Chapter Ten
He pulls out of me suddenly and I wince. He sits up on the bed and throws the used condom in a wastebasket.
“Come on, we need to get dressed—that’s if you want to meet my mother.” He grins, leaps up off the bed, and pulls on his jeans—no underwear!
I struggle to sit up as I’m still tethered. “Christian—I can’t move.”
His grin widens, and leaning down, he undoes the tie. The woven pattern has made an indentation around my wrists. It’s…sexy. He gazes at me, amused, his eyes dancing with mirth. He kisses my forehead quickly and beams. “Another first,” he acknowledges, but I have no idea what he’s talking about.
“I have no clean clothes in here.” I’m filled with sudden panic, and considering what I’ve just experienced, I’m finding the panic overwhelming. His mother! Holy crap. I have no clean clothes, and she’s practically walked in on us in flagrante delicto. “Perhaps I should stay here.”
“Oh no you don’t,” Christian warns. “You can wear something of mine.” He’s slipped on a white T-shirt and runs his hand through his just-fucked hair.
In spite of my anxiety, I lose my train of thought. His beauty is derailing.
“Anastasia, you could be wearing a sack and you’d look lovely.
Please don’t worry. I’d like you to meet my mother.
Get dressed. I’ll just go and calm her down.
” His mouth presses into a hard line. “I’ll expect you in that room in five minutes; otherwise, I’ll come and drag you out of here myself in whatever you’re wearing.
My T-shirts are in this drawer. My shirts are in the closet.
Help yourself.” He eyes me speculatively for a moment, then leaves the room.
Holy shit. Christian’s mother. This is so much more than I bargained for.
Perhaps meeting her will help put a little part of the jigsaw in place.
Might help me understand why Christian is the way he is…
Suddenly, I want to meet her. I pick up my shirt from the floor, and I’m pleased to discover that it has survived the night well with hardly any creases.
I find my blue bra under the bed and dress quickly.
But if there’s one thing I hate, it’s not wearing clean panties.
I rifle through Christian’s chest of drawers and come across his boxer briefs.
After pulling on a pair of tight gray Calvin Kleins, I tug on my jeans and my Converse.
Grabbing my jacket, I dash into the bathroom and stare at my too-bright eyes, my flushed face—and my hair!
Holy crap…just-fucked pigtails do not suit me, either.
I hunt in the vanity unit for a brush and find a comb.
It will have to do. I quickly tie back my hair while I despair at my clothes.
Maybe I should take Christian up on his offer of clothes.
My subconscious purses her lips and mouths the word ho.
I ignore her. Struggling into my jacket, pleased that the cuffs cover the telltale patterns from his tie, I take a last anxious glance at myself in the mirror.
This will have to do. I make my way into the main living room.
“Here she is.” Christian stands from where he’s lounging on the couch.
His expression is warm and appreciative.
The sandy-haired woman beside him turns and beams at me, a full megawatt smile.
She stands, too. She’s impeccably attired in a camel-colored fine knit sweater dress with matching shoes.
She looks groomed, elegant, beautiful, and inside I die a little, knowing I look such a mess.
“Mother, this is Anastasia Steele. Anastasia, this is Grace Trevelyan-Grey.”
Dr. Trevelyan-Grey holds her hand out to me. T…for Trevelyan? His initial.
“What a pleasure to meet you,” she murmurs. If I’m not mistaken, there is wonder and maybe stunned relief in her voice and a warm glow in her hazel eyes.
I grasp her hand, and I can’t help but smile, returning her warmth. “Dr. Trevelyan-Grey,” I murmur.
“Call me Grace.” She grins. Christian frowns but Grace continues, “I’m usually Dr. Trevelyan, and Mrs. Grey is my mother-in-law.” She winks at me and sits down. Christian takes his seat and motions for me to join him.
“So how did you two meet?” Grace looks questioningly at Christian, unable to hide her curiosity.
“Anastasia interviewed me for the student paper at WSU because I’m giving the commencement speech there this week.”
Double crap. I’d forgotten that.
“So you are graduating this week?” Grace asks.
“Yes.”
My cell phone starts ringing. Kate, I bet.
“Excuse me.” It’s in the kitchen. I wander over and lean across the breakfast bar, not checking the number. “Kate.”
“Dios mío! Ana!” Holy crap, it’s José. He sounds desperate. “Where are you? I’ve been trying to contact you. I need to see you, to apologize for my behavior on Friday. Why haven’t you returned my calls?”
“Look, José, now’s not a good time.” I glance anxiously over at Christian, who’s watching me intently, his face impassive as he says something to his mom. I turn my back to him.
“Where are you? Kate is being so evasive,” he whines.
“I’m in Seattle.”
“What are you doing in Seattle? Are you with him?”
“José, I’ll call you later. I can’t talk to you now.” I hang up.
I walk nonchalantly back to Christian and his mother. Grace is in full flow.
“…and Elliot called to say you were around—I haven’t seen you for two weeks, darling.”
“Did he now?” Christian mutters, gazing at me, his expression unreadable.
“I thought we might have lunch together, but I can see you have other plans, and I don’t want to interrupt your day.” She gathers up her long cream coat and turns to him, offering him her cheek.
He kisses her briefly, sweetly. She doesn’t touch him. “I have to drive Anastasia back to Portland.”
“Of course, darling. Anastasia, it’s been such a pleasure. I do hope we meet again.” She holds her hand out to me, her eyes glowing, and we shake.
Taylor appears from…where?
“Mrs. Grey?” he asks.
“Thank you, Taylor.”
He escorts her from the room and through the double doors to the foyer. Taylor was here the whole time? How long has he been here? Where has he been?
Christian glares at me. “So the photographer called?”
Crap. “Yes.”
“What did he want?”
“Just to apologize, you know—for Friday.”
Christian narrows his eyes. “I see.”
Taylor reappears. “Mr. Grey, there’s an issue with the Darfur shipment.”
Christian nods curtly at him. “Charlie Tango back at Boeing Field?”
“Yes, sir.”
Taylor nods at me. “Miss Steele.”
I smile tentatively back at him, and he turns and leaves. “Does he live here? Taylor?”
“Yes.” His tone is clipped. What is his problem?
Christian heads over to the kitchen and picks up his BlackBerry, scrolling through some emails, I assume. His mouth presses in a hard line, and he makes a call.
“Ros, what’s the issue?” he snaps. He listens, watching me, eyes speculative, as I stand in the middle of the huge room wondering what to do with myself, feeling extraordinarily self-conscious and out of place.
“I’m not having either crew put at risk…
No, cancel… We’ll air-drop instead… Good.
” He hangs up. The warmth in his eyes has disappeared.
He looks forbidding, and with one quick glance at me, he heads into his study and returns a moment later.
“This is the contract. Read it, and we’ll discuss it next weekend.
May I suggest you do some research so you know what’s involved?
” He pauses. “That’s if you agree, and I really hope you do,” he adds, his tone softer… anxious even.
“Research?”
“You’ll be amazed what you can find on the internet,” he quips.
Internet! I don’t have access to a computer, only Kate’s laptop, and I couldn’t use the one at Clayton’s, not for this sort of “research” surely.
“What is it?” he asks, cocking his head to one side.
“I don’t have a computer. I usually use the computers at school. I’ll see if I can use Kate’s laptop.”
He hands me a manila envelope.
“I’m sure I can, um…lend you one. Get your things. We’ll drive back to Portland and grab some lunch on the way. I need to dress.”
“I’ll just make a call.” I need to hear Kate’s voice.
He frowns. “The photographer?” His jaw clenches and his eyes burn. “I don’t like to share, Miss Steele. Remember that.” His quiet, chilling tone is a warning, and with one long, cold look at me, he heads back to the bedroom.
Holy crap.
I just wanted to speak to Kate, I want to call after him, but his sudden aloofness has left me paralyzed. What happened to the generous, relaxed, smiling man who was making love to me not half an hour ago?
“Ready?” Christian asks as we stand by the double doors to the foyer.
I nod uncertainly. He’s resumed his distant, polite, uptight persona, his mask back up and on show.
He’s carrying a leather messenger bag. Why does he need that?
Perhaps he’s staying in Portland, and then I remember graduation.
Oh yes…he’ll be there on Thursday. He’s wearing a black leather jacket.
He certainly doesn’t look like the multi-multimillionaire, billionaire, whatever-aire, in these clothes.
He looks like a boy from the wrong side of the tracks, maybe a badly behaved rock star or a catwalk model.
I sigh inwardly, wishing I had a tenth of his poise.
He’s so calm and controlled. I frown, recalling his outburst about José… Well, he seems to be.
Taylor is hovering in the background.
“Tomorrow, then,” he says to Taylor, who nods.
“Yes, sir. Which car are you taking, sir?”
He glances at me. “The R8.”
“Safe trip, Mr. Grey. Miss Steele.” Taylor looks kindly at me, though perhaps there’s a hint of pity hidden in the depths of his eyes.