Fifty Shades Trilogy 02 - Fifty Shades Darker

you?” he asks, his voice still soft.
    Well, I’m shit really  . . . I swallow. “If I told you I was fine, I’d be lying.”
    He inhales sharply. “Me, too,” he murmurs and reaches over and clasps my hand. “I miss you,” he adds.
    Oh no. Skin against skin.
    “Christian, I—”
    “Ana, please. We need to talk.”
    I’m going to cry. No. “Christian, I . . . please . . . I’ve cried so much,” I whisper, trying to keep my emotions in check
    “Oh, baby, no.” He tugs my hand, and before I know it I’m on his lap. He has his arms around me, and his nose is in my hair. “I’ve missed you so much, Anastasia,” he breathes.
    I want to struggle out of his hold, to maintain some distance, but his arms are wrapped around me. He’s pressing me to his chest. I melt. Oh, this is where I want to be.  
    I rest my head against him, and he kisses my hair repeatedly. This is home. He smells of linen, fabric softener, body wash, and my favorite smell—Christian. For a moment, I allow myself the illusion that all will be well, and it soothes my ravaged soul.
    A few minutes later Taylor pulls to a stop at the curb, even though we’re still in the city.
    “Come”—Christian shifts me off his lap—“we’re here.”
    What?
    “Helipad—on the top of this building.” Christian glances toward the building by way of explanation.
    Of course. Charlie Tango. Taylor opens the door and I slide out. He gives me a warm, avuncular smile that makes me feel safe. I smile back.
    “I should give you back your handkerchief.”
    “Keep it, Miss Steele, with my best wishes.”
    I flush as Christian comes around the car and takes my hand. He looks quizzically at Taylor who stares impassively back at him, revealing nothing.
    “Nine?” Christian says to him.
    “Yes, sir.”
    Christian nods as he turns and leads me through the double doors into the grandiose foyer. I revel in the feel of his large hand and his long, skilled fingers curled around mine. I feel the familiar pull—I am drawn, Icarus to his sun. I have been burned already, and yet here I am again.  
    Reaching the elevators, he presses the call button. I peek up at him, and he’s wearing his enigmatic half smile. As the doors open, he releases my hand and ushers me in.  
    The doors close and I risk a second peek. He glances down at me, gray eyes alive, and it’s there in the air between us, that electricity. It’s palpable. I can almost taste it, pulsing between us, drawing us together.
    “Oh my,” I gasp as I bask briefly in the intensity of this visceral, primal attraction.
    “I feel it, too,” he says, his eyes clouded and intense.  
    Desire pools dark and deadly in my groin. He clasps my hand and grazes my knuckles with his thumb, and all my muscles clench tightly, deliciously, deep inside me.
    Holy cow. How can he still do this to me ?
    “Please don’t bite your lip, Anastasia,” he whispers.
    I gaze up at him, releasing my lip. I want him. Here, now, in the elevator. How could I not?
    “You know what it does to me,” he murmurs.
    Oh, I still affect him. My inner goddess stirs from her five-day sulk.
    Abruptly the doors open, breaking the spell, and we’re on the roof. It’s windy, and despite my black jacket, I’m cold. Christian puts his arm around me, pulling me into his side, and we hurry across to where Charlie Tango stands in the center of the helipad with its rotor blades slowly spinning.
    A tall, blond, square-jawed man in a dark suit leaps out and, ducking low, runs toward us. Shaking hands with Christian, he shouts above the noise of the rotors.
    “Ready to go, sir. She’s all yours!”
    “All checks done?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “You’ll collect her around eight thirty?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Taylor’s waiting for you out front.”
    “Thank you, Mr. Grey. Safe flight to Portland. Ma’am.” He salutes me. Without releasing me, Christian nods, ducks down, and leads me to the helicopter door.
    Once inside he buckles me firmly into my harness, cinching the straps tight. He gives me a knowing look and his secret smile.
    “This should keep you in your place,” he murmurs. “I must say I do like this harness on you. Don’t touch anything.”
    I flush a deep crimson, and he runs his index finger down my cheek before handing me the headphones. I’d like to touch you, too, but you won’t let me. I scowl at him. Besides, he’s pulled the straps so tight I can barely move.  
    He sits in his seat and buckles