you, Christian. That’s all.”
    “And you won’t take my word for it?” he says exasperated, releasing me.
    “Christian, this has all been so quick. And by your own admission, you’re fifty shades of fucked-up. I can’t give you what you need,” I mutter. “It’s just not for me. But that makes me feel inadequate, especially seeing you with Leila. Who’s to say that one day you won’t meet someone who likes doing what you do? And who’s to say you won’t, you know . . . fall for her? Someone much better suited to your needs.” The thought of Christian with anyone else sickens me. I stare down at my knotted fingers.
    “I knew several women who like doing what I like to do. None of