A/N: Just a quick thank-you to those of you buying my books. I don't tend to sell a high number (to understate the situation, LOL) so every sale is appreciated and so is every glowing review. :D

Chapter 42

He leads me to the kitchen where he proceeds to pour us each a glass of wine. I perch gingerly on the edge of a bar stool and wait for his cue. My body is shaky from enduring his violent mood swings and I take deep breaths in an attempt to relax. I watch him as he takes two large gulps of his wine and then comes to sit next to me, placing his goblet on the smoked glass tier of the polished cement counter. When I look into his eyes, I'm reminded of a storm cloud right before it bursts into a big rain.

"Ana," he starts, his voice plaintive, "you have absolutely no idea of the things I've had to struggle with all my life… since I was a small child."

Looking at him, it's hard to believe that this beautiful man has ever had to do combat with demons. He looks so… so… I don't know, well-adjusted. But I realize it's a meticulously constructed façade for I've witnessed his anxiety and severe insecurities. "No, I don't, Christian. I don't know because you won't tell me. I've begged you to share those things with me but you've consistently refused. How could I know?"

"You've been a sheltered little thing." He runs one long finger over my right hand resting in my lap. "I don't want to taint your purity with my corrosion, don't you see?"

"Christian, why do you think so little of yourself? Can you truly not see how others perceive you?"

"It's just my money."

"It's much more than that and you know it."

"My looks perhaps… but that's only skin deep. Underneath is pure rot."

"That's also untrue. A terrific falsehood, in fact. Tell me, Christian, what is it that you feel is too ugly to share with me?"

He rears his head back, closing his eyes. "You know, I used to have nightmares. All my life, starting when I was about two years old."

"What were they about?"

"Dark, suffocating closets, being alone, forgotten. Alternately in some, people are crowding me, coming at me from every direction." He shrugs. "I'm always very young in the dreams, helpless, you know. I wake up screaming."

"They started when you were two? Didn't your parents do anything to help?"

The smile that comes to his lips is nectar sweet. "Grace would come rescue me, spirit me away to the safety of my parents' big king-sized bed. She'd sing to me."

"Lullabies?"

"Show tunes," he says with a small laugh. "There was one song she'd sing all the time. It was one of the first I taught myself to play on the piano. I didn't dare ask my piano teacher to show me how to play a Broadway song. She was stringent about playing only classical music. Plus, the song was private, between me and my mom," he admits shyly. Christian is making me love him today, more and more.

"What song was it?"

"Love is Here to Stay."

"Oh, that's a beautiful song; I love Gershwin. It's funny because my mom used to sing Blue Moon to get me to sleep. She started when I was an infant and I became so dependent on it she had to sing it every night—she says it worked like a sedative. I still get sleepy when I hear Ella sing it."

His face goes white.

"What's the matter?"

"My biological mother's name was Ella."

"I thought it was Catherine?"

"She was born Ella but changed it to Catherine around the time that she met my father. Later on she adopted the name Renee. I suppose she tried hard to reinvent herself but she couldn't escape her demons."

His voice is so soft and uncharacteristic of the Christian Grey I've come to know. My fingers worry the fringe on the silvery cashmere throw. "So… when did the bad dreams stop? I mean, we've slept together often and I've never heard you having one."

He looks at me sharply; if I had to guess I'd say he is hurt or disappointed. "What?" I ask plaintively, clueless as to what I said wrong.

"You made them stop, Ana," he murmurs in a soft voice. "You. When we sleep together you ward them off." Grasping my hand tightly, he brings it to his lips and kisses my fingers. "Don't you have any idea of the effect you've had on me… on my life?" He huffs a bitter little laugh. "Everything's different."

I don't want him to change the subject even though I'm floored by his admission. Me? I keep the nightmares at bay? I can't imagine how but that's a topic for another day—first things first. "Tell me about your biological mother, Christian. What did she do?"

Stricken is how I'd describe the look on his dear face and it gives me pause. Do I absolutely need to mine this trauma in order to seriously consider his marriage proposal? Reaching up to his face to caress it, I'm about to tell him to forget it but as my hand gets near to him, he jerks back as if I'm going to hurt him. It momentarily stuns me.

"Sorry, Ana," he says sheepishly. "Force of habit."

"Why?" It hurts me to see him so troubled but I'm uncertain about whether forcing him to discuss it is doing more to hurt him than help me. As I'm contemplating this question, I hear a throat being cleared and we both look up to see Taylor standing near the room's entrance.

Christian merely arches his brows in his man's direction and Taylor nods. "Yes, sir. I took care of it; however, there is a visitor in the lobby. The doorman just called."

"A visitor? Who?"

"Antonia Redgrave, sir."

"What the hell is she doing here?" He heaves a sigh, annoyed. "Have them tell her I'm not available, please."

I smile when I hear that. Antonia—Toni— is a total cur. Christian darts me a guilty look. "I'm sorry, Ana. I have no idea why she's here or even how she got my address. I guard my privacy aggressively, as you've no doubt realized by now."

"Yes. Speaking of which, how did you know I was interviewing men at Starbucks?"

Incredulity shines in his eyes. "Really, Ana? You can't figure that out?"

"You had me followed?"

"Not had but have. Always. Since we've begun to keep company you always have round the clock security."

My back goes rigid in shock. "What? How is it that I don't know about it? Aren't bodyguards supposed to stay close?"

"Not bodyguards but security personnel. There's always someone a discreet distance away who can come to your defense if needed. Ana, I'm a very wealthy man and it makes me, and anyone I'm close to, a target of all sorts of psychos and degenerates. I have a security staff to protect me and my family and now you, too."

A light rap at the door and Taylor is there again. I can see Christian is getting very annoyed with the interruptions. "Taylor?"

"Sir, excuse the interruption. Ms. Redgrave insists on waiting until you're available to speak with her. She says it's urgent."

Christian scowls. "What could possibly be urgent between us? She's a friend of my sister's, for God's sake. Fine! Send her in to the great room." He looks back at me and rolls his eyes. "Sorry, Ana. I'll get rid of her quickly." He extends his hand for me to take and we go into the big room to wait for her.

A minute later Antonia strolls in, beams upon seeing Christian, and then frowns when she notices me sitting on the sofa with my feet curled under me.

"Thank you for seeing me when you're so busy, Christian," she sneers.

He ignores her sarcasm. "What can I do for you, Toni?"

"It's about Mia."

"What about my sister?" he rushes to ask. "Is she all right?"

"Oh, she's fine. I want to give her a big surprise party for her 21st birthday. I thought you might help me plan it?"

Snorting, he slaps her down quickly. "You must be joking. I don't do party planning—I hire people to do it. If you need funds, I can help or I can supply staff to assist you but I don't have time or the inclination for that sort of stuff. Anything else?"

She looks miffed. "I just thought you might like to be part of your sister's birthday. It's a milestone one, after all."

Gail quietly breaks in to ask if we'd like any drinks. Antonia pipes up before either Christian or I could utter a syllable. "Yes, I'd love a white wine, please."

Gail smiles at her and turns to Christian and I. "Mr. Grey? Ms. Steele?"

Christian defers to me. "I'll have an iced tea or lemonade if you have any. Otherwise water will do, Gail. And thank you."

"And you, sir?"

"I'll have a Guinness. Thank you, Gail."

While we wait for our drinks, Antonia makes no attempt to hide her leering at Christian. He's wearing worn jeans, a khaki-green t-shirt that displays his assets ever so nicely, and his feet are bare. S-e-x-y. Can't blame the be-otch for looking. But he notices the way she's drooling over him like a piece of rare Kobe steak so he gets up. "I'll be right back, ladies. Just have to make a quick phone call."

In my head I say, 'Thanks a fucking lot, Christian… leaving me to this viper with no backup.' Outwardly, I smile at the woman, deciding to counter her animus with pleasantry.

I notice her toying with a bracelet on her wrist so I seize the opening to give her a compliment. "That's a very pretty bracelet you have. I love silver jewelry even more than gold. It looks so nice, especially with a suntan."

"Why, thank you. As a matter of fact, Christian gave it to me when we were in Cali together. He's so sweet and generous."

I'm stunned into silence for a moment, her poison dart hitting true. Why would Christian give this woman anything? I try to recover. "Well that accounts for it being so pretty. He has impeccable taste."

Her smile drips with venom when she says, "What has he given you, Anastasia?"

It's time to take her down—I've really just had enough of her. "Me? Oh, he's given me many things: his attention, companionship, time, affection… oh, and most importantly, his commitment." I'm so tempted to add marriage proposal to that list but I better not. Why should Antonia find out before even I do, since I haven't made any decision? I bat my eyelashes at the plastic blonde in front of me.

Jealousy blazes in her almond-shaped green eyes. "Well, good for you, dear, but I wouldn't get too cozy and count on that commitment you speak of. Christian is a free agent and will be to the grave. Enjoy him while you can."

"Oh, I will," I say, smiling brightly.

Christian returns at that moment and rescues me. "Ana, if we don't leave soon, we'll be late. Toni, please do let me know if there's any assistance I can lend with my sister's party. Taylor will show you out."

Like magic, Taylor materializes out of thin air. "This way," he says politely. She drains her glass, wipes lipstick from the corners of her mouth, and stalks after Taylor who has almost reached the doorway that eventually leads to the entry hall. As I watch her leave, her restrained fury obvious, I think it's possible we've seen the last of her. As unpleasant as it was, Antonia's visit should have cemented my position with Christian in her mind and she may just be smart enough to give up the game.

Fiona, however, is another story and I've yet to meet the beautiful Nastassja Gorky.

Once she's off the premises, Christian sits back and takes a long pull of his beer. I watch his throat moving up and down as he swallows and it's sexy. Everything about him is hot: watching him shower, drive his fast cars, talk on the phone while his eyes remain glued on me, walk across a room, dance, though he doesn't really enjoy it, play piano, his long, elegant fingers caressing the keys—he does everything with inordinate grace, everything except interpersonal skills. There he lacks sorely.

"I thought we were going somewhere, or was that just a ruse to get rid of her?"

He looks down his nose at me. "What do you think? The audacity of the woman to come here, intruding on my personal time…"

I sigh. Christian has no concept of social graces and that people you know may visit from time to time, sometimes even uninvited. Still, I rather they not be beautiful women who hanker after him.

Truly I wish I could have finished my meeting with Zachary and then Stefano. Cash was a preening idiot and I got less than nothing from him. I could tell just from meeting Zachary that he'd be more forthcoming and way friendlier. More's the pity.

The two conversations I want—no, need—Christian to have with me are about his biological mother and about Irina. He has never disclosed to me the true nature or maybe I should say the full extent of his relationship with Irina, other than that she was the conduit for his introduction to BDSM but that's really all he's shared. If that is all it was or is, I'm good but I have a niggling suspicion there's more, based on offhand remarks he's made. A lot more.

I take a moment to gauge his mood. Relieved, definitely, that Antonia is gone, he seems in a decent mood to talk about uncomfortable topics. I clear my throat. "So," I begin, "Antonia, Nastassja, and Fiona. Anyone else I should know about?"

His head swings around sharply and he gives me a dirty look. "Persistent little thing, aren't you?" He screws his lips to the side as if he's considering it and I get an urge to launch myself at him—he's so damn appealing—but that will sidetrack us and right at the moment I need information more than sex. Besides, he gets weird when I get unexpectedly close to him physically.

"Fiona was a sub only and for a very brief moment at that, only two or three times—and I told you already that it was a big error in judgment on my part. I may have to buy her off even more than I already have."

"You gave her money?"

"I gave all of my subs money, Ana. It was part of the deal—I took care of them, saw to all their needs. In return they surrendered their autonomy to me. Fiona wasn't really my sub but in return for her submission, I gave her some monetary gifts to help her out."

God, I hate the thought of him fucking her with my beautiful tool. "All right. What about the other two?"

"Nastassja is a long-time friend. I met her at Harvard and—"

I interrupt, "Was she also a student there?"

"Yes. Despite her many attempts at friendship, I avoided her in school. Years later we ran into one another. She was modeling—which is ridiculous really because she's hellishly intelligent and a shrewd operator. A shameful waste but she's trading on her good looks to ensure herself a comfortable life. I won't fault her for it."

"Mmm. I already know about Antonia pretty much. She's been pining over you since she was, like, twelve or thirteen? Right?"

He nods. "I should have set her straight from the get-go but Mia was just coming into her own, getting over her shyness, and I didn't want to scare off any of her friends. Then when Mia changed schools, Toni dropped off the radar so I thought that was that."

"Mia shy?" My turn to look incredulous.

"Yes, she used to hide behind my father's legs whenever my parents ever tried to introduce her to anyone, child or adult. She overcompensates now and appears very extroverted but it's still a struggle for her."

"Poor Mia. I had no idea…" I throw him a suspicious look. "So that's the three of them. Anyone else?"

He rolls his eyes. "Ana, I've known a lot of people as an adult and I've never lied to you about the fact that I've fucked a lot of women. What counts is now—you're the only one I want and that's never happened before. Ever."

"Hmm, but for how long?"

"Come here, baby. Let's count all the ways I love you." His hand reaches for me and he caresses my face, letting his hand drop to my shoulder and then to my breast. He's using his patented sexual technique to distract me… it's working.

"Fiona mentioned a senator's daughter?" I manage to say it but my voice is more breath than vocal cord.

"Emma Gerard," he answers, running his hands over my body. "Not even a friend. I took her to a charity function at the behest of her father. I need to curry favor with him because he's chairman of the House Energy and Commerce committee and as such can be a very useful ally or a formidable foe. I prefer to keep him in the plus column."

"Smart," I agree. "Is she pretty?"

As if in contemplation, he tips his head to the left and then to the right. "I wouldn't say pretty exactly… but she's attractive. I'm not her type though, if you catch my drift."

"How can you not be someone's type?" He arches his brows, waiting for me to comprehend. "Ohhhh."

Smiling, he nods. "I think the senator has to know, but he's in denial, I assume. He keeps pushing men on her. Emma is a nice woman: what she lacks in good looks, she makes up for in personal charm. I actually enjoy her company very much."

He reaches for me again, pulling me on top of him so that we're both stretched out on the sofa. "Have we talked enough of unpleasant things for today?" He mouths the words silently, "I want you."

"What specifically do you want?" I whisper hoarsely.

"Your snug, wet pussy… unless you're ready for something new?"

"New? As in… backdoor?"

His eyes gleam.

"Not ready yet, sorry."

His hand snakes between our bodies to cup me between my legs and squeeze. "It will be so hot, Ana. I promise to make it good for you."

"How can you, when it's so painful?"

"How do you know it's painful if you've never tried it? Baby," he strokes my face with one long finger, "we'll ease into it. I've used the plug on you. Next time we'll use a bigger plug and then graduate to just the tip of my cock. From there we'll go for the finish line. We'll put a lovely vibrator on your clit and I'll go slow, soft. You'll have a long, languorous orgasm."

While he's trying to convince me his hands keep busy and I'm dripping for him. "Can you make love to me the traditional way now? I'm feeling the need…"

"If I say yes, what will you give me in exchange, Ana? Will you promise me a date when I could tether your wrists with cool silk and take you from behind? Fuck your ass till you beg me not to stop? Will you, Ana, let me claim your virginity once again?"

I groan. I don't want anal but he does and I want to give him anything he desires. "You'll have to get me very drunk first."

His fingers find my nipples and he expertly manipulates them. "That can be arranged. I will make it perfect, baby." He leans closer and whispers, "Give me a date."

"A month from today," I say and he smiles and gently raises me off him. Getting up from the sofa he reaches out his hand and I place mine in it and follow him to the bedroom.

After playfully tossing me on the bed, he fiddles with his iPod for a while. When he's finished with his task, he pivots on one foot to face me. Mmm, delectable man.

He's built along classic lines of male musculature and anatomical proportion: broad shoulders tapering in a vee-shape to a narrow waist, slim hips, and all supported by long powerful legs. His arms are ripped, as is his chest and of course there's the six-pack on his abdomen. He has an elongated, elegant neck, graceful hands and feet, a mop of tousled hair, and eyes that are burning into me.

Ah. The song he's selected is And I Love Her by the Beatles. I remember my mother loved this song and used to hum it a lot while she baked in the kitchen. In fact, I have a whole repertoire of songs from the 60s, 70s, and 80s that were favorites of my mom's because I loved to bake with her. Thanks to her—and my love for pastries—my taste in music is eclectic and far ranging.

He comes to me then, removing his clothes as he walks. I watch with avid interest, never tiring of watching the man strip off his clothing. He walks with the easy yet dangerous grace of a panther and seeing him come toward me from the other end of the large room shoots my temperature up, heating my blood. Once he's nude, he crooks his finger at me and I crawl on the bed closer to him.

"Do you have any idea how sexy you look crawling, Ana? I want to see you naked and crawling to me, your gorgeous tits swaying as you move closer. Will you do that for me?"

In answer I stand up, tear off my clothes quickly and drop to my knees, waiting for him to move away, which he does in seconds. As I crawl to him, he backs up to prolong the moment. When he allows me to reach him, his hands go straight for my breasts, kneading them, tugging on the nipples until they're beaded and hard. Then he circles me, eyeing me from every angle. My face burning at the intense scrutiny, I have a desperate urge to cover myself but I fight it. He stops behind me and his hands begin to massage my backside.

"One month? I'm not sure I can wait that long. You have a sizzling hot ass, Ana. Every part of you is fine and it all works in perfect harmony. I'll never get enough of you," he whispers as he leans in and begins to kiss my body, starting with the globes of my ass and moving up my back, giving me chills that shiver up my spine. He gets on his hands and knees and crawls around to face me, cradling my face in his hands as he croons, "I give her all my love, that's all I do, and if you saw my love, you'd love her too. And I love her."

Unsurprisingly, he has a fine singing voice and the emotion I clearly see in his eyes swells my heart. Tears start sliding down my face before I even realize I'm crying. This is a man who denied his capacity for love for so long, believing his heart had been crushed long ago and sat petrifying in his chest ever since.

But I know better. He's been loving all along, probably even falling for a few of his subs and pushing them out as soon as he acknowledged to himself that he felt something, anything. He must have been so lonely despite the façade he presented to the world.

And I love him too.