36 CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX (1/2)
”What the hell are you doing to me?” he breathes as he nuzzles my neck. ”You completely beguile me, Ana. You weave some powerful magic.”
He releases my wrists, and I run my fingers through his hair, coming down from my high. I tighten my legs around him.
”I'm the one beguiled,” I whisper.
He gazes at me. His expression is disconcerted, alarmed even. Placing his hands on either side of my face, he holds my head in place.
”You. Are. Mine,” he says, each word a staccato. ”Do you understand?”
He's so earnest, so impassioned—a zealot. The force of his plea is so unexpected and disarming. I wonder why he's feeling like this. ”Yes, yours,” I whisper, derailed by his fervor.
”Are you sure you have to go to Georgia?”
I nod slowly. And in that brief moment, I watch his expression change and the shutters coming down. Abruptly he withdraws, making me wince.
”Are you sore?” he asks, leaning over me.
”A little,” I confess.
”I like you sore.” His eyes smolder. ”Reminds you where I've been, and only me.”
He grabs my chin and kisses me roughly, then stands and holds his hand out to help me up. I glance down at the foil packet beside me.
”Always prepared,” I murmur.
He looks at me confused as he redoes his fly. I hold up the empty packet.
”A man can hope, Anastasia, dream even, and sometimes his dreams come true.”
He sounds so odd, his eyes burning. I just don't understand. My postcoital glow is fading fast. What is his problem?
”So, on your desk, that's been a dream?” I ask dryly, trying humor to lighten the atmosphere between us.
He smiles an enigmatic smile that doesn't reach his eyes, and I know immediately this is not the first time he's had sex on his desk. The thought is unwelcome. I squirm uncomfortably as my postcoital glow evaporates.
”I'd better go and have a shower.” I stand and start to move past him.
He frowns and runs a hand through his hair.
”I've got a couple more calls to make. I'll join you for breakfast once you're out of the shower. I think Mrs. Jones has laundered your clothes from yesterday. They're in the closet.”
What? When the hell did she do that? Jeez, could she hear us? I flush.
”Thank you,” I mutter.
”You're most welcome,” he replies automatically, but there's an edge to his voice.
I'm not saying thank you for fucking me. Although, it was very …
”What?” he asks, and I realize I'm frowning.
”What's wrong?” I ask softly.
”What do you mean?”
”Well … you're being more weird than usual.”
”You find me weird?” He tries to stifle a smile.
”Sometimes.”
He regards me for a moment, his eyes speculative. ”As ever, I'm surprised by you, Miss Steele.”
”Surprised how?”
”Let's just say that was an unexpected treat.”
”We aim to please, Mr. Grey.” I cock my head to one side like he often does to me and give his words back to him.
”And please me you do,” he says, but he looks uneasy. ”I thought you were going to have a shower.”
Oh, he's dismissing me.
”Yes … um, I'll see you in a moment.” I scurry out of his office completely dumbfounded.
He seemed confused. Why? I have to say as physical experiences go, that was very satisfying. But emotionally—well, I'm rattled by his reaction, and that was about as emotionally enriching as cotton candy is nutritious.
Mrs. Jones is still in the kitchen. ”Would you like your tea now, Miss Steele?”
”I'll have a shower first, thank you,” I mutter and take my blazing face quickly out of the room.
In the shower, I try to figure out what's up with Christian. He is the most complicated person I know, and I cannot understand his ever-changing moods. He seemed fine when I went into his study. We had sex … and then he wasn't. No, I don't get it. I look to my subconscious. She's whistling with her hands behind her back and looking anywhere but at me. She hasn't got a clue, and my inner goddess is still basking in a remnant of postcoital glow. No—we're all clueless.
I towel-dry my hair, comb it through with Christian's one and only hair implement, and put my hair up in a bun. Kate's plum dress hangs laundered and ironed in the closet along with my clean bra and panties. Mrs. Jones is a marvel. Slipping on Kate's shoes, I straighten my dress, take a deep breath, and head back out to the great room.
Christian is still nowhere to be seen, and Mrs. Jones is checking the contents of the pantry.
”Tea now, Miss Steele?” she asks.
”Please.” I smile at her. I feel slightly more confident now that I'm dressed.
”Would you like something to eat?”
”No, thank you.”
”Of course you'll have something to eat,” Christian snaps, glowering. ”She likes pancakes, bacon, and eggs, Mrs. Jones.”
”Yes, Mr. Grey. What would you like, sir?”
”Omelet, please, and some fruit.” He doesn't take his eyes off me, his expression unfathomable. ”Sit,” he orders, pointing to one of the barstools.
I oblige, and he sits beside me while Mrs. Jones busies herself with breakfast. Gosh, it's unnerving having someone else listen to our conversation.
”Have you bought your air ticket?”
”No, I'll buy it when I get home—over the Internet.”
He leans on his elbow, rubbing his chin.
”Do you have the money?”
Oh no.
”Yes,” I say with mock patience as if I'm talking to a small child.
He raises a censorious eyebrow at me. Crap.
”Yes, I do, thank you,” I amend rapidly.
”I have a jet. It's not scheduled to be used for three days; it's at your disposal.”
I gape at him. Of course he has a jet, and I have to resist my body's natural inclination to roll my eyes at him. I want to laugh. But I don't, as I can't read his mood.
”We've already made serious misuse of your company's aviation fleet. I wouldn't want to do it again.”
”It's my company, it's my jet.” He sounds almost wounded. Oh, boys and their toys!
”Thank you for the offer. But I'd be happier taking a scheduled flight.”
He looks like he wants to argue further but decides against it.
”As you wish.” He sighs. ”Do you have much preparation to do for your interview?”
”No.”
”Good. You're still not going to tell me which publishing houses?”
”No.”
His lips curl up in a reluctant smile. ”I am a man of means, Miss Steele.”
”I am fully aware of that, Mr. Grey. Are you going to track my phone?” I ask innocently.
”Actually, I'll be quite busy this afternoon, so I'll have to get someone else to do it.” He smirks.
Is he joking?
”If you can spare someone to do that, you're obviously overstaffed.”
”I'll send an e-mail to the head of human resources and have her look into our head count.” His lips twitch to hide his smile.
Oh, thank the Lord, he's recovered his sense of humor.
Mrs. Jones serves us breakfast and we eat quietly for a few moments. After clearing the pans, tactfully, she heads out of the living area. I peek up at him.
”What is it, Anastasia?”
”You know, you never did tell me why you don't like to be touched.”