Chapter 24

I wriggle in my seat, the seatbelt constricting me, pinning my shoulder to the upholstery as Christian brakes for a red light. Sitting in the low-slung sports car is weird enough. It's so damn low to the ground I feel as if I'm sitting on the road—upholstered asphalt. My Mini Cooper is close to the ground comparatively speaking but, sheesh, it feels like a truck when compared to this sleek machine. We're running late for the poolside drinks and subsequent dinner at Christian's parents' house and I'm sinking into a dour mood.

First of all, I'm freaking tired. I happen to be a person who, if someone tortured me with sleep deprivation, would give up any secrets, high treason or not. Last night I didn't clock too much sleep—not that I was complaining at the time… but I am now. Those multiple orgasms given to me by a smokin' hot man scorching up my bed seem like ancient history today—it's like having to pay a huge bill for a fabulous meal that you've long since eaten. I'm also a wee bit stressed over the whole going to Christian's parents' dinner thing. On top of that, Christian and I had our talk earlier and though it went okay but for one big pitfall, he never said the word I truly want to hear—you know, the L word.

I sneak a sidelong glance at the guy in the driver's seat. The fact that he looks sizzling hot irritates me at this particular moment. For God's sake, doesn't the SOB ever have an off day? After all, he should be running on fumes, too. This particular man is infuriating that way. He just rolls out of bed, ducks under a shower, throws on some jeans and… Voila! Positively demi-god-ish, his eyes sparkling, skin dewy and golden. I happen to know he didn't get much sleep last night either yet you'd never know it. While I, despite an hour of alternately primping and un-primping in the bathroom mirror, trying to get things reasonably right, look comparatively bedraggled—and I'm several years younger. According to conventional wisdom, I should handle lack of sleep better.

He's wearing a long-sleeved shirt, cuffs rolled halfway up his tanned forearms, over a sleeveless T-shirt—only because I ran out and bought him a package of them this morning. He's not the type to ever wear a muscle shirt—a wife-beater as they're so charmingly dubbed—but I couldn't risk him taking off his shirt and baring to the world (and specifically his parents) the marks of my passion. It had started me thinking about whether or not men sport scratch marks proudly, evidence of their expertise in the sack… or if they're embarrassed by the proof they'd been having sex. Probably the former. For women it would definitely be the latter. My mother once told me that some women don't like to be seen in public when they're pregnant for it's proof-positive that they had sex. Well, yeah, but that's taking modesty or chastity a bit far since everyone either has had children or been born. Duh.

Then it got me thinking about someday having children of my own—Christian's children—and I grew wistful for that life that's so vivid in my imagination but far removed from my present circumstances.

My mind travels back to our earlier conversation, the much-dreaded and finally held talk. When we woke early this morning he left to run his errands, promising to return in the afternoon. I had to decide exactly what it was I expected from Christian and then tell him. He had to also express clearly the reservations he harbors so we could address them. Despite so many ruts in the road, I desperately want this relationship to work because… well, I don't want to finish that thought even in my own brain.

Six hours later he knocked on the door. While he was gone, I'd cleaned the apartment then gone for a jog with Dante. When we staggered back to the apartment—well, I staggered and Dante bounced in happily—I took a shower. While I was meditating under the scalding spray, I realized that I needed to get to Macy's, like, immediately and get Christian an undershirt that would conceal my handiwork because if his family saw it, I'm pretty sure I'd die on the spot, mortification-petrification. When I got home, I sunk into the sofa and fell asleep but the knock and the ensuing doorbell tore me from my nap. I dragged myself to the door, drunk with sleep. "Who is it?"

"It's me, Ana. Let me in."

"Who's me?"

"You know who. Me is Christian."

I opened the door a few inches. "Your English is appalling, Mr. Grey. However did you get so far on such poor language skills, pray tell?"

He grins but the rest of his face projects nothing but fatigue.

"Come in, Christian," I say, stepping aside to allow him entry. "You look tired. Would you like to have a nap first?"

He snorts a chuckle. "Baby, if I close my eyes, I'll be down for the count, so, no. We need to talk, right?"

He follows me to the living room and I gesture for him to take a seat. He doesn't sit next to me on the sofa but across from it, on a rounded leather chair.

"Can I get you anything?" I ask as I take a moment to drink him in. He's wearing dark blue jeans, a white tee that stretches tautly across his amazingly delineated chest and over it, an open flannel shirt in a soft pastel plaid. No matter what this man wears, he looks as edible as chocolate, but in a T-shirt and well-fitting blue jeans, he's delectable.

"No, nothing, thanks. I had a big breakfast and we'll have dinner soon at my parents' house."

All right then," I said as he watched me with piercing eyes and no hesitation, "let's have this talk."

I sat back, pulling my legs up to cross them. I need to be brutally honest or it's a waste of his time and mine. "I know I told you I didn't want you to contact me again but it was because I was hurt and angry. Yet you were willing to just walk away. Or was there another reason? Why did you disappear for seven months? Really?"

"You asked me not to contact you again," he said softly.

I shook my head, unable to suppress a smirk. "I find it difficult to believe that you were planning to heed me?"

He shrugged, his face a mask of confusion. "Why wouldn't I? If you didn't want any further contact with me, calling you would be tantamount to harassment."

"If that's the case then why did you follow me to Milan?"

Eyes rolling, he sighed in frustration. "I've already explained myself there… but I didn't want to keep doing it. I'm not a stalker, Ana. No means no, as they say."

"Hmmm." I had no smart response to that comment.

Merely reviewing what we'd already touched on, I asked the next question. "And you say you never received my voice mail?"

"No," he said, shaking his head, "never, or I would have responded. I was sort of desperate for some—any—contact from you, Ana." His voice is soft. "What did you say? Why did you call me?"

Chewing my lip, I decided to just tell him the truth. What had I got to lose? "I called you, Christian, because I didn't like how we'd left it the last time we saw one another." I rubbed my temples, feeling a headache coming on and avoided his eyes. "I behaved badly because once again you hurt my feelings. I should just tell you now that I don't respond well to rejection… hence my pissy attitude when you said you needed to… what was it? Step back?"

He cleared his throat but I didn't give him time to utter a single syllable. I wasn't freaking done with him yet. "Shortly after our last conversation, I was riding in a taxi one evening and we drove past a restaurant. A couple got out of a taxi just as we were passing and I thought it was you, Christian. You, with your arm around a tall, pretty woman and the feelings that coursed through me prompted the phone call to you. That is why I called you, Christian." I managed to drag my eyes back to him and saw his lips curve up into a small smile.

Eyes brightened with amusement, he asks, "You called me because you were jealous?"

I nodded mutely because I had run out of things to say. "So jealous," I whispered.

"Hmmm."

"That's all you're going to say?" I choke out. "Hmmm?"

His eyes were closed but I watched the rest of his face warily for some clue to his reaction. When he lifted his lids, his eyes were shining brightly and he was smiling happily.

"What?" I asked, now annoyed with him.

"Nothing."

Did the fact that I was jealous make him happy? Food for thought. "Let's talk about your visit to Irina's… the first time since we broke up. Why… and were you with another woman or women?"

And just like that, the happiness vanished and alarm took its place. "Ana, let me just say that I haven't been with another woman pretty much since I met you… not in the physical sense."

"What does that mean, Christian? What other sense have you been?"

He cleared his throat—always a precursor to saying something difficult. "I went to Irina's…" He sighed loudly. "Twice a year, Irina hosts a party for couples. It's almost like couples' therapy. Most of them are monogamous and just want to take a walk on the wild side but they don't actually want to participate. So Irina hires people to put on a demo for these couples. Just like at the party you attended, everyone wears masks. The difference is that these disguises are taken more seriously—identities are well and truly concealed. The guests arrive in taxis, each one pulls up and deposits the passengers. They are brought to a dark room where they can watch the show and then there are bedrooms and party rooms for their private use. Irina very nearly begged me to do a few scenes at this party."

"So you did…" my voice emerges hoarse and barely there.

"I did a sensual flogging and a discipline spanking."

"You did what? And you mean to tell me there was no touching or… anything intimate?"

"Well, Ana, obviously I had to touch her somewhat but in the main, no. I used a paddle for the discipline. For the flogging, I touched her body a little to warm up her skin but that's it. I told Irina I wasn't comfortable doing anything more, hell, even doing what I did, because of you."

I was stunned into silence. He was touching another woman while I was pining away for him—with ice cream and Dante my only solace. Well, Kent, too, but he's been so busy. Even though Christian said it was minimal, I knew it was intimate and that was choking me. "Was she naked?"

"Do you really want to know all the details?"

"It's not that I want to know but that I have to know. Big difference."

"All right then." He leaned his elbows on his knees. "Let's be clear on one point: I was under the impression that you were done with me, Ana. I felt that I was no longer under any obligation to be faithful to you." He held up his hand to ward off my interruption when he saw it coming. "Let me finish. Even still, even knowing we'd broken up and believing I had no chance at getting you back, I did not want to do it. Irina had initially suckered Paolo into it but he bagged out on her at the last minute. She pretty much begged me to fill in."

"So, yes, she was naked? Was it one girl for both demos?"

He frowned and nodded. "Yes… to both questions." Talk about sotto voce—I was straining to hear him and I still could barely manage it.

Ugh! I'm really not sure I can get past this. Was he free and clear of obligation to me without us explicitly agreeing we were broken up? "So," I phrased carefully, "if I slept with another man during the same period of time, it would be fine by you then?"

His eyes darted over to me, heated by anger. The look on his face could only be described as furious.

"Christian?"

"No, it would not be fine and you fucking well know it. Did you, Ana?"

"But if you had your hands all over a naked woman, what's the difference? I see a double standard at work here."

His teeth were clenched so fiercely that a muscle tic was jumping in his jaw. I watched it pulsing, fascinated—also I didn't want to look into his eyes. "First off," he said, ticking the reasons off on his fingers, "I didn't have sex with her. Second, it was a demonstration—it wasn't real. And third, I didn't touch her intimately, not really. I might have touched her ass but that's it. I was careful in that regard."

"Why couldn't you just say no to Irina? Especially considering it sounds like you were highly uncomfortable doing it? And despite what you claim, some part of you must have known we were still beholden to one another on some level. Right?"

He sighed. "Irina and I go way back—I've told you that—and she needed me to do her a favor. She doesn't ask very often. Besides, Ana, I thought you and I were through. I would never have done it, not in a million years, if I thought there was still a chance with you."

I rolled my eyes. Such bullshit. I know I don't have a lot of experience with men. For all intents and purposes, Christian is only my second boyfriend. But despite my limited experience, I do have a handle on how full of shit men are and are able to justify just about anything in their wee little minds. All the blood rushes to their smaller head, creating a lack of oxygen in their brains—if they have any. Simple science.

"I don't understand: what do you get out of it? I mean, Irina gets her show, the audience gets their jollies, the girl—whoever it was—gets her cheap thrills. What's your score?"

Suddenly finding his lap interesting, he refused to look up at me, instead muttering a reply. "I like it."

"You like it?"

Now he lifted his face, his tone challenging. "You knew that about me, about my sexuality. I told you from the first."

"Right. You did. You find it exciting to do those things to women… yet you don't want to do them to me." It wasn't a question; I stated it emphatically for it was something of a sore point with me. It's not that I had a burning desire to participate in kink—it's just that if he was going to do anything with anyone, I wanted it to be with me. I was fairly sure I could handle it—I'm made of tough stuff.

The sullen pout was quickly replaced by an anguished expression. "Ana, I just can't corrupt you like that. You're an innocent—it would be wrong… just… so wrong."

"We really haven't made any progress at all since we first met, have we, Christian? We're having the same discussion with the same outcome."

He nodded miserably.

"Look," I said, reaching closer to him to grasp his hand. "If you can forego the whole BDSM thing happily in order to participate in a traditional relationship with me, that's really great. But if it's something you need to do to feel satisfied, then I want to be the one you do it with. Can we at least agree on that?"

He scratched his eyebrow with his thumb, deep in thought. I waited patiently for him to respond and honestly wondered how he would. Eventually he seemed to come to some decision for he focused his eyes directly at me, smiled, and nodded. "Okay, I'll agree to that, Ana," he chimed in, checked his watch and said, "Are we done with our talk?"

"No. I want to hear all about your reservations. The table is yours."

He squeezed his eyes shut and gave a whimper-ish chuckle. "Ah, you're making this painful. Ana, I've told you: my mother hated my guts and it's made me sort of commitment-shy. I can't really explain it better than that. Perhaps you should come ask my therapist-he could explain it better than I."

"Perhaps I should."

"Just to ease my mind... you didn't, right? Sleep with another man?"

I smiled and shook my head very slowly.

"So, are we done? With our talk?"

He asked the question so hopefully that I had to suppress a laugh. I nodded.

"If we take a twenty-minute power nap, then leave right away, we'll get to my parents' house in plenty of time to have a swim before dinner. How does that sound?"

"Twenty minutes? Is that even worth it?"

He got up, grabbed my hand, and led me into my bedroom. Apparently he felt any nap was worth the effort.

...

The car neatly hugs the curves when we reach a very exclusive gated community on the Puget coast. Huge, regal mansions sit far back from their imposing entrances of stone walls and wrought iron gates, some even with gate houses. When the car turns into one of those snooty winding driveways, I'm not at all surprised that this is the neighborhood that Christian hails from. The last time I was here, it was just past dusk and I didn't get a good look around.

The house is a very large center-hall Colonial, white with dark green shutters. It is situated well back from the road, behind a screen of carefully placed trees and shrubbery. The long driveway winds around the trees before straightening until it curves into a circular drive. To the left of the manor is a thick copse of woods. A huge expanse of velvety lawn sweeps across the front and other side of the house. I can just make out the beginnings of a flower garden in the rear part of the side yard and I'm anxious to see the rest of the property.

Christian pulls the car into a small parking lot cleverly concealed behind a retaining wall that intersects with what looks like an ancient stonewall. There are a number of cars already parked there under a huge white canopy. It looks like an advertisement for expensive autos: almost every luxury car manufacturer is represented. He gets out of the car and comes around to open my door, holding out his hand and eyeing me warily. I don't want to touch him right now. I've spent the last two hours since our discussion doing a slow burn over his admission earlier. He touched another woman—a naked woman—while I was agonizing over losing him and our relationship. Am I being unreasonable? I don't think so.

But I finally place my hand in his since he's been standing there waiting. "Don't forget: you can't take off your T-shirt," I remind him.

"Yes, ma'am," he barks and throws me a salute.

I throw him a frown in return. "I know you think it's highly amusing but I would never be able to face your family again if they saw the marks on your back."

He chuckles, a dimple emerging on the right side of his face. "I'm sure they would just have a laugh over it, Ana." At the stern look in my eyes, he held up his hands, still holding mine. "I'll keep the shirt on. Promise," he says, offering me a beautiful Colgate smile.

When we reach the back of the house I halt. Now my jaw really hangs: a velvet-green lawn sweeps down about the length of half a football field then drops from a low cliff to a white-sand beach. Perched above the beach on the edge of the low precipice is a small cabana-style structure with a raised deck. The infinity pool is right off the deck and from the edge allows the illusion of it dripping right into the blue waters of the sound. When I'm with Christian I can't help feeling like Cinderella. Maybe I should ask him to buy me new shoes?

"Looks like everyone beat us here. Come on, we'll go right to the pool."

Now I'm terrifically glad I splurged on my new swimsuit: the deep cobalt-blue tankini is sexy yet still somewhat modest and the high cut of the bottom piece makes my legs look really long. I'm blessed with some color in my skin naturally so I don't have to ever worry about being dead-fish-pale, but I'd like to have just a bit more color. I'm horribly nervous, nonetheless, and I concentrate on the bitable hot ass in front of me as I follow behind Christian still linked to his hand. He's wearing his jeans but has his swim trunks tucked under his arm. I'm going to have to watch him like a hawk to ensure he doesn't forget and pull off his T-shirt.

There are people all around the pool and everyone is talking at once creating a din in the quiet afternoon. My eyes nervously bounce around, trying to see who's here. I spot Elliot and Kate, thank God, and they wave and smile but they're in a conversation with another young guy—maybe a friend of Elliot's. I wave back. There's Carrick sitting next to Zander and another boy who looks about his age and a similar-age blond girl. I spot Mia holding a huge drink and standing by the cabana door. She's talking to two women: a blond woman with a killer bod in a teeny bikini whose face I can't see and another woman, also blond but with dark skunk-streaks in her shoulder-length hair. She looks like a television news anchor I've seen and, knowing this family, she probably is one and the same. Another striking older couple, about Carrick and Grace's age, is sitting in a small clutch with Grace who jumps up to come over to greet us.

"Hello, you two! I'm glad you could make it early. Come have a drink and a swim." She leans in to give me a peck on the cheek and throw her arms around her son who smiles and hugs her back. It's very sweet to see a mother who loves her son so much and one who seems to return it back just as strongly—another plus in Christian's asset column.

Christian takes my hand, braiding his fingers with mine as he leads me over to Elliot and Kate. I'm relieved that I don't have to meet everyone at once.

"About fucking time," Elliot tosses at us as we approach. "What have you two been up to that's so fascinating that it's better than visiting the parents?"

Grinning, Christian retorts, "Probably the same thing you two have been up to. Justin, how goes it?" He leans over to shake hands with the guy they were talking to.

"Christian, good to see you, bro. And who might this lovely young lady be?"

Christian looks down at me. "This lady is Ana Steele. Ana, this is Justin Case—and yes, that is his real name. His parents have a good sense of humor."

"Hi," I say, giggling, "nice to meet you, Justin."

"It's even nicer to meet you, Ana. What are you doing with a loser like him," he gestures with his chin at Christian.

"Hey, hands off, buddy. She's taken. Don't make me hurt you."

"As if you could," says Justin, grinning. "I can make you eat dirt anytime I want."

Nodding, Christian grins and looks at me. "Beating up Justin used to be a hobby of mine. He and Elliot just presented too enticing a temptation for me to practice my kickboxing. He still holds a grudge."

"Damn straight, I do. I have scars to hold the grudge forever."

While they're joking around I check out Justin. He's attractive but not in Christian's league—just an all-American type, looks like a baseball player or something. He has a stocky build, sandy-colored hair, and bright blue eyes that are always smiling. He also has dimples that add to his overall charm. Justin seems like a nice guy.

Kate starts yakking to me about something and I halfheartedly respond as my eyes track around the pool. Just as my gaze shifts Mia's way, her blond friend swivels her head to glance in our direction.

My mouth drops open in shock: it's the gorgeous woman I've seen photographed with Christian and she is now staring at us. When she notices Christian's arm is wrapped around my shoulders, she visibly flushes and whips her head back around to Mia and the other girl. I almost feel sorry for her—emphasis on the almost— as I instantly get a handle on the situation. I'm guessing that Christian has never seen her as anything but a friend but I'll bet she hopes for considerably more. So when she sees me, with obvious evidence of the tenor of our relationship, it must sting something awful.

That's the magnanimous part of me; the other part detests her on sight. Warning bells sound in my psyche, saying danger, danger, predator alert. I was avoiding touching Christian after his revelations earlier about the naked woman at Irina's but now I snake my arm around his trim waist, ensuring that it is damn clear that he's mine, mine, mine.

"You guys want to take a swim?" I hear Elliot ask.

Christian glances at me in question. "Feel like it, baby?"

"If everyone else is going in, I will, too," I say. "It is hot."

Elliot whoops and, tearing off his T-shirt, makes a running jump into the deep end of the pool. His head surfaces and shaking the water from his hair, he yells, "Come on in, slow pokes."

Kate gets up and goes barreling in after him, making a huge, unladylike splash. I laugh as she shrieks when she hits the cold water. Christian grins too and then says, "I'll be right back, Ana. I'm just going to change into my board shorts."

Too late I see he has to go past the three women—his sister and her homeys. I know, I know the pretty one is going to detain him and my eyes follow his every move. Sure enough, before he gets through the door, he gets waylaid. I see him laugh and kiss both women on the cheek. He says something and then glances at me, gesturing with his hand in my direction. I wonder exactly what he is saying. Then he laughs again, says something else, and starts opening the cabana door. He doesn't get far, though, because blondie grasps his arm, causing him to turn back around and she whispers something in his ear while her hand rubs his biceps up and down.

I can feel my blood pressure rocket to the blue sky overhead. I feel my blood thundering in my veins and pound past my ears. I am pissed off.

Massively.