Fifty Shades Trilogy 02 - Fifty Shades Darker

problem now? I watch mesmerized as he talks animatedly with Miss Very Short Hair and Red Lipstick. He fishes out his wallet and produces his credit card.  
    Shit . He must have bought one of them.
    “Hey. You’re the muse. These photographs are terrific.” A young man with a shock of bright blond hair startles me. I feel a hand at my elbow and Christian is back.
    “You’re a lucky guy.” Blond Shock smirks at Christian, who gives him a cold stare.
    “That I am,” he mutters darkly, as he pulls me over to one side.
    “Did you just buy one of these?”
    “One of these?” he snorts, not taking his eyes off them.
    “You bought more than one?”
    He rolls his eyes. “I bought them all, Anastasia. I don’t want some stranger ogling you in the privacy of their home.”
    My first inclination is to laugh. “You’d rather it was you?” I scoff.
    He glares down at me, caught off guard by my audacity, I think, but he’s trying to hide his amusement.
    “Frankly, yes.”
    “Pervert,” I mouth at him and bite my lower lip to prevent my smile.
    His mouth drops open, and now his amusement is obvious. He strokes his chin thoughtfully.
    “Can’t argue with that assessment, Anastasia.” He shakes his head, and his eyes soften with humor.
    “I’d discuss it further with you, but I’ve signed an NDA.”
    He sighs, gazing at me, and his eyes darken. “What I’d like to do to your smart mouth,” he murmurs.
    I gasp, knowing full well what he means. “You’re very rude.” I try to sound shocked and succeed. Does he have no boundaries?
    He smirks at me, amused, and then he frowns.
    “You look very relaxed in these photographs, Anastasia. I don’t see you like that very often.”
    What? Whoa! Change of subject—talk about non sequitur—from playful to serious.  
    I flush and glance down at my fingers. He tilts my head back, and I inhale sharply at the contact with his long fingers.
    “I want you that relaxed with me,” he whispers. All trace of humor has gone.
    Deep inside me that joy stirs again. But how can this be? We have issues.
    “You have to stop intimidating me if you want that,” I snap.
    “You have to learn to communicate and tell me how you feel,” he snaps back, eyes blazing.
    I take a deep breath. “Christian, you wanted me as a submissive. That’s where the problem lies. It’s in the definition of a submissive—you e-mailed it to me once.” I pause, trying to recall the wording. “I think the synonyms were, and I quote, ‘compliant, pliant, amenable, passive, tractable, resigned, patient, docile, tame, subdued.’ I wasn’t supposed to look at you. Not talk to you unless you gave me permission to do so. What do you expect?” I hiss at him.
    He blinks, and his frown deepens as I continue.
    “It’s very confusing being with you. You don’t want me to defy you, but then you like my ‘smart mouth.’ You want obedience, except when you don’t, so you can punish me. I just don’t know which way is up when I’m with you.”
    He narrows his eyes. “Good point well made, as usual, Miss Steele.” His voice is frigid. “Come, let’s go eat.”
    “We’ve only been here for half an hour.”
    “You’ve seen the photos; you’ve spoken to the boy.”
    “His name is José.”
    “You’ve spoken to José—the man who, the last time I met him, was trying to push his tongue into your reluctant mouth while you were drunk and ill,” he snarls.
    “He’s never hit me,” I spit at him.
    Christian scowls at me, fury emanating from every pore. “That’s a low blow, Anastasia,” he whispers menacingly.
    I flush, and Christian runs his hands through his hair, bristling with barely contained anger. I glare back at him.
    “I’m taking you for something to eat. You’re fading away in front of me. Find the boy, say good-bye.”
    “Please, can we stay longer?”
    “No. Go. Now. Say good-bye.”
    I glare at him, my blood boiling. Mr. Damned Control Freak. Angry is good. Angry is better than tearful.  
    I drag my gaze away from him and scan the room for José. He’s talking to a group of young women. I stalk off toward him and away from Fifty. Just because he brought me here, I have to do as he says? Who the hell does he think he is?
    The girls are hanging on José’s every word. One of them gasps as I approach, no doubt recognizing me from the portraits.
    “José.”
    “Ana. Excuse me, girls.” José grins at them and puts his arm around me, and on some level I’m