Oh, please, let him be okay. He cannot be gone. He is
　　the center of my universe.
　　An involuntary sob escapes my throat, and I clutch my
　　hand to my mouth. No. I must be strong.
　　José is suddenly at my side, or has he been there a
　　while? I have no idea.
　　“Do you want to call your mom or dad?” he asks
　　gently.
　　No! I shake my head and clutch José’s hand. I cannot
　　speak, I know I will dissolve if I do, but the warmth and
　　gentle squeeze of his hand offers me no solace.
　　Oh, Mom. My lip trembles at the thought of my
　　mother. Should I call her? No. I couldn’t deal with her
　　reaction. Maybe Ray, he wouldn’t get emotional—he
　　never gets emotional, not even when the Mariners lose.
　　Grace rises to join the boys, distracting me. That must
　　be the longest she’s sat still. Mia comes to sit beside me
　　too and grabs my other hand.
　　“He will come back,” she says, her voice initially
　　determined but cracking on the last word. Her eyes are
　　wide and red-rimmed, her face pale and pinched from lack
　　of sleep.
　　I gaze up at Ethan, who is watching Mia and Elliot,
　　who has his arms around Grace. I glance at the clock. It’s
　　after eleven, heading toward midnight. Damn time! With
　　after eleven, heading toward midnight. Damn time! With
　　each passing hour, the clawing emptiness expands,
　　consuming me, choking me. I know deep down inside I
　　am preparing myself, preparing myself for the worst. I
　　close my eyes and offer up another silent prayer, clasping
　　both Mia and José’s hands.
　　Opening them again, I stare into the flames once more.
　　I can see his shy smile—my favorite of all his expressions,
　　a glimpse of the real Christian, my real Christian. He is so
　　many people: control freak, CEO, stalker, sex god, Dom
　　—and at the same time—such a boy with his toys. I smile.
　　His car, his boat, his plane . . . Charlie Tango . . . no . . .
　　no . . . my lost boy, truly lost right now. My smile fades
　　and pain lances through me. I remember him in the
　　shower, wiping away the lipstick marks.
　　“I’m nothing, Anastasia. I’m a husk of a man. I
　　don’t have a heart.”
　　The lump in my throat expands. Oh, Christian, you do,
　　you do have a heart, and it’s mine. I want to cherish it
　　forever. Even though he’s so complex and difficult, I love
　　forever. Even though he’s so complex and difficult, I love
　　him. I will always love him. There will never be anyone
　　else. Ever.
　　I remember sitting in Starbucks weighing up my
　　Christian pros and cons. All those cons, even those
　　photographs I found this morning, melt into insignificance
　　now. There’s just him and whether he’ll come back. Oh
　　please, Lord, bring him back, please let him be okay.
　　I’ll go to church . . . I’ll do anything. Oh, if I get him
　　back, I shall seize the day. His voice echoes around my
　　head once more: “Carpe diem, Ana.”
　　I gaze deeper into the fire, the flames still licking and
　　curling around each other, blazing brightly. Then Grace
　　shrieks, and everything goes into slow motion.
　　“Christian!”
　　I turn my head in time to see Grace barreling across
　　the great room from where she had been pacing
　　somewhere behind me, and there in the entrance stands a
　　dismayed Christian. He’s dressed in just his shirtsleeves
　　and suit pants, and he’s holding his navy jacket, shoes, and
　　socks. He looks tired, dirty, and utterly beautiful.
　　Holy fuck . . . Christian. He’s alive. I gaze numbly at
　　him, trying to work out if I’m hallucinating or if he’s really
　　here.
　　His expression is one of utter bewilderment. He
　　deposits his jacket and shoes on the floor in time to catch
　　Grace, who throws her arms around his neck and kisses
　　him hard on the cheek.
　　“Mom?”
　　Christian gazes down at her, completely at a loss.
　　“I thought I’d never see you again,” Grace whispers,
　　voicing our collective fear.
　　“Mom, I’m here.” I hear the consternation in his voice.
　　“I died a thousand deaths today,” she whispers, her
　　voice barely audible, echoing my thoughts. She gasps and
　　sobs, no longer able to hold back her tears. Christian
　　frowns, horrified or mortified—I don’t know which—then
　　after a beat, envelops her in a huge hug, holding her close.
　　“Oh, Christian,” she chokes, wrapping her arms
　　around him, weeping into his neck—all self-restraint
　　around him, weeping into his neck—all self-restraint
　　forgotten—and Christian doesn’t balk. He just holds her,
　　rocking to and fro, comforting her. Scalding tears pool in
　　my eyes. Carrick hollers from the hallway.
　　“He’s alive! Shit—you’re here!” He appears from
　　Taylor’s office, clutching his cell phone, and embraces
　　both of them, his eyes closed in sweet relief.
　　“Dad?”
　　Mia squeals something unintelligible from beside me,
　　then she’s up, running, joining her parents, hugging all of
　　them, too.
　　Finally the tears start to cascade down my cheeks.
　　He’s here, he’s fine. But I cannot move.
　　Carrick is the first to pull away, wiping his eyes and
　　clapping Christian on the shoulder. Mia releases them and
　　Grace steps back.
　　“Sorry,” she mumbles.
　　“Hey, Mom—it’s okay,” Christian says, consternation
　　still evident on his face.
　　“Where were you? What happened?” Grace cries and
　　“Where were you? What happened?” Grace cries and
　　puts her head in her hands.
　　“Mom,” Christian mutters. He draws her into his arms
　　again and kisses the top of her head. “I’m here. I’m good.
　　It’s just taken me a hell of a long time to get back from
　　Portland. What’s with the welcoming committee?” He
　　looks up and scans the room until his eyes lock with mine.
　　He blinks and glances briefly at José, who lets go of
　　my hand. Christian’s mouth tightens. I drink in the sight of
　　him and relief courses through me, leaving me spent,
　　exhausted, and completely elated. Yet my tears don’t
　　stop. Christian turns his attention back to his mother.
　　“Mom, I’m good. What’s wrong?” Christian says
　　reassuringly. She places her hands on either side of his
　　face.
　　“Christian, you’ve been missing. Your flight plan—you
　　never made it to Seattle. Why didn’t you contact us?”
　　Christian’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “I didn’t
　　think it would take this long.”
　　“Why didn’t you call?”
　　“No power in my cell.”
　　“You didn’t stop . . . call collect?”
　　“Mom—it’s a long story.”
　　“Oh, Christian! Don’t you ever do that to me again!
　　Do you understand?” she half shouts at him.
　　“Yes, Mom.” He wipes her tears away with his thumb
　　and hugs her once more. When she composes herself, he
　　releases her to hug Mia, who slaps him hard on the chest.
　　“You had us so worried!” she blurts out, and she, too,
　　is in tears.
　　“I’m here now, for heaven’s sake,” Christian mutters.
　　As Elliot comes forward, Christian relinquishes Mia to
　　Carrick, who already has one arm around his wife. He
　　curls the other around his daughter. Elliot hugs Christian
　　briefly, much to Christian’s surprise, and slaps him hard on
　　the back.
　　“Great to see you.” Elliot says loudly, if a little gruffly,
　　trying to hide his emotion.
　　As the tears stream down my face, I can see it all. The
　　great room is bathed in it—unconditional love. He has it in
　　great room is bathed in it—unconditional love. He has it in
　　spades; he’s just never accepted it before, and even now
　　he’s at a total loss.
　　Look, Christian, all these people love you! Perhaps
　　now you’ll start believing it.
　　Kate is standing behind me—she must have left the TV
　　room—and she gently strokes my hair.
　　“He’s really here, Ana,” she murmurs comfortingly.
　　“I’m going to say hi to my girl now,” Christian tells his
　　parents. Both nod, smile, and step aside.
　　He moves toward me, gray eyes bright though weary
　　and still bemused. From somewhere deep inside, I find the
　　strength to stagger to my feet and bolt into his open arms.
　　“Christian!” I sob.
　　“Hush,” he says and holds me, burying his face in my
　　hair and inhaling deeply. I raise my tear-stained face to his,
　　and he kisses me far too briefly.
　　“Hi,” he murmurs.
　　“Hi,” I whisper back, the lump in the back of my throat
　　burning.
　　burning.
　　“Miss me?”
　　“A bit.”
　　He grins. “I can tell.” And with a gentle touch of his
　　hand, he wipes away the tears that refuse to stop running
　　down my cheeks.
　　“I thought . . . I thought—” I choke.
　　“I can see. Hush . . . I’m here. I’m sorry. Later,” he
　　murmurs and kisses me chastely again.
　　“Are you okay?” I ask, releasing him and touching his
　　chest, his arms, his waist—oh, the feel of this warm, vital,
　　sensual man beneath my fingers—reassures me that he’s
　　here, standing in front of me. He’s back. He doesn’t so
　　much as flinch. He just regards me intently.
　　“I’m okay. I’m not going anywhere.”
　　“Oh, thank God,” I clasp him round his waist again,
　　and he hugs me once more. “Are you hungry? Do you
　　need something to drink?”
　　“Yes.”
　　I step back to fetch him something, but he doesn’t let
　　me go. He tucks me under his arm and extends a hand to
　　José.
　　“Mr. Grey,” says José evenly.
　　Christian snorts. “Christian, please,” he says.
　　“Christian, welcome back. Glad you’re okay . . . and
　　um—thanks for letting me stay.”
　　“No problem.” Christian narrows his eyes, but he’s
　　distracted by Mrs. Jones, who is suddenly at his side. It
　　only occurs to me now that she’s not her usual smart self. I
　　hadn’t noticed it before. Her hair is loose, and she’s in soft
　　gray leggings and a large gray sweatshirt that dwarfs
　　her with WSU Cougars emblazoned on the front. She
　　looks years younger.
　　“Can I get you something, Mr. Grey?” She wipes her
　　eyes with a tissue.
　　Christian smiles fondly at her. “A beer, please, Gail—
　　Budvar—and a bite to eat.”
　　“I’ll fetch it,” I murmur, wanting to do something for
　　my man.
　　“No. Don’t go,” he says softly, tightening his arm
　　“No. Don’t go,” he says softly, tightening his arm
　　around me.
　　The rest of his family close in, and Ethan and Kate join
　　us. He shakes Ethan’s hand and gives Kate a quick peck
　　on the cheek. Mrs. Jones returns with a bottle of beer and
　　a glass. He takes the bottle but shakes his head at the
　　glass. She smiles and returns to the kitchen.
　　“Surprised you don’t want something stronger,”
　　mutters Elliot. “So what the fuck happened to you? First I
　　knew was when Dad called me to say the chopper was
　　missing.”
　　“Elliot!” Grace scolds.
　　“Helicopter,” Christian growls, correcting Elliot, who
　　grins, and I suspect this is a family joke.
　　“Let’s sit and I’ll tell you.” Christian pulls me over to
　　the couch, and everyone sits down, all eyes on Christian.
　　He takes a long draft of his beer. He spies Taylor hovering
　　at the entrance and nods. Taylor nods back.
　　“Your daughter?”
　　“She’s fine now. False alarm, sir.”
　　“She’s fine now. False alarm, sir.”
　　“Good.” Christian smiles.
　　Daughter? What happened to Taylor’s daughter?
　　“Glad you’re back, sir. Will that be all?”
　　“We have a helicopter to collect.”
　　Taylor nods. “Now? Or will the morning do?”
　　“Morning, I think, Taylor.”
　　“Very good, Mr. Grey. Anything else, sir?”
　　Christian shakes his head and raises his bottle to him.
　　Taylor gives him a rare smile—rarer than Christian’s, I
　　think—and heads out presumably to his office or up to his
　　room.
　　“Christian, what happened?” Carrick demands.
　　Christian launches into his story. He was flying with
　　Ros, his number two in Charlie Tango to deal with a
　　funding issue at WSU in Vancouver. I can barely keep up
　　I’m so dazed. I just hold Christian’s hand and stare at his
　　manicured fingernails, his long fingers, the creases on his
　　knuckles, his wristwatch—an Omega with three small

　　dials. I gaze up at his beautiful profile as he continues his
　　tale.
　　“Ros had never seen Mount St. Helens, so on the way
　　back as a celebration, we took a quick detour. I heard the
　　TFR was lifted a while back and I wanted to take a look.
　　Well, it’s fortunate that we did. We were flying low, about
　　two hundred feet AGL, when the instrument panel lit up.
　　We had a fire in the tail—I had no choice but to cut all the
　　electronics and land.” He shakes his head. “I set her down
　　by Silver Lake, got Ros out, and managed to put the fire
　　out.”
　　“A fire? Both engines?” Carrick is horrified.
　　“Yep.”
　　“Shit! But I thought.”
　　“I know,” Christian interrupts him. “It was sheer luck I
　　was flying so low,” he murmurs. I shudder. He releases my
　　hand and puts his arm around me.
　　“Cold?” he asks me. I shake my head.
　　“How did you put out the fire?” asks Kate, her Carla
　　Bernstein instincts kicking in. Jeez, she sounds terse
　　sometimes.
　　sometimes.
　　“Extinguisher. We have to carry them—by law.”
　　Christian answers levelly.
　　His words from long ago circle my mind. “I thank
　　divine providence every day that it was you that came
　　to interview me and not Katherine Kavanagh.”
　　“Why didn’t you call or use the radio?” Grace asks.
　　Christian shakes his head. “With the electronics out,
　　we had no radio. And I wasn’t going to risk turning them
　　on because of the fire. GPS was still working on the
　　Blackberry, so I was able to navigate to the nearest road.
　　Took us four hours to walk there. Ros was in heels.”
　　Christian’s mouth presses into a disapproving flat line.
　　“We had no cell reception. There’s no coverage at
　　Gifford. Ros’s battery died first. Mine dried up on the
　　way.”
　　Holy hell. I tense and Christian pulls me into his lap.
　　“So how did you get back to Seattle?” Grace asks,
　　blinking slightly at the sight of the two of us, no doubt. I
　　flush.
　　flush.
　　“We hitched and pooled our resources. Between us,
　　Ros and I had six hundred dollars, and we thought we’d
　　have to bribe someone to drive us back, but a truck driver
　　stopped and agreed to bring us home. He refused the
　　money and shared his lunch with us.” Christian shakes his
　　head in dismay at the memory. “Took forever. He didn’t
　　have a cell—weird, but true. I didn’t realize.” He stops,
　　gazing at his family.
　　“That we’d worry?” Grace scoffs. “Oh, Christian!” she
　　scolds him. “We’ve been going out of our minds!”
　　“You’ve made the news, bro.”
　　Christian rolls his eyes. “Yeah. I figured that much
　　when I arrived to this reception and the handful of
　　photographers outside. I’m sorry, Mom—I should have
　　asked the driver to stop so I could phone. But I was
　　anxious to be back.” He glances at José.
　　Oh, that’s why, because José is staying here. I
　　frown at the thought. Jeez—all that worry.
　　Grace shakes her head. “I’m just glad you’re back in
　　one piece, darling.”
　　I start to relax, resting my head against his chest. He
　　smells outdoorsy, slightly sweaty, of body wash, and
　　Christian, the most welcome scent in the world. Tears start
　　to trickle down my face again, tears of gratitude.
　　“Both engines?” Carrick says again, frowning in
　　disbelief.
　　“Go figure.” Christian shrugs and runs his hand down
　　my back.
　　“Hey,” he whispers. He puts his fingers under my chin
　　and tilts my head back. “Stop with the crying.”
　　I wipe my nose with the back of my hand in a most
　　unladylike way. “Stop with the disappearing.” I sniff and
　　his lips quirk up.
　　“Electrical failure . . . that’s odd, surely?” Carrick says
　　again.
　　“Yes, crossed my mind, too, Dad. But right now, I’d
　　just like to go to bed and think about all that shit
　　tomorrow.”
　　“So the media know that the Christian Grey has been
　　“So the media know that the Christian Grey has been
　　found safe and well?” Kate says.
　　“Yes. Andrea and my PR people will deal with the
　　media. Ros called her after we dropped her home.”
　　“Yes, Andrea called me to let me know you were still
　　alive.” Carrick grins.
　　“I must give that woman a raise. Sure is late,” says
　　Christian.
　　“I think that’s a hint, ladies and gentlemen, that my
　　dear bro needs his beauty sleep,” Elliot scoffs suggestively.
　　Christian grimaces at him.
　　“Cary, my son is safe. You can take me home now.”
　　Cary? Grace looks adoringly at her husband.
　　“Yes. I think we could use the sleep,” Carrick replies
　　smiling down at her.
　　“Stay,” Christian offers.
　　“No, sweetheart, I want to get home. Now that I
　　know you’re safe.”
　　Christian reluctantly eases me onto the couch and
　　stands. Grace hugs him once more, presses her head
　　stands. Grace hugs him once more, presses her head
　　against his chest and closes her eyes, content. He wraps
　　his arms around her.
　　“I was so worried, darling,” she whispers.
　　“I’m okay, Mom.”
　　She leans back and studies him intently while he holds
　　her. “Yes. I think you are,” she says slowly, glances at me,
　　and smiles. I flush.
　　We follow Carrick and Grace as they make their way
　　to the foyer. Behind me, I’m aware that Mia and Ethan are
　　having a heated whispered conversation, but I can’t hear
　　it.
　　Mia is smiling shyly at Ethan, and he’s gaping at her
　　and shaking his head. Suddenly, she folds her arms and
　　turns on her heel. He rubs his forehead with one hand,
　　obviously frustrated.
　　“Mom, Dad—wait for me,” Mia calls sullenly. Perhaps
　　she’s as mercurial as her brother.
　　Kate hugs me hard. “I can tell some serious shit’s been
　　going down while I’ve been blissfully ignorant in Barbados.
　　It’s kind of obvious you two are nuts about each other.
　　I’m glad he’s safe. Not just for him, Ana—for you, too.”
　　“Thank you, Kate,” I whisper.
　　“Yeah. Who knew we’d find love at the same time?”
　　She grins. Wow. She’s admitted it.
　　“With brothers!” I giggle.
　　“We could end up sisters-in-law,” she quips.
　　I tense, then mentally kick myself as Kate stands back
　　to gaze at me with her what-aren’t-you-telling-me-Steele
　　look. I flush. Damn, should I tell her he’s asked me?
　　“Come on, baby,” Elliot summons her from the
　　elevator.
　　“Let’s talk tomorrow, Ana. You must be exhausted.”
　　I am reprieved. “Sure. You, too, Kate—you’ve
　　traveled long distance today.”
　　We hug once more, then she and Elliot follow the
　　Greys into the elevator. Ethan shakes Christian’s hand and
　　gives me a quick hug. He looks distracted, but he follows
　　them into the elevator and the doors close.
　　José is hovering in the hallway as we come out of the
　　José is hovering in the hallway as we come out of the
　　foyer.
　　“Look. I’ll turn in . . . leave you guys,” he says.
　　I blush. Jeez, why is this awkward?
　　“Do you know where to go?” Christian asks.
　　José nods.
　　“Yeah, the housekeeper—”
　　“Mrs. Jones,” I prompt.
　　“Yeah, Mrs. Jones, she showed me earlier. Quite a
　　place you have here, Christian.”
　　“Thank you,” Christian says politely as he comes to
　　stand beside me, placing his arm around my shoulders.
　　Leaning over, he kisses my hair.
　　“I’m going to eat whatever Mrs. Jones has put out for
　　me. Goodnight, José.” Christian wanders back into the
　　great room, leaving José and me at the entrance.
　　Wow! Left alone with José.
　　“Well, goodnight.” José looks uncomfortable all of a
　　sudden.
　　“Goodnight, José, and thank you for staying.”
　　“Goodnight, José, and thank you for staying.”
　　“Sure, Ana. Any time your rich, hotshot boyfriend goes
　　missing—I’ll be there.”
　　“José!” I admonish him.
　　“Only kidding. Don’t get mad. I’ll be leaving early in
　　the morning—I’ll see you sometime, yeah? I’ve missed
　　you.”
　　“Sure, José. Soon I hope. Sorry tonight was so . . .
　　shitty.” I smirk apologetically.
　　“Yeah.” He grins. “Shitty.” He hugs me. “Seriously,
　　Ana, I’m glad you’re happy, but I’m here if you need me.”
　　I gaze up at him. “Thank you.”
　　He flashes me a sad, bittersweet smile, and then he
　　goes upstairs.
　　I turn back to the great room. Christian stands beside
　　the couch, watching me with an unreadable expression on
　　his face. We’re finally alone and we gaze at each other.
　　“He’s still got it bad, you know,” he murmurs.
　　“And how would you know that, Mr. Grey?”
　　“I recognize the symptoms, Miss Steele. I believe I
　　have the same affliction.”
　　“I thought I’d never see you again,” I whisper. There
　　—the words are out. All my worst fears packaged neatly
　　in one short sentence now exorcised.
　　“It wasn’t as bad as it sounds.”
　　I pick up his suit jacket and shoes from where they lie
　　on the floor and move toward him.
　　“I’ll take that,” he whispers, reaching for his jacket.
　　Christian gazes down at me as if I’m his reason for
　　living and mirrors my look, I’m sure. He is here, really
　　here. He pulls me into his arms and wraps himself around
　　me.
　　“Christian,” I gasp, and my tears start anew.
　　“Hush,” he soothes, kissing my hair. “You know . . . in
　　the few seconds of sheer terror before I landed, all my
　　thoughts were of you. You’re my talisman, Ana.”
　　“I thought I’d lost you,” I breathe. We stand, holding
　　each other, reconnecting and reassuring each other. As I
　　tighten my arms around him, I realize I’m still holding his
　　shoes. I drop them noisily to the floor.
　　shoes. I drop them noisily to the floor.
　　“Come and shower with me,” he murmurs.
　　“Okay.” I glance up at him. I don’t want to let go.
　　Reaching down he tilts my chin up with his fingers.
　　“You know even tear-stained, you are beautiful, Ana
　　Steele.” He leans down and kisses me gently. “And your
　　lips are so soft.” He kisses me again, deepening it.
　　Oh my . . . and to think, I could have lost . . . no . . .
　　I stop thinking and surrender myself.
　　“I need to put my jacket down,” he murmurs.
　　“Drop it,” I murmur against his lips.
　　“I can’t.”
　　I lean back to gaze up at him, puzzled.
　　He smirks at me. “This is why.” From the inside breast
　　pocket he pulls out the small box I gave him, containing my
　　present. He slings the jacket over the back of the couch
　　and places the box on top.
　　Seize the day, Ana, my subconscious prods me. Well,
　　it’s after midnight, so technically it’s his birthday.
　　“Open it,” I whisper, and my heart starts pounding.
　　“Open it,” I whisper, and my heart starts pounding.
　　“I was hoping you’d say that,” he murmurs. “This has
　　been driving me crazy.”
　　I grin impishly at him. Jeez, I feel giddy. He gives me
　　his shy smile, and I melt despite my thumping heart,
　　delighting in his amused yet intrigued expression. With deft
　　long fingers, he unwraps and opens the box. His brow
　　creases as he fishes out a small, rectangular, plastic
　　keychain bearing a picture made up of tiny pixels that flash
　　on and off like an LED screen. It depicts the Seattle
　　skyline, focusing on the Space Needle, with the
　　word SEATTLE written boldly across the landscape,
　　flashing on and off.
　　He stares at it for a moment and then gazes at me
　　bemused, a frown marring his lovely brow.
　　“Turn it over,” I whisper, holding my breath.
　　He does, and his eyes shoot to mine, wide and gray,
　　alive with wonder and joy. His lips part in disbelief.
　　The word yes flashes on and off on the key ring.
　　“Happy birthday,” I whisper.
　　“You’ll marry me?” he whispers, incredulous.
　　I nod nervously, flushing and anxious and not quite
　　believing his reaction—this man whom I thought I’d lost.
　　How could he not understand how much I love him?
　　“Say it,” he orders softly, his gaze intense and hot.

　　“Yes, I’ll marry you.”
　　He inhales sharply and moves suddenly, grabbing me
　　and swinging me round in a most un-Fiftylike manner. He’s
　　laughing, young and carefree, radiating joyful elation. I
　　grab his arms to hold on, feeling his muscles ripple beneath
　　grab his arms to hold on, feeling his muscles ripple beneath
　　my fingers, and his infectious laughter sweeps me up—
　　dizzy, addled, a girl totally and utterly smitten with her
　　beautiful man. He puts me down and kisses me. Hard. His
　　hands are on either side of my face, his tongue insistent,
　　persuasive . . . arousing.
　　“Oh, Ana,” he breathes against my lips, and it’s an
　　exultation that leaves me reeling. He loves me, of that I
　　have no doubt, and I savor the taste of this delicious man,
　　this man I thought I might never see again. His joy is
　　evident—his eyes shining, his youthful smile—and his relief
　　is almost palpable.
　　“I thought I’d lost you,” I murmur, still dazzled and
　　breathless from his kiss.
　　“Baby, it will take more than a malfunctioning 135 to
　　keep me away from you.”
　　“135?”
　　“Charlie Tango. She’s a Eurocopter 135, the safest in
　　its class.” Some unnamed but dark emotion crosses his
　　face briefly, distracting me. What isn’t he saying? Before I
　　face briefly, distracting me. What isn’t he saying? Before I
　　can ask him, he stills and looks down at me, frowning, and
　　for a moment I think he’s going to tell me. I blink up into
　　his speculative gray eyes.
　　“Wait a minute. You gave this to me before we saw
　　Flynn,” he says, holding up the keychain. He looks almost
　　horrified.
　　Oh dear, where’s he going with this? I nod, keeping a
　　straight face.
　　His mouth drops open.
　　I shrug apologetically. “I wanted you to know that
　　whatever Flynn said, it wouldn’t make a difference to me.”
　　Christian blinks at me in disbelief. “So all yesterday
　　evening, when I was begging you for an answer, I had it
　　already?” He’s dismayed. I nod again, trying desperately
　　to gauge his reaction. He gazes at me in stupefied wonder,
　　but then narrows his eyes and his mouth twists with
　　amused irony.
　　“All that worry,” he whispers ominously. I grin at him
　　and shrug once more. “Oh, don’t try and get cute with me,
　　Miss Steele. Right now, I want . . .” He runs his hand
　　through his hair, then shakes his head and changes tack.
　　“I can’t believe you left me hanging.” His whisper is
　　laced with disbelief. His expression alters subtly, his eyes
　　gleaming wickedly, his mouth twitching into a carnal smile.
　　Holy hell. A thrill runs through me. What’s he thinking?
　　“I believe some retribution is in order, Miss Steele,” he
　　says softly.
　　Retribution? Oh shit! I know he’s playing—but I take
　　a cautious step back from him anyway.
　　He grins. “Is that the game?” he whispers. “Because I
　　will catch you.” And his eyes burn with a bright playful
　　intensity. “And you’re biting your lip,” he says
　　threateningly.
　　All of my insides tighten at once. Oh my. My future
　　husband wants to play. I take another step back, then turn
　　to run—but in vain. Christian grabs me, and in one easy
　　swoop while I squeal with delight, surprise, and shock. He
　　hoists me over his shoulder and heads down the hall.
　　“Christian!” I hiss, mindful that José is upstairs, though
　　“Christian!” I hiss, mindful that José is upstairs, though
　　whether he could hear us is doubtful. I steady myself by
　　clasping his lower back, then on a brave impulse, I swat
　　his behind. He swats me right back.
　　“Ow!” I yelp.
　　“Shower time,” he declares triumphantly.
　　“Put me down!” I try and fail to sound disapproving.
　　My struggle is futile—his arm is firmly clamped over my
　　thighs—and for some reason I cannot stop giggling.
　　“Fond of these shoes?” he asks amused as he opens
　　the door to his bathroom.
　　“I prefer them to be touching the floor.” I attempt to
　　snarl at him, but it’s not very effective as I can’t keep the
　　laughter out of my voice.
　　“Your wish is my command, Miss Steele.” Without
　　putting me down, he slips off both of my shoes and lets
　　them clatter to the tile floor. Pausing by the vanity, he
　　empties his pockets—dead Blackberry, keys, wallet, the
　　keychain. I can only imagine what I look like in the mirror
　　from this angle. When he’s finished, he marches directly
　　from this angle. When he’s finished, he marches directly
　　into his overlarge shower.
　　“Christian!” I scold loudly—his intent is now clear.
　　He switches the water on at max. Jeez! Arctic water
　　spurts over my backside, and I squeal—then stop, mindful
　　once more that José is above us. It’s cold and I’m fully
　　clothed. The chilling water soaks into my dress, my
　　panties, and my bra. I’m drenched and I cannot stop
　　giggling.
　　“No!” I squeal. “Put me down!” I swat him again,
　　harder this time, and Christian releases me, letting me slide
　　down his now soaked body. His white shirt is stuck to his
　　chest and his suit pants are sodden. I am soaked, too,
　　flushed, giddy and breathless, and he’s grinning down at
　　me, looking so . . . so unbelievably hot.
　　He sobers, his eyes shining, and cups my face again,
　　drawing my lips to his. His kiss is gentle, cherishing, and
　　totally distracting. I no longer care that I am fully clothed
　　and soaking wet in Christian’s shower. It’s just the two of
　　us beneath the cascading water. He’s back, he’s safe, he’s
　　mine.
　　My hands move involuntarily to his shirt as it clings to
　　every line and sinew of his chest, revealing the hair
　　scrunched beneath the white wetness. I yank the shirt hem
　　out of his pants, and he groans against my mouth, but his
　　lips do not leave mine. As I unbutton his shirt, he reaches
　　for my zipper, slowly sliding the clasp down my dress. His
　　lips become more insistent, more provocative, his tongue
　　invading my mouth—and my body explodes with desire. I
　　tug his shirt hard, ripping it open. The buttons fly
　　everywhere, ricocheting off the tiles and disappearing onto
　　the shower floor. As I strip the wet material off his
　　shoulders and down his arms, I press him into the wall,
　　hampering his attempts to undress me. “Cufflinks,” he
　　murmurs, holding up his wrists where his shirt hangs
　　sodden and limp.
　　With scrambling fingers, I release first one and then the
　　other cuff, letting his gold cufflinks fall carelessly to the tiled
　　floor and his shirt follows. His eyes search mine through
　　the cascading water, his gaze burning, carnal, heated like
　　the cascading water, his gaze burning, carnal, heated like
　　the water. I reach for the waistband of his pants, but he
　　shakes his head and grabs my shoulders, spinning me
　　round so I am facing away from him. He finishes the long
　　journey south with my zipper, smoothes my wet hair away
　　from my neck, and runs his tongue up my neck to my
　　hairline and back again, kissing and sucking as he goes.
　　I moan and slowly he peels my dress off my shoulders
　　and down past my breasts, kissing my neck beneath my
　　ear. He unclasps my bra and pushes it off my shoulders,
　　freeing my breasts. His hands reach around and cup each
　　one as he murmurs his appreciation in my ear.
　　“So beautiful,” he whispers.
　　My arms are trapped by my bra and dress, which hang
　　unfastened below my breasts, my arms still in the sleeves
　　but my hands are free. I roll my head, giving Christian
　　better access to my neck and push my breasts into his
　　magical hands. I reach round behind me and welcome his
　　sharp intake of breath as my inquisitive fingers make
　　contact with his erection. He pushes his groin into my
　　contact with his erection. He pushes his groin into my
　　welcoming hands. Dammit, why didn’t he let me take his
　　pants off?
　　He tugs on my nipples, and as they harden and stretch
　　under his expert touch, all thoughts of his pants disappear
　　and pleasure spikes sharp and libidinous in my belly. I lean
　　my head back against him and groan.
　　“Yes,” he breathes and turns me once more, capturing
　　my mouth with his. He peels my bra, dress and panties
　　down so they join his shirt in a soggy heap on the shower
　　floor.
　　I grab the body wash beside us. Christian stills as he
　　realizes what I am about to do. Staring him straight in the
　　eye, I squirt some of the sweet-smelling gel into my palm
　　and hold my hand up in front of his chest, waiting for an
　　answer to my unspoken question. His eyes widen, then he
　　gives me an almost imperceptible nod.
　　Gently I place my hand on his sternum and start to rub
　　the soap into his skin. His chest rises as he inhales sharply,
　　but he stands stock-still. After a beat, his hands clasp my
　　hips, but he doesn’t push me away. He watches me warily,
　　his look intense more than scared, but his lips are parted
　　as his breathing increases.
　　“Is this okay?” I whisper.
　　“Yes.” His short, breathy reply is almost a gasp. I am
　　reminded of the many showers we’ve had together, but the
　　one at the Olympic is a bittersweet memory. Well, now I
　　can touch him. I wash him using gentle circles, cleaning my
　　man, moving to his underarms, over his ribs, down his flat
　　firm belly, toward his happy trail, and the waistband of his
　　pants.
　　“My turn,” he whispers and reaches for the shampoo,
　　shifting us out of range of the stream of water and squirting
　　some on to the top of my head.
　　I think this is my cue to stop washing him, so I hook
　　my fingers into his waistband. He works the shampoo into
　　my hair, his firm, long fingers massaging my scalp.
　　Groaning in appreciation, I close my eyes and give myself
　　over to the heavenly sensation. After all the stress of the
　　evening, this is just what I need.
　　evening, this is just what I need.
　　He chuckles and I open one eye to find him smiling
　　down at me. “You like?”
　　“Hmm . . .”
　　He grins. “Me, too,” he says and leans over to kiss my
　　forehead, his fingers continuing their sweet, firm kneading
　　of my scalp.
　　“Turn round,” he says authoritatively. I do as I’m told,
　　and his fingers slowly work over my head, cleansing,
　　relaxing, loving me as they go. Oh, this is bliss. He reaches
　　for more shampoo and gently washes the long tresses
　　down my back. When he’s finished, he pulls me back
　　under the shower.
　　“Lean your head back,” he orders quietly.
　　I willingly comply, and he carefully rinses out the suds.
　　When he’s done, I face him once more and make a
　　beeline for his pants.
　　“I want to wash all of you,”
　　I whisper. He smiles that lopsided smile and lifts his
　　hands in a gesture that says “I’m all yours, baby.” I grin; it
　　hands in a gesture that says “I’m all yours, baby.” I grin; it
　　feels like Christmas. I make short work of his zipper, and
　　soon his pants and boxers join the rest of our clothing. I
　　stand and reach for the body wash and the freshwater
　　sponge.
　　“Looks like you’re pleased to see me,” I murmur
　　dryly.
　　“I’m always pleased to see you, Miss Steele.” He
　　smirks at me.
　　I soap the sponge, then retrace my journey over his
　　chest. He’s more relaxed—maybe because I’m not
　　actually touching him. I head south with the sponge, across
　　his belly, along the happy trail, through his pubic hair, and
　　over and up his erection.
　　I peek up at him, and he regards me with hooded eyes
　　and sensual longing. Hmm . . . I like this look. I drop the
　　sponge and use my hands, grasping him firmly. He closes
　　his eyes, tips his head back, and groans, thrusting his hips
　　into my hands.
　　Oh yes! It’s so arousing. My inner goddess has
　　resurfaced after her evening of rocking and weeping in the
　　corner, and she’s wearing harlot-red lipstick.
　　His burning eyes suddenly lock with mine. He’s
　　remembered something.
　　“It’s Saturday,” he exclaims, eyes alight with salacious
　　wonder, and he grasps my waist, pulling me to him and
　　kissing me savagely.
　　Whoa—change of pace!
　　His hands sweep down my slick, wet body, round to
　　my sex, his fingers exploring, teasing, and his mouth is
　　relentless, leaving me breathless. His other hand is in my
　　wet hair, holding me in place while I bear the full force of
　　his passion unleashed. His fingers move inside me.
　　“Ahh,” I moan into his mouth.
　　“Yes,” he hisses and lifts me, his hands beneath my

　　backside. “Wrap your legs around me, baby.” My legs
　　fold around him, and I cling like a limpet to his neck. He
　　braces me against the wall of the shower and pauses,
　　gazing down at me.
　　“Eyes open,” he murmurs. “I want to see you.”
　　“Eyes open,” he murmurs. “I want to see you.”
　　I blink up at him, my heart hammering, my blood
　　pulsing hot and heavy through my body, desire, real and
　　rampant surging through me. Then he eases into me oh-soslowly,
　　filling me, claiming me, skin against skin. I push
　　down against him and groan loudly. Once fully inside me,
　　he pauses once more, his face strained, intense.
　　“You are mine, Anastasia,” he whispers.
　　“Always.”
　　He smiles victoriously and shifts, making me gasp.
　　“And now we can let everyone know, because you
　　said yes.” His voice is reverential, and he leans down,
　　capturing my mouth with his, and starts to move . . . slow
　　and sweet. I close my eyes and tilt my head back as my
　　body bows, my will submitting to his, slave to his
　　intoxicating slow rhythm.
　　His teeth graze my jaw, my chin, and down my neck as
　　he picks up the pace, pushing me onward, upward—away
　　from this earthly plane, the teeming shower, the evening’s
　　chilling fright. It’s just me and my man moving in unison,
　　chilling fright. It’s just me and my man moving in unison,
　　moving as one—each completely absorbed in the other—
　　our gasps and grunts mingling. I revel in the exquisite
　　feeling of his possession as my body blooms and flowers
　　around him.
　　I could have lost him . . . and I love him . . . I love
　　him so much, and I’m suddenly overcome by the enormity
　　of my love and the depth of my commitment to him. I will
　　spend the rest of my life loving this man, and with that
　　awe-inspiring thought, I detonate around him—a healing,
　　cathartic orgasm, crying out his name as tears flow down
　　my cheeks.
　　He reaches his climax and pours himself into me. With
　　his face buried in my neck, he sinks to the floor, holding
　　me tightly, kissing my face, and kissing away my tears as
　　the warm water spills down around us, washing us clean.
　　“My fingers are pruny,” I murmur, postcoital and sated as
　　I lean against his chest. He raises my fingers to his lips and
　　I lean against his chest. He raises my fingers to his lips and
　　kisses each in turn.
　　“We should really get out of this shower.”
　　“I’m comfortable here.” I’m sitting between his legs
　　and he’s holding me close. I don’t want to move.
　　Christian murmurs his assent. But suddenly I’m bone
　　tired, world-weary. So much has happened this last week
　　—enough for a lifetime of drama—and now I’m
　　getting married. A disbelieving giggle escapes my lips.
　　“Something amusing you, Miss Steele?” he asks
　　fondly.
　　“It’s been a busy week.”
　　He grins. “That it has.”
　　“I thank God you’re back in one piece, Mr. Grey,” I
　　whisper, sobering at the thought of what might have been.
　　He tenses and I immediately regret reminding him.
　　“I was scared,” he confesses much to my surprise.
　　“Earlier?”
　　He nods, his expression serious.
　　Holy shit. “So you made light of it to reassure your
　　family?”
　　“Yes. I was too low to land well. But somehow I did.”
　　Crap. My eyes sweep up to his, and he looks grave as
　　the water cascades over us. “How close a call was it?” He
　　gazes down at me.
　　“Close,” he pauses. “For a few awful seconds, I
　　thought I’d never see you again.”
　　I hug him tightly. “I can’t imagine my life without you,
　　Christian. I love you so much it frightens me.”
　　“Me, too,” he breathes. “My life would be empty
　　without you. I love you so much.” His arms tighten around
　　me and he nuzzles my hair. “I won’t ever let you go.”
　　“I don’t want to go, ever.” I kiss his neck, and he leans
　　down and kisses me gently.
　　After a moment, he shifts. “Come—let’s get you dry
　　and into bed. I’m exhausted and you look beat.”
　　I lean back and arch an eyebrow at his choice of
　　words. He cocks his head to one side and smirks at me.
　　“You have something to say, Miss Steele?”
　　I shake my head and clamber unsteadily to my feet.
　　I shake my head and clamber unsteadily to my feet.
　　I am sitting up in bed. Christian insisted on drying my hair
　　—he’s quite skilled at it. How that happened is an
　　unpleasant thought, so I dismiss it immediately. It’s after
　　two in the morning, and I am ready to sleep. Christian
　　gazes down at me and reexamines the keychain before
　　climbing into bed. He shakes his head, incredulous once
　　more.
　　“This is so neat. The best birthday present I’ve ever
　　had.” He glances at me, his eyes soft and warm. “Better
　　than my signed Guiseppe DeNatale poster.”
　　“I would have told you earlier, but as it was your
　　birthday . . . What do you give the man who has
　　everything? I thought I’d give you . . . me.”
　　He puts the keychain down on the bedside table and
　　snuggles in beside me, pulling me into his arms against his
　　chest so that we’re spooning.
　　“It’s perfect. Like you.”
　　“It’s perfect. Like you.”
　　I smirk, though he can’t see my expression. “I am far
　　from perfect, Christian.”
　　“Are you smirking at me, Miss Steele?”
　　How does he know? “Maybe.” I giggle. “Can I ask
　　you something?
　　“Of course,” he nuzzles my neck.
　　“You didn’t call on your trip back from Portland. Was
　　that really because of José? You were worried about me
　　being here alone with him?”
　　Christian says nothing. I turn to face him, and his eyes
　　are wide as I reproach him.
　　“Do you know how ridiculous that is? How much
　　stress you put your family and me through? We all love
　　you very much.”
　　He blinks a couple of times and then gives me his shy
　　smile. “I had no idea you’d all be so worried.”
　　I purse my lips. “When are you going to get it through
　　your thick skull that you are loved?”
　　“Thick skull?” His eyebrows widen in surprise.
　　I nod. “Yes. Thick skull.”
　　“I don’t think the bone density of my head is
　　significantly higher than anywhere else in my body.”
　　“I’m serious! Stop trying to make me laugh. I am still a
　　little mad at you, though that’s partially eclipsed by the fact
　　that you’re home safe and sound when I thought . . .” My
　　voice fades as I recall those anxious few hours. “Well, you
　　know what I thought.”
　　His eyes soften and he reaches up to caress my face.
　　“I’m sorry. Okay.”
　　“Your poor mom, too. It was very moving, seeing you
　　with her,” I whisper.
　　He smiles shyly. “I’ve never seen her that way.” He
　　blinks at the memory. “Yes, that was really something.
　　She’s normally so self-possessed. It was quite a shock.”
　　“See? Everyone loves you.” I smile. “Perhaps now
　　you’ll start believing it.” I lean down and kiss him gently.
　　“Happy birthday, Christian. I’m glad you’re here to
　　share your day with me. And you haven’t seen what I’ve
　　got for you tomorrow um . . . today.” I smirk.
　　got for you tomorrow um . . . today.” I smirk.
　　“There’s more?” he says, astounded, and his face
　　erupts into a breathtaking grin.
　　“Oh yes, Mr. Grey, but you’ll have to wait until then.”
　　I wake suddenly from a dream or nightmare, and my pulse
　　is thumping. I turn, panicked, and to my relief, Christian is
　　fast asleep beside me. Because I’ve shifted, he stirs and
　　reaches out in his sleep, draping his arm over me, and rests
　　his head on my shoulder, sighing softly.
　　The room is flooded with light. It’s eight o’clock.
　　Christian never sleeps this late. I lie back and let my racing
　　heart calm. Why the anxiety? Is it the aftermath of last
　　night?
　　I turn and stare at him. He’s here. He’s safe. I take a
　　deep steadying breath and gaze at his lovely face. A face
　　that is now so familiar, all its dips and shadows eternally
　　etched on my mind.
　　He looks much younger when he’s asleep, and I grin
　　He looks much younger when he’s asleep, and I grin
　　because today he’s a whole year older. I hug myself,
　　thinking about my present. Oooh . . . what will he do?
　　Perhaps I should start by bringing him breakfast in bed.
　　Besides, José may still be here.
　　I find José at the counter, eating a bowl of cereal. I
　　can’t help but flush when I see him. He knows I’ve spent
　　the night with Christian. Why do I suddenly feel so shy?
　　It’s not as if I’m naked or anything. I’m wearing my silk
　　floor-length wrap.
　　“Morning, José,” I smile, brazening it out.
　　“Hey, Ana!” His face lights up, genuinely pleased to
　　see me. There’s no hint of teasing or salacious contempt in
　　his expression.
　　“Sleep well?” I ask.
　　“Sure. Some view from up here.”
　　“Yeah. It’s pretty special.” Like the owner of this
　　apartment. “Want a real man’s breakfast?” I tease.
　　“Love some.”
　　“It’s Christian’s birthday today—I’m making him
　　breakfast in bed.”
　　“He awake?”
　　“No, I think he’s fried from yesterday.” I quickly
　　glance away from him and head to the fridge so he can’t
　　see my blush. Jeez, it’s only José. When I take the eggs
　　and bacon out of the fridge, José is grinning at me.
　　“You really like him, don’t you?”
　　I purse my lips. “I love him, José.”
　　His eyes widen momentarily then he grins. “What’s not
　　to love?” he asks gesturing round the great room.
　　I scowl at him. “Gee, thanks!”
　　“Hey, Ana, just kidding.”
　　Hmm . . . will I always have this leveled at me? That
　　I’m marrying Christian for his money?
　　“Seriously, I’m kidding. You’ve never been that kind
　　of girl.”
　　“Omelet good for you?” I ask, changing the subject. I
　　don’t want to argue.
　　“Sure.”
　　“And me,” Christian says as he saunters into the great
　　“And me,” Christian says as he saunters into the great
　　room. Holy fuck, he’s wearing only pajama bottoms that
　　hang in that totally hot way off his hips—Jeez!
　　“José.” He nods.
　　“Christian.” José returns his nod solemnly.
　　Christian turns to me and smirks as I stare. He’s done
　　this on purpose. I narrow my eyes at him, desperately
　　trying to recover my equilibrium, and Christian’s
　　expression alters subtly. He knows that I know what he’s
　　up to, and he doesn’t care.
　　“I was going to bring you breakfast in bed.”
　　Swaggering over, he wraps his arm around me, tilts my
　　chin up, and plants a loud wet kiss on my lips. Very
　　unFifty!
　　“Good morning, Anastasia,” he says. I want to scowl
　　at him and tell him to behave—but it’s his birthday. I flush.
　　Why is he so territorial?
　　“Good morning, Christian. Happy birthday.” I give him
　　a smile, and he smirks at me.
　　“I’m looking forward to my other present,” he says
　　“I’m looking forward to my other present,” he says
　　and that’s it. I flush the color of the Red Room of Pain and
　　glance nervously at José, who looks like he’s swallowed
　　something unpleasant. I turn away and start preparing the
　　food.
　　“So what are your plans today, José?” Christian asks,
　　seemingly casual as he sits down on a barstool.
　　“I’m heading up to see my dad and Ray, Ana’s dad.”
　　Christian frowns.
　　“They know each other?”
　　“Yeah, they were in the army together. They lost
　　contact until Ana and I were in college together. It’s kinda
　　cute. They’re best buds now. We’re going on a fishing
　　trip.”
　　“Fishing?” Christian is genuinely interested.
　　“Yeah—some great catches in these coastal waters.
　　The steelheads can grow way big.”
　　“True. My brother Elliot and I landed a thirty-four
　　pound steelhead once.”
　　They’re talking fishing? What is it about fishing? I have
　　never understood it.