Chapter 14
One of the tall, dark, scary men with pagers at the event finds us a taxi when we're ready to leave. I have to say I'm impressed with the uniforms of the security detail: they look like Secret Service—if Secret-Service men were dressed by Italian designers. Northern Italian men are dastardly attractive and gleeful about their sexuality. Too gleeful.
As we get into the taxi I realize it's do-or-die time. I have to decide whether or not to go to Christian's hotel room. On the one hand, he came all the way to Milan for me, which can only mean that he has some kind of feelings for me. The least I can do is hear him out, something I've refused to do since he savaged my tender heart.
On the other hand, he really needs someone to teach him a lesson in humility. Has no one ever said no to the man? I suspect not. I don't agree with Kent that jealousy is born of love.. Maybe that's been his personal experience but it isn't everyone's. I guess sometimes it may be, but I tend to believe it's a remnant of a primitive territorial thing, the equivalent of peeing on every street corner so other dogs don't start looking to move in.
Mr. Grey apparently cannot decide whether or not he wants me, but he does know he doesn't want anyone else to have me, even if that anyone else happens to be a gay man whom I truly like and possibly adore and who treats me like a princess. Kent represents absolutely no threat to him, yet he's somehow still jealous. It's curious.
The problem I'm grappling with this minute is that even if I go to his hotel room purely to ask and answer questions, I know how the night will end. How could it not? We'll be in a private setting with a big bed, and a boy and a girl with complementing parts. Plus, every time that particular boy gets near this girl, all bets are off. Her body takes charge and her brain relegated to that of interested but impotent onlooker. Therein lies the rub.
"Well, Ana," Kent asks, as the taxi begins to pull away from the curb. "Where to?"
"Our hotel." It's a spur of the moment decision.
Kent looks more than mildly surprised. "Are you certain?"
"No," I answer honestly, "but I can't let him steamroll over me. I never asked him to come to Milan. He's the one who did the kicking."
"It appears that Mr. Grey has had a change of heart."
"That's just it, Kent. I don't think he has."
"Don't you think it wise to at least find out? That is, unless you're truly not interested."
"You know I am," I retort grumpily.
"Signore?" The driver asks Kent for a destination.
Kent answers in Italian and I hear him use the name Gray—Christian's hotel.
"You think I should go?"
"Yes, but stand firm. You can hear him out. If you don't like what he has to say, you have the hotel doorman find you a taxi. Or call me and I'll come get you. If you like what he has to say, you might call that taxi anyway—he shouldn't have life so easy." He grins and winks.
Catching him off-guard, I throw my arms around his neck. "I don't know what I did to deserve a friend like you, but whatever it was I'm so glad I did it." I kiss him on his cheek and then wipe the remnants of lipstick off.
He looks so pleased with himself—as if he's happy he made me happy.
"Just do me a favor? Whatever you decide, if you're not coming back to the suite, call or text me so I don't worry over you. Deal?"
"Of course, Kent."
But as the taxi pulls up in front of Christian's hotel, I realize I'm making a huge mistake. I'm caving in to his pressure when I shouldn't. After all, I was the one willing to do whatever was necessary to pursue a relationship with him, even as far as joining him in his torture chamber.
And he turned me down and turned me out. He wasn't willing to make one tiny concession for me nor was he willing to let me into his kinky room.
Why should I go back for more of the same? I look at Kent and I don't have to say a single word. He sees the resolution on my face and, without comment, gives the driver the address of our hotel. The taxi smoothly pulls away and I lean my head on Kent.
"Thank you," I whisper.
"Don't mention it. I've been in your shoes more than once, pretty woman. It's never fun but at least right now you hold all the power."
Kent's shoulder is wide and comfortable enough for me to get used to having it available. "Why did you say jealousy is born of love?" I ask as I stare into space, twisting a long tendril of hair around my finger. "It isn't, you know."
He sighs in the dark interior as the car wends its way via the back streets to our hotel. When he begins, his voice is soft and contemplative. "Well, there's jealousy and then there's jealousy. The kind that Mr. Grey is showing is the good kind. He's jealous because he wants you, and he wants you because he has feelings for you. The other kind is all about power—it's less jealousy and more territorial rank. You know, the kind of What's mine is mine and I don't share… or I may not want you but I don't want anyone else to have you either."
I interrupt, "That's exactly what Christian is about in this case…"
He looks down at me, trying to see me in the sliver of ambient light. "I think you're mistaken, Ana. I think the man is conflicted, but he can't disguise the way he looks at you with near reverence. Trust me, he's head over heels. He may be fighting it for all he's worth… but he won't win. One never does in matters of the heart."
I stare out the windshield, chewing over Kent's words and I realize that I'm very tired. I need to get some sleep. I pull out my phone and scroll to Christian's cell number, quickly punching out a message:
Sorry, I can't make it tonight—too tired. Maybe tomorrow for coffee? Let me know. A
His reply is close to instantaneous. I almost put the phone away without reading it but curiosity wins the day.
Please come tonight. I have to leave in the a.m. I only want to talk privately with you. Please, Ana?
I groan in frustration.
"What's up?"
I hand over the phone and show him see the message.
Kent gives me a tired grin. "What are you going to do?"
Taking a quick peek at my watch, I see it's almost eleven. "I'll go up to our suite and change my clothes. He can come over here to see me… if that's okay by you?" I shoot him an anxious glance.
"That's fine. Anything you want to do is fine by me, Ana. I can put you in a taxi as well…if you decide to go to him."
Cocking my head, I gaze suspiciously at him. "It sure seems as if you're pushing me in that direction. Did he pay you or something? Or maybe he has a blackmail photo to hang over your head?"
Lighthearted laughter fills the cab. "Not at all, my pretty. I just am a believer in romance." He starts to elaborate then stops himself. "Can I be honest with you?"
"Please."
"I think you know what I'm all about… I'm quiet about my personal life but I already consider you a friend. So I'll be frank with you. If there's one thing I know in this life, it's men, even straight men, and I will tell you some truths about Mr. Grey as I sense them."
He looks at me and I'm all ears. "Oops, we're here. To be continued," he quips as he removes his billfold from his breast pocket.
We've just pulled up to our hotel. Kent hands the driver money and we disembark. He reserves his comments until we're in an empty elevator, riding up to our suite.
"Truth numero uno: Mr. Grey is very interested in you, like it or not. And I suspect he doesn't like it. In fact, it may be the first time he's on this end of a relationship, Ana."
"What end?"
"The one where his feelings are invested. All of his experience before was probably predicated on the woman pursuing him and his accepting the advances but not putting any skin into the game. Truth numero due: He's fighting it for all he's worth. Our man doesn't feel comfortable sitting where he's currently perched. He likes to be in control, making all the decisions, and not getting hurt when things go south. The power dynamic has swung to your side. Ergo, you're calling the shots at the moment. And—"
"Okay, but why does he object to my being with you? I mean, he knows you're… unavailable."
"Nicely put," Kent says, smiling. "I'm guessing that he doesn't want our pairing to become public knowledge as it will if we continue in this vein. Truth to tell, it already has," he finishes, his eyes sparkling with delighted mischief.
"Public knowledge?"
"Ana, up until a few weeks ago, you were a private person. Then in a short amount of time, you began to be seen in important places—"
"With important people," I finish.
"With public people," he corrects. "I suspect Mr. Grey wants you to be linked with him in the public eye if you must be in that public eye at all. If I'm right, that is what is upsetting him. He wants you hidden while he makes up his mind."
"As far as I could tell, he made up his mind. He was decidedly unequivocal." I still remember how it felt. Rejection on that level is unbearably hurtful. I think it leaves a scar, no matter how well adjusted a person may be. Mine is still fresh and itches all the time, and I know what's fueling my resistance to meeting with Christian is residual anger at his infliction of pain.
I yank on my favorite worn-out blue jeans—they fit snugly and accentuate all my finer points. I've changed my mind once again and am going to Christian's hotel—it's not fair to Kent to bring it all here. He's exhausted and needs his downtime. Slipping into my mid-calf biker boots, I throw on a white Oxford shirt, attempting to do this quickly so I can get to bed sometime tonight. Now that I've decided to go, the anticipation of seeing Mr. Gorgeous is pumping adrenaline into my system like a high-performance fuel injector. Plus, I'm happy to be out of my gown and heels, as much as I love playing dress-up.
Running my hands through my hair, I stride over to the end of the sofa where Kent is sitting with a cup of tea.
"I'm off now, Kent. I will be back tonight but I promise to text you with any change in plans, even though I fully expect there to be none.
"Wait up. I'll put you into a taxi."
"No, stay put. I'll have the hotel scare one up for me. And I'm going to make Christian take me back tonight. If I have to lose sleep over him, I want to return the favor." I wink at him before slinging my backpack over my shoulder and heading out.
On my way down, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirrored panel near the elevator bank and I nod. I think I look good, I'm comfortable, and I feel a healthy level of mojo to hold my own. I'm ready for battle.
He's waiting for me by the hotel lobby door. As soon as I spot him, my heartbeat accelerates into warp speed. The man is just too damn hot—and to think he was my first. How many girls set the bar so high for the future? Then I realize that's not good for me at all, damn it.
He's dressed all in black: black jeans and a black vee-neck sweater with nothing but muscled chest peeking out from underneath. The thought crosses my mind that he did that on purpose—flashing drool-worthy assets to make himself irresistible to me. You know, the equivalent of a girl wearing tight jeans… sort of like what I happen to be wearing for some strange reason.
Anyway, he's there because I'd texted him to tell of my imminent arrival. He steps outside, striding over to the curb, pays the driver before I can object, and opens my door, lending me a hand to climb out.
His facial expression tells me nothing so I bounce that blank look right back at him. Even though his very presence intimidates the hell out of me, I'm smart enough not to let him see it.
"Thank you, Ana."
I nod. For a person who's almost never at a loss for words—words are my stock in trade, after all—around Christian I feel tongue-tied. His hand reaches for mine—he intertwines our fingers and leads me inside.
Even though the hour is late, the hotel lobby is buzzing with energy, music, and chatter. As we walk through the large open room toward the elevators, I feel curious eyes on us. Why, I wonder? I doubt Christian is recognized here so it's either his good looks or my tight jeans… or maybe both?
"You didn't have to wait outside for me, you know," I finally speak up. "I'm perfectly capable of finding your suite myself."
He looks down at me from the corner of his eyes as we wait for the elevator. "I didn't want to leave anything to chance. I thought you might pull up and then change your mind so I figured I'd hedge my bet."
Smart man. It happened once already tonight but I don't tell him that.
The elevator car finally opens and we ride up silently to the seventh floor.
I surreptitiously eye him over. He looks thinner to me but it could be the tailored black clothing. He's so achingly handsome that it almost hurts to think I don't have the right to put my hands on him anymore. If ever I did.
Opening the suite door with his key card, he steps aside to allow me to enter first. The suite is dimly lit and there's soft music playing. Right away I get the sense that he's laid a trap for me. It all happens so fast: I spin around to confront him as he closes the door and without missing a beat, he pulls me into his arms and kisses me.
First, I try to push him away but he's an immovable force. Iron muscle easily resists my feeble protests. After a few oxygen-depleted seconds, I stop resisting and wrap my arms around his neck, kissing him back for all I'm worth. All my plans for how I would play out tonight laid waste by his seductive ambush. The line from Robert Burns' To a Mouse bursts into my mind—the best laid schemes of mice and men… to often go awry… and leave us naught but grief and pain.
After what seems an eternity, he retreats slightly and allows me some air. "I could swear you said you wanted to talk."
"There's more than one way to communicate," he says, his voice husky and slightly out of breath. Both of us are. "I prefer this way." He drops a quick kiss on my lips. "Come."
We go to the sofa and he gestures for me to sit. I perch on the very edge of the couch, my way of telling him I don't plan to get comfortable or stay long. Unfortunately for me, however, we seem to be following his script, not mine. He sits beside me, our thighs touching. I can feel his body heat burn right through my clothes. Are all men this hot? I mean, temperature-wise?
"Christian, why am I here? I don't understand."
Dropping his head into his hands, he rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands. "Ana, I think it's quite apparent what's going on."
"Not to me. Why did you follow me to Milan? It's not exactly around the corner and you're a busy man."
"Exactly. I don't have time for this nonsense. I followed you because I learned you came here with Gable."
I lean in closer to him, my face mere inches away. "But why does that concern you? I really don't understand. You told me we were done. You were very sure of yourself."
"Yes, but you promised me you wouldn't work for Irina anymore."
Rolling my eyes, I sit back. This is getting old. "I always told you I wanted to keep Kent. I like him, Christian… and he's a perfect gentleman. I plan to honor the deal otherwise. I thought you made the deal with me because you didn't want to see me get hurt. Am I wrong?"
"No," he admits stonily.
"Then?"
"I'm jealous—I told you I don't share well."
"But there's no sharing," I say, stomping my boot on the carpeted floor. "I'm not with you… and I'm not even with Kent. What's really the problem here?"
"I don't like seeing you with him."
"Do you realize how ridiculous you're being?"
He stands up and begins pacing in front of me. "I don't think I'm being ridiculous. We had a deal, you and I. I held up my end of it and you broke yours. Why is it ridiculous that I insist you honor your word?"
I rise too. "Christian, I'm done here. As soon as I return home, I am going to contact McEvoy and ask him to send me the bill for his services. Then no more favor and I owe you nothing. Good night." I pivot around and walk to the door quickly, anxious to get away now. The absolute freaking nerve of the man—who does he think he is?
Just as I'm about to gain the door, he grabs my upper arm, arresting my progress. I try to wrench it away but he holds fast. "Wait," he says. "Please don't go."
I whip around and through gritted teeth, let him have it, full blast. "Listen carefully. I'm tired and I want to go back to the suite I share with Kent and go to sleep. I'm done with you, tonight and forever. You may be used to people falling prostrate at your feet but I'm not going to be one of them. I know I'm young and naïve but I'm no fool and I didn't fall off the turnip truck yesterday either. You will not dictate to me how I should live my life and who my friends will be. Goodnight, Christian."
I open the door, walk out, and I hear the click as the door closes and the lock engages. Glancing nervously behind me, I see the hall is empty.
He let me go.
I sort of can't believe it. On autopilot now, I make my way to the elevator, feeling shell-shocked, almost the way I felt when he told me goodbye. I came here tonight fully expecting him to ask me to come back to him. I'd planned to play hard to get… maybe impossible to get.
But once again, Mr. Grey pulled the rug out from under me. He never intended to ask me to come back to him. Never. He just planned to force me to stop seeing Kent and leave things status quo. The very idea seems to burn fissures in my heart.
What a total d-bag. I am so done with Christian fucking Grey.
The lobby is quieter now yet there are still a number of people milling about. Hopefully I'll find a cab easily. It's almost one and—
"Ana."
I stop in my tracks. So he did come after me. Now what?
"Please turn around."
I do. He stands there, his face contrite and pain in his eyes—or maybe it's regret. I'm so tired now that even with the spurts of adrenaline he's causing to pump through my bloodstream, I don't know how much longer I can remain on my feet. "What is it?"
"Please come back up and talk to me. I'm sorry I acted like a jerk."
Shaking my head, I avert my eyes from his. "I'm tired, so tired, and I need sleep. I'd be willing to meet with you tomorrow but you said you have to leave. Anyway, I just don't see either of us getting anywhere with each other. Let's just agree to disagree."
"You can sleep in my suite. I won't molest you; I promise."
"Well then, what's the point," I grin, not able to resist.
He smiles, too. "Well, I can molest you if you're amenable. Come, Ana. We'll sleep and then talk tomorrow. Please, baby."
I plant my feet on the sidewalk stubbornly. "I told Kent I'd be home tonight."
"Ana, you can call him and tell him you won't be, and you know it. Come on, please. Don't make me beg."
"I'd rather like to hear you beg, Mr. Grey. It would be a nice change of pace from your imperious commands."
He smiles that smile, that charming, no-holds-barred wonderful man smile. "Please, pretty Ana, please stay with me tonight?"
I swing my hand into his and he grasps it. "Okay, fine. I'll stay."
Surprise flashes across his face and then he grins again, bringing my hand to his lips and kissing it. Before long we're back in his suite and I'm texting Kent to let him know. I have to say, I have no idea how the night or the morning will end but I feel better that he came after me. So much better. I hate the truth that stares me in the face, taunting me, but I have to accept it: I'm in love with the stupid ass and there's not a helluva lot I can do about it.