Unknown - fifty shades darker

“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.

“Thirty-four pounds? Not bad. Ana’s father though, he holds the record. A forty-three pounder.”

“You’re kidding! He never said.”

“Happy birthday, by the way.”

“Thanks. So, where do you like to fish?”

I zone out. This I do not need to know. But at the same time I’m relieved. See, Christian? José’s not so bad.

By the time José makes to leave, both of them are much more relaxed with each other.

Christian quickly changes into T-shirt and jeans and barefoot he accompanies José and me to the foyer.

“Thanks for letting me crash here,” José says to Christian as they shake hands.

“Anytime,” Christian smiles.

José hugs me quickly. “Stay safe, Ana.”

“Sure. Great to see you. Next time we’ll have a proper evening out.”

“I’ll hold you to that.” He waves at us from inside the elevator, and then he’s gone.

“See, he’s not so bad.”

“He still wants into your panties, Ana. But can’t say I blame him.”

“Christian, that’s not true!”

“You have no idea, do you?” He smirks down at me. “He wants you. Big time. ” I frown. “Christian, he’s just a friend, a good friend.” And I’m suddenly aware that I sound like Christian when he’s talking about Mrs. Robinson. The thought is unsettling.

Christian holds up his hands in a placating gesture.

“I don’t want to fight,” he says softly.

Oh! We’re not fighting . . . are we? “Me neither.”

“You didn’t tell him we were getting married.”

“No. I figured I ought to tell Mom and Ray first.” Shit. It’s the first time I’ve thought about this since I said yes. Jeez—what are my parents going to say?

Christian nods. “Yes, you’re right. And I . . . um, I should ask your father.” I laugh. “Oh, Christian—this isn’t the eighteenth century.” Holy shit. What will Ray say? The thought of that conversation fills me with horror.

“It’s traditional.” Christian shrugs.

“Let’s talk about that later. I want to give you your other present.” My aim is to distract him. The thought of my present is burning a hole in my consciousness. I need to give it to him and see how he reacts.

He gives me his shy smile, and my heart skips a beat. For as long as I live, I’ll never tire of looking at that smile.

“You’re biting your lip,” he says and pulls on my chin.

A thrill runs through my body as his fingers touch me. Without a word, and while I still have a modicum of courage, I take his hand and lead him back to the bedroom. I drop his hand, leaving him standing by the bed, and from under my side of the bed, I take out the two remaining gift boxes.

“Two?” he says, surprised.

I take a deep breath. “I bought this before the, um . . . incident yesterday. I’m not sure about it now.” I quickly hand him one of the parcels before I can change my mind. He gazes at me, puzzled, sensing my uncertainty.

“Sure you want me to open it?”

I nod, anxious.

Christian tears off the packaging and gazes in surprise at the box.

“Charlie Tango,” I whisper.

He grins. The box contains a small wooden helicopter with a large, solar-powered rotor blade. He opens it up.

“Solar powered,” he murmurs. “Wow.” And before I know it he’s sitting on the bed assembling it. It snaps together quickly, and Christian holds it up in the palm of his hand.

A blue wooden helicopter. He looks up at me and gives me his glorious, all-American-boy smile, then heads to the window so that the little helicopter is bathed in sunlight and the rotor starts to spin.

“Look at that,” he breathes, examining it closely. “What we can already do with this technology.” He holds it at eye level, watching the blades spin. He’s fascinated and fascinating to watch as he loses himself in thought, staring at the little helicopter. What is he thinking?

“You like it?”

“Ana, I love it. Thank you.” He grabs me and kisses me swiftly, then turns back to watch the rotor spin. “I’ll add it to the glider in my office,” he says distractedly, watching the blade spin. He moves his hand out of the sunlight, and the blade slows down and comes to a stop.

I can’t help my face-splitting grin, and I want to hug myself. He loves it. Of course, he’s all about alternative technologies. I’d forgotten that in my haste to buy it. Placing it on the chest of drawers, he turns to face me.

“It’ll keep me company while we salvage Charlie Tango.”

“Is it salvageable?”

“I don’t know. I hope so. I’ll miss her, otherwise.” Her? I am shocked at myself for the small pang of jealousy I feel for an inanimate object. My subconscious snorts with derisory laughter. I ignore her.

“What’s in the other box?” he asks, his eyes wide with almost childish excitement.

Holy fuck. “I’m not sure if this present is for you or me.”

“Really?” he asks, and I know I have piqued his interest. Nervously I hand him the second box. He shakes it gently and we both hear a heavy rattle. He glances up at me.

“Why are you so nervous?” he asks, bemused. I shrug, embarrassed and excited as I flush. He raises an eyebrow at me.

“You have me intrigued, Miss Steele,” he whispers, and his voice runs right through me, desire and anticipation spawning in my belly. “I have to say I’m enjoying your reaction. What have you been up to?” He narrows his eyes speculatively.

I remain tight-lipped as I hold my breath.

He removes the lid of the box and takes out a small card. The rest of the contents are wrapped in tissue. He opens the card, and his eyes dart quickly to mine—widening with shock or surprise. I just don’t know.

“Do rude things to you?” he murmurs. I nod and swallow. He cocks his head to one side warily, assessing my reaction, and frowns. Then turns his attention back to the box. He tears through the pale-blue tissue paper and fishes out an eye mask, some nipple clamps, a butt plug, his iPod, his silver-gray tie—and last but by no means least—the key to his playroom.

He gazes at me, his expression dark, unreadable. Oh shit . Is this a bad move?

“You want to play?” he asks softly.

“Yes,” I breathe.

“For my birthday?”

“Yes.” Could my voice sound any smaller?

A myriad of emotions cross his face, none of which I can place, but he settles for anxious. Hmm . . . Not quite the reaction I was expecting.

“You’re sure?” he asks.

“Not the whips and stuff.”

“I understand that.”

“Yes, then. I’m sure.”

He shakes his head and gazes down at the contents of the box. “Sex mad and insatiable.

Well, I think we can do something with this lot,” he murmurs almost to himself, then puts the contents back in the box. When he glances at me again, his expression has completely changed. Holy cow, his gray eyes burn, and his mouth lifts in a slow erotic smile. He holds out his hand.

“Now,” he says, and it’s not a request. My belly clenches, tight and hard, deep, deep down.

I put my hand in his.