Fifty Shades Trilogy 03 - Fifty Shades Freed

slowly roll on the other stocking. Standing, I bend to towel-dry my hair. Through my parted thighs, I can see his bare feet, and I sense his intense gaze. When I’ve finished, I stand and step back to the chest of drawers where I grab my hairdryer.
    “Answer me.” Christian’s voice is low and husky.
    I switch on the hairdryer so I can no longer hear him and watch him through my lashes in the mirror as I finger dry my hair. He glares at me, eyes narrow and cool, chilling even. I look away, focusing on the task at hand and trying to suppress the shiver that runs through me. I swallow hard and concentrate on drying my hair. He’s still mad. He goes out with that damned woman, and he’s mad at me? How dare he! When my hair looks wild and untamed, I stop. Yes . . . I like it. I switch off the hairdryer.
    “Where were you?” he whispers, his tone arctic.
    “What do you care?”
    “Ana, stop this. Now.”
    I shrug, and Christian moves quickly across the room toward me. I whirl around, stepping back as he reaches out.
    “Don’t touch me,” I hiss and he freezes.
    “Where were you?” he demands. His hands fist at his side.
    “I wasn’t out getting drunk with my ex,” I seethe. “Did you sleep with her?”
    He gasps. “ What? No!” He gapes at me and has the gall to look wounded and angry at the same time. My subconscious breathes a small, welcome sigh of relief.
    “You think I’d cheat on you?” His tone is one of moral outrage.
    “You did,” I snarl. “By taking our very private life and spilling your spineless guts to that woman.”
    His mouth drops open. “Spineless. That’s what you think?” His eyes blaze.
    “Christian, I saw the text. That’s what I know.”
    “That text was not meant for you,” he growls.
    “Well, fact is I saw it when your BlackBerry fell out of your jacket while I was undressing you because you were too drunk to undress yourself. Do you have any idea how much you’ve hurt me by going to see that woman?”
    He pales momentarily, but I’m on a roll, my inner bitch unleashed.
    “Do you remember last night when you came home? Remember what you said?”
    He stares at me blankly, his face frozen.
    “Well, you were right. I do choose this defenseless baby over you. That’s what any loving parent does. That’s what your mother should have done for you. And I am sorry that she didn’t—because we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now if she had. But you’re an adult now—you need to grow up and smell the fucking coffee and stop behaving like a petulant adolescent.
    “You may not be happy about this baby. I’m not ecstatic, given the timing and your less-than-lukewarm reception to this new life, this flesh of your flesh. But you can either do this with me, or I’ll do it on my own. The decision is yours.
    “While you wallow in your pit of self-pity and self-loathing, I’m going to work. And when I return I’ll be moving my belongings to the room upstairs.”
    He blinks at me, shocked.
    “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to finish getting dressed.” I am breathing hard.
    Very slowly, Christian retreats one step, his demeanor hardening. “Is that what you want?” he whispers.
    “I don’t know what I want any more.” My tone mirrors his, and it takes a monumental effort to feign disinterest while I casually dip the tips of my fingers into my moisturizer and smooth it gently over my face. I peer at myself in the mirror. Blue eyes wide, face pale, but cheeks flushed. You’re doing great. Don’t back down now. Don’t back down now.
    “You don’t want me?” he whispers.
    Oh—no . . . oh no you don’t, Grey.
    “I’m still here aren’t I?” I snap. Taking my mascara, I apply some first to my right eye.
    “You’ve thought about leaving?” His words are barely audible.
    “When one’s husband prefers the company of his ex-mistress, it’s usually not a good sign.” I pitch the disdain at just the right level, evading his question. Lip gloss now. I pout my shiny lips at the image in the mirror. Stay strong, Steele . . . um—Grey. Holy fuck, I can’t even remember my name. I pick up my boots, stride over to the bed once more, and quickly put them on, tugging them up over my knees. Yep. I look hot just in underwear and boots. I know. Standing, I gaze dispassionately at him. He blinks at me, and his eyes travel swiftly and greedily down my body.
    “I know what you’re doing here,” he murmurs, and his voice has acquired