A/N: I know you all hate to wait for updates… and I know you hate cliffhangers… so let's see how you like my ending it in the middle of a conversation. I wanted to get this to you quickly. I do want to let you know that my other FF story, One Shady Character, is being published on April 29th as Three and a Half Weeks. Please check it out if you haven't read it. If you have, please consider going to Amazon and/or Goodreads to leave a review. The new cover was revealed on April 15th. You can find it under the title or under my name, Lulu Astor, on Facebook or Goodreads. xoxo

Chapter 17

I pick up a long strand of linguine and slowly twirl it into my mouth, feeding it from above. When it's all in, I close my mouth and eyes and nearly swoon at the flavor, then remember I'm waiting for Christian to answer my question. I look at him across the table. "Well?"

He's gaping at me, transfixed. "Well?" he repeats. "How do you expect me to keep my mind on the conversation when you're playing with your food?"

I shrug. "If you don't want me to play with my food, tell your chef not to make finger food."

"Linguine is not finger food, for your information. Now sit up straight and use your fork. It's truly paradoxical: sometimes you act wise beyond your years, Ana… and sometimes, you remind me of a ten-year-old."

I laugh because I know under his stern reprimand is him joking… and maybe not wanting to answer the question. "Good." I pick up my fork and point it at him. "Keeps you on your toes. So? Are you going to answer my question?"

"What was it again?"

I roll my eyes—I know he remembers it; he's stalling and his ploy is so obvious that it's insulting. "Your girlfriends? Subs? Whatever. You know my history… or lack of one. I'd like to know yours. And after what happened today at your mother's… I don't want it to happen again."

After my arrival at Sea-Tac, I went home with Christian, despite having few clean clothes left—I mean, how could I resist when he asked so nice? His housekeeper did my laundry for me, a kindness I could get used to so easily, and so I stayed the weekend. The next morning Christian woke me up with a slap to the butt—I don't recommend it—and told me we had less than an hour to get to his mother's for brunch. That's how the day began but the night before? Well, that I can recommend and when I woke up the next morning, I was so sore I could barely walk.

Perhaps that soreness was good company as I had the misfortune of meeting one of Christian's exes during said brunch. It reminded me of whom he belonged to now… and that was me, myself, and I.

Seeing his family again was nice though I still have yet to meet the youngest one, Zander. Everyone else was assembled for the meal. It was Grace's birthday so it was a big thing and the food was incredible.

My appetite took a nosedive, though, when I started feeling death-ray stares coming from Fiona, or Fifi as she is affectionately called—nice name for a French poodle, I thought uncharitably. I knew something was up with her and it had to do with Christian. Why else would she take such an instant dislike to me? For his part, Christian was as smooth as glass but I now knew him well enough to detect some unease just beneath his polished veneer.

"I'd hardly call being married a lack of history but I suppose I know what you mean. What do you want to know?"

"Oh, I don't know: how many, how recent, how serious… how pretty. You know, details."

"Ana, do you really need this kind of information?"

"Yes," I say stubbornly, "otherwise my imagination runs away with me. I'd also like to know when we run into old girlfriends of yours so I can keep my guard up. It was very painful to see that photo of you and Miss perfect-body, you know, and of course the follow-up act this morning."

He presses his lips together. "First, your body is better than hers by far. Second, I'm sorry the photo hurt you. You have to understand that I'm frequently photographed… however, I plan to be photographed with only you in future. Okay?"

Mollified, I nod. "I'd still like to know… or at least have some idea."

He inhales deeply and sighs loudly—just in case I didn't already notice his discomfort. "All right, Ana, there were quite a few. I only got serious twice but I had relatively long-term relationships with about… I don't know, off the top of my head, I'll guess about twenty."

"Twenty?" I screech. "Are you kidding me? I expected the number to be at five or six. How did you find the time?"

"When I say long-term I mean several weeks to months. In a year's time, I could have gone through three or four women." He has the good grace to wince at his choice of words. "I'm almost thirty, Ana, and I started relatively young, remember."

"All sexual?"

He nods. "Sexual was all most of them were. I found the BDSM to be rewarding in that regard: sex without commitment. Irina's clients are tested for disease every six weeks, by her doctor, so it was safe and everyone was on the same page, so to speak."

"Why are you afraid of commitment?"

There was a pregnant pause, long enough to make me squirm. By the time he spoke up, I was hanging onto every syllable, aware that the words didn't come easily to him.

"The answers to these questions are known only by my shrink, you know. I don't like to discuss such personal shit, Ana."

I snort. "You think? I kinda guessed that. In all the time we spent together—admittedly not all that much, but still—you know everything about me there is to know since I was born and I know almost nothing about you. I sort of guessed you don't like talking about personal stuff. But…" I get up and walk over to him, squeezing between him and the table and slide onto his lap, "if we're to make progress in our relationship, I need to know more, Christian. And you need to be able and willing to share."

"Okay, how about I tell you about the two serious ones? Will that suffice?"

"It's a start."

"Cassidy was the first: my first sub and my first real girlfriend. I was barely seventeen and I met her through one of Irina's parties. She was twenty—an older woman." He grins. "I hadn't yet learned how to detach myself emotionally so we got in deep quickly.

"What happened?"

"We were too young for a serious relationship and I was emotionally stunted. She got too clingy and I started trying to push her away. The more I pushed, the more she held tight… I ended up cheating because she was suffocating me." He glances up at me guiltily. "It's not my usual modus operandi but I couldn't take much more."

"What is your usual MO?" My voice sounds rusty, as if I haven't spoken in a while but it's just emotion choking me up. I don't like that story.

"My usual MO is to have some fun and then say goodbye. I've never cheated since then—no reason to." He looks down at his shoes. "But it got the job done. It kind of broke her heart and she ran. Believe it or not, I never heard from her again. She quit Irina's and that was that."

"I believe it. Was that a good thing?"

His small smile was rueful. "Yes and no. I wanted air… but I didn't want to lose her entirely. I've always wondered how she fared, what she's up to…"

"Was she pretty?"

"Oh, yeah. Very much so."

"Just so you know, you could fib and say you can't remember or something like that."

He grins and he's just so adorable that I cradle his face in my hands and give him a long, loving kiss and just as I start to pull away, I go back in and do it again.

"So you still wonder how she fared, huh?"

"I didn't say that exactly."

"You did. You said, I always wondered how she fared."

"Yes, wondered, past tense. Last year I had my investigator look her up."

I gasp. "You did? And what did you learn?"

"Nothing good. She married and divorced, one child—a girl. She's not doing so well. I managed to help her a bit in a way that she didn't know it came from me. Though I'm glad I was able to help, I regret the knowing."

I nod in commiseration. "And the second serious one?"

"Hmmm. That was last year. I let my guard down for five minutes and she crawled in like a fast-moving insect." He laughs.

"Allow me to guess. Fiona?"

"Yes, Fiona. I suppose she's not much of a good sport."

"No," I agree. "What happened?"

"I knew Fiona as a kid—my sister was friends with her. They lost touch when they stopped attending the same school. At Irina's annual party last year, who showed up as a new escort but our Fifi. She'd run up a lot of debt and Daddy refused to foot the bills. She was willing to do anything, I soon learned. Talk about game. Anyway, it was a stupid move on my part to get involved with someone I knew through my family but I don't always display the best judgment when it comes to affairs of the heart or penis." He looks at me for a moment before his eyes close halfway and he leans closer to kiss me. Have I mentioned what sinfully luscious lips Mr. Grey has? It doesn't stop there. Once he's kissed me into submission, he wraps his fist in my hair and pulls my head back enough to look into my eyes.

"Can I take you to bed now?"

"I'm too sore," I whisper.

"Oh, baby, I can make you forget your soreness. I promise. Here," he says, reaching for my wine glass, "have a swallow or two. Between the wine and my expert attentions, you'll forget about anything but your orgasm." He winks at me. Of course I can't resist.

He's right, of course. I do forget about everything… except him, his exceptional body parts, and my exceptional orgasm.

…...

On Monday, Carson calls me. "Ana, I have news. Are you sitting down?"

"I am now. Tell me."

"Your husband—and I've already told you the marriage is still a legal fact—is very much alive and living down under. My paralegal was able to track him down through a financial trail to Melbourne, where he'd been living for the past three years.

"Not only that, but his mother and sister are with him, and all three would like very much to see you again. I've informed Mr. Rehnquist of the divorce filing and he has no problem with it except he added the one caveat: he wants to see you in person before he signs the paperwork. He can't come to you since he wouldn't be allowed in the U.S. with his legal issues, so you'd have to go to him. I told him I'd get back to him with your reply."

"I'd have to go to Australia?" I chortle. "That will go over big with Mr. Grey."

"Yes, I thought of that too. But we can always say no. Rehnquist's not in a real good position to dictate to us, but he can drag it out if he wants to be a dick, excuse my language."

"Let me talk to Christian and think about it before you get back to him. Is he still in Melbourne?"

"No. From what we can piece together, he seems to be currently residing in a place called Cairns. It's pretty far from any major cities but it's a nice climate—tropical but temperate. There are worse places to go, certainly."

"Hmmm. I'll get back to you soon, Carson… and thanks for all your effort."

"Don't worry, Ana, I'll make sure I send Christian a big, fat bill. I'll talk to you soon."

Once I disconnect I begin to think about that big, fat bill. I don't want to cost Christian a lot of money. I'm going to have to pay it myself.

Turns out I don't get to speak to Christian for the next few days. He has to go out of town on business and whenever I call him, I get his voice mail. I start to panic and work myself into a near full-fledged frenzy of despair before finally sending him a text. When he answers that almost immediately, I feel relief. Still, what's going on with him that he can't speak to me? Is he getting cold feet?

When he returns, he calls me. I'm not sure how to respond to him. Should I be angry? Relieved? Confused? I'm all of those things.

"Can I pick you up now?" he asks.

"Right now?"

"Yes. What are you doing?"

"Um, I'm in my pajamas and I didn't have plans to go out for the next few hours. The rain is relentless."

"Well, can I come over then?"

I hesitate, unsure of where we stand. "Okay, I guess. Are you coming right now?"

"As soon as I can get there."

"Okay, then I'm getting in the shower now. Give me at least a half hour."

I take a very quick shower. Being a person who frequently sleeps through my alarm clock's peal, I have honed a fast shower to an art form. Drench everything, soap everything, rinse and repeat. The only extra step is to condition my hair. Seven minutes later, I'm dressing, making the bed, drying my hair somewhat, and slapping on some makeup. By the time the doorbell rings, I've had time to make coffee.

"Hey," I say, opening the door. Then I gasp at his beauty. Every time I'm away from him for more than a few minutes, I forget just how good-looking a man he is. Until I see him again. He's wearing jeans that ride low on his hips, a white vee-neck t-shirt, black lace-up shoes—a cross between running and bowling shoes, and a black leather jacket. There's no businessman anywhere to be seen.

"Hey yourself. May I come in?"

I step away to allow him room. "How was your trip?"

"Eventful." He pulls me into his arms. "Miss me?"

"Very much so," I breathe. "Why didn't you return my calls?"

I see my answer in his eyes. There's guilt in them, clear as daylight. It wasn't an accident that he didn't call me or answer my calls. The intent is right there in his silvery blue eyes.

"Well?"

"I… uh… I needed time to think, Ana."

"Think? About what?"

"Us."

"I thought we were past that point. At least that's what you led me to believe in Milan."

"Yes, well… my feelings for you are growing, Ana. It scares me. I thought if I took a few steps back, I'd see things more clearly."

"How did that work out?"

His smile is rueful. "Not that great, actually. I just missed you all the more. I hope you missed me too."

"I did miss you… and I was hurt and confused, too. How would you like to be on the receiving end of that treatment?"

"I wouldn't like it, Ana. I'm sorry."

"Yeah, well, it's gonna cost you."

His smile broadens. "Oh? How much?"

"An hour of your history."

"My history?"

"You know what I'm talking about. I want to know about your mother."

He rolls his eyes and plops down in the nearest chair. "I suppose I deserve it. What do you want to know?"