Fifty Shades Trilogy 03 - Fifty Shades Freed

handlebars.
    “Christian has, um . . . issues about my safety. I shouldn’t.”
    “You always do what he says?” Elliot has a wicked sparkle in his baby-blue eyes, and I see a glimmer of the bad boy . . . the bad boy Kate has fallen in love with. The bad boy from Detroit.
    “No.” I arch an admonishing brow at him. “But I’m trying to put that right. He has enough to worry about without adding me to the mix. Is he back?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “You didn’t go fishing?”
    Elliot shakes his head. “I had some business to deal with in town.”
    Business! Holy shit—groomed blonde business! I inhale sharply and gape at him.
    “If you don’t want to ride, what are you doing in the garage?” Elliot is intrigued.
    “I’m looking for wood for the fire.”
    “There you are. Oh, Elliot—you’re back.” Kate interrupts us.
    “Hey, baby.” He smiles broadly.
    “Catch anything?”
    I scrutinize Elliot’s reaction. “No. I had a few things to take care of in town.” And for one brief moment, I see a flash of uncertainty cross his face.
    Oh shit.
    “I came out to see what was keeping Ana.” Kate looks at us, confused.
    “We were just shooting the breeze,” Elliot says, and the tension crackles between them.
    We all pause as we hear a car pull up outside. Oh! Christian’s back. Thank heavens. The garage door opener whirrs loudly into action, startling us all, and the door slowly lifts to reveal Christian and Ethan unloading a black flatbed truck. Christian stops when he sees us standing in the garage.
    “Garage band?” he asks sardonically as he wanders in, heading straight for me.
    I grin. I am relieved to see him. Beneath his wading jacket, he’s wearing the coveralls I sold him at Claytons.
    “Hi,” he says looking quizzically at me, ignoring both Kate and Elliot.
    “Hi. Nice coveralls.”
    “Lots of pockets. Very handy for fishing.” His voice is soft and seductive, for my ears only, and when he gazes down at me, his expression is hot.
    I flush, and he smiles a huge, no-holds-barred, all-for-me smile.
    “You’re wet,” I murmur.
    “It was raining. What are you guys doing in the garage?” Finally he acknowledges that we are not alone.
    “Ana came to fetch some wood,” Elliot smirks. Somehow he manages to make that sentence sound smutty. “I tried to tempt her to take a ride.” He is master of the double entendre.
    Christian’s face falls, and my heart stills.
    “She said no. That you wouldn’t like it,” Elliot says kindly—and innuendo-free.
    Christian’s gray gaze swings back to me. “Did she, now?” he murmurs.
    “Listen, I’m all for standing around discussing what Ana did next, but shall we go back inside?” Kate snaps. She stoops down, snatches up two logs, and turns on her heel, stomping toward the door. Oh shit. Kate is mad—but I know it’s not at me. Elliot sighs and, without a word, follows her out. I gaze after them, but Christian distracts me.
    “You can ride a motorcycle?” he asks, his voice laced with disbelief.
    “Not very well. Ethan taught me.”
    His eyes frost immediately. “You made the right decision,” he says, his voice much cooler. “The ground’s very hard at the moment, and the rain’s made it treacherous and slippery.”
    “Where do you want the fishing gear?” Ethan calls from outside.
    “Leave it, Ethan—Taylor will take care of it.”
    “What about the fish?” Ethan continues, his voice vaguely taunting.
    “You caught a fish?” I ask, surprised.
    “Not me. Kavanagh did.” And Christian pouts . . . prettily.
    I burst out laughing.
    “Mrs. Bentley will deal with that,” he calls back. Ethan grins and heads into the house.
    “Am I amusing you, Mrs. Grey?”
    “Very much so. You’re wet . . . Let me run you a bath.”
    “As long as you join me.” He leans down and kisses me.
    I fill the large egg-shaped tub in the en suite bathroom and pour in some expensive bath oil, which starts to foam immediately. The aroma is heavenly . . . jasmine, I think. Back in the bedroom, I start to hang The Dress while the bath fills.
    “Did you have a good time?” Christian asks as he enters the room. He’s just in a T-shirt and sweat pants, his feet bare. He closes the door behind him.
    “Yes,” I murmur, drinking him in. I have missed him. Ridiculous—it’s only been what, a few hours?
    He cocks his head to one side and gazes at me. “What is it?”
    “I was thinking how much I’ve missed you.”
    “You