Behind me, the late-afternoon sun is drifting toward the horizon, and I’m in my corner of the ring, waiting for the match to start. Gloves on. Mouth guard in.
How many rounds will I go with Mrs. Grey?
The soft ping of the elevator rings through the foyer.
She’s here.
Showtime, Grey.
The thud of Ana’s briefcase hitting the floor in the hall is followed by her footsteps into the living room. She stops when she sees me.
“Good evening, Mrs. Grey.” Barefoot, I swagger toward her, like a gunfighter in an old black-and-white movie, my eyes fixed on her. “Good to have you home. I’ve been waiting for you.”
“Have you, now?” she whispers. She’s as beautiful as she looked this morning, though her eyes are wide and wary; her guard is up.
Game on, Ana.
“I have,” I answer.
“I like your jeans,” she murmurs, eyeing me from head to toe.
I wore them for you. I give her a wolfish grin and halt in front of her. She licks her lips, and swallows, but she doesn’t look away.
“I understand you have issues, Mrs. Grey.” From my back pocket I pull out her shouty-capped e-mail and unfold it in front of her, trying to intimidate her with a look.
I fail.
“Yes, I have issues,” she responds, gazing at me, her manner forthright but her voice betraying her, all breathy and sexy.
Leaning down, I run my nose along hers, relishing the contact. Her eyes close and she utters the softest of sighs.
“So do I,” I murmur against her fragrant skin.
Her eyes flutter open and I straighten up.
“I think I’m familiar with your issues, Christian.” She raises a brow, and humor hovers behind her eyes.
I narrow mine.
Don’t make me laugh, Ana.
I remember her saying that to me, not so long ago.
She takes a step back. “Why did you fly back from New York?” she asks, her voice kitten-soft, belying the lioness I know.
“You know why.”
“Because I went out with Kate?”
“Because you went back on your word, and you defied me, putting yourself at unnecessary risk.”
“Went back on my word? Is that how you see it?”
“Yes.”
She looks heavenward, then stops when she notices my scowl, but I’m not sure a spanking would be a good idea right now. “Christian,” she says in the same soft voice, “I changed my mind. I’m a woman. We’re renowned for it. That’s what we do.” When I don’t respond, she continues, “If I had thought for one minute that you would cancel your business trip…” She stops, seemingly at a loss.
“You changed your mind?”
“Yes.”
“And you didn’t think to call me?”
How could you be so inconsiderate?
“What’s more, you left the security detail short here and put Ryan at risk.”
Her cheeks pink. “I should have called, but I didn’t want to worry you. If I had, I’m sure you would have forbidden me to go, and I’ve missed Kate. I wanted to see her. Besides, it kept me out of the way when Jack was here. Ryan shouldn’t have let him in.”
But he did.
And had you been here…
Fuck. Enough, Grey.
I reach for her, pulling her into my arms. “Oh, Ana,” I whisper, and hold her as close as I can. “If something were to happen to you—”
He had a gun.
He had a syringe.
“It didn’t,” she whispers.
“But it could have. I’ve died a thousand deaths today, thinking about what might have happened. I was so mad, Ana. Mad at you. Mad at myself. Mad at everyone. I can’t remember being this angry…except—”
“Except?” she asks.
“Once in your old apartment. When Leila was there.”
Someone else with a fucking gun.
“You were so cold this morning.” Her voice breaks into a sob on the last word.
No. Ana. Don’t cry. I loosen my grip and tip her head up. “I don’t know how to deal with this anger,” I whisper.
I used to have a way. But that’s lost to me now.
Shit. Don’t go there, Grey.
I gaze down into troubled blue eyes that draw the truth from me. “I don’t think I want to hurt you.” That’s why I was cold. I was raging. “This morning, I wanted to punish you, badly, and—”
How do I explain that?
I want to rage at the world, and you are my world.
“You were worried you’d hurt me?” she asks.
“I didn’t trust myself.”
“Christian, I know you’d never hurt me. Not physically, anyway.” She clasps my face.
“Do you?”
“Yes. I knew what you said was an empty, idle threat. I know you’re not going to beat the shit out of me.”
“I wanted to.”
“No, you didn’t. You just thought you did.”
“I don’t know if that’s true.”
“Think about it,” she says, embracing me and nuzzling my chest. “About how you felt when I left. You’ve told me often enough what that did to you. How it altered your view of the world, of me. I know what you’ve given up for me. Think about how you felt about the cuff marks on our honeymoon.”
She has a point. Thinking back, I felt like an asshole, and I don’t want her to leave me again. She tightens her arms around me and gently rubs my back, and slowly, oh-so-slowly, my tension eases. She presses her cheek to my chest, and I can resist her no more. Leaning down, I kiss her hair, and she turns her face up, offering her mouth to me. I kiss her, my lips begging her to do as she’s told, begging her not to go, begging her to stay. She kisses me back.
“You have such faith in me,” I murmur.
“I do.”
I stroke her face, staring into her beautiful eyes, seeing her compassion, her love, and her desire.
What did I do to deserve her?
She smiles. “Besides,” she whispers, an impish look on her face, “you don’t have the paperwork.”
I laugh and clutch her to my chest. “You’re right. I don’t.” We hold each other, and a quiet peace settles between us; it’s the first time I’ve felt any tranquility since my trip to New York. Is this the end of hostilities?