Chapter Nineteen
Soft lips brush across my temple, leaving sweet tender kisses in their wake, and part of me wants to turn and respond, but mostly I want to stay asleep. I moan and burrow into my pillow.
“Anastasia, wake up.” Christian’s voice is soft, cajoling.
“No,” I moan.
“We have to leave in half an hour for dinner at my parents’.” He’s amused.
I open my eyes reluctantly. It’s dusk outside.
Christian is leaning over, gazing at me intently.
“Come on, sleepyhead. Get up.” He stoops down and kisses me again.
“I’ve brought you a drink. I’ll be downstairs.
Don’t go back to sleep, or you’ll be in trouble,” he threatens, but his tone is mild.
He kisses me briefly and exits, leaving me blinking sleep from my eyes in the cool, stark room.
I’m refreshed but suddenly nervous. Holy cow, I am meeting his folks!
He’s just worked me over with a riding crop and trussed me up using a cable tie I sold him, for heaven’s sake—and I’m going to meet his parents.
It will be Kate’s first time meeting them, too—at least she’ll be there for support.
I roll my shoulders. They’re stiff. His demands for a personal trainer don’t seem so outlandish now.
In fact, it’s mandatory if I am to have any hope of keeping up with him.
I climb slowly out of bed and note that my dress is hanging outside the wardrobe and my bra is on the chair.
Where are my panties? I check beneath the chair.
Nothing. Then I remember—he squirreled them away in the pocket of his jeans.
I flush at the memory, after he removed them…
I can’t even bring myself to think about it—he was so…
barbarous. I frown. Why hasn’t he given me back my panties?
I steal into the bathroom, bewildered by my lack of underwear.
While drying myself after my enjoyable but far too brief shower, I realize he’s done this on purpose.
He wants me to be embarrassed and ask for my panties back, and he’ll either say yes or no.
My inner goddess grins at me. Hell…two can play that particular game.
Resolving then and there not to ask him for them and not give him that satisfaction, I shall go meet his parents sans culottes.
Anastasia Steele! my subconscious chides me, but I don’t want to listen to her—I almost hug myself with glee because I know this will drive him crazy.
Back in the bedroom, I put on my bra, slip into my dress, and climb into my shoes. I remove the braid and hastily brush out my hair, then glance down at the drink he’s left. It’s pale pink. What’s this? Cranberry and sparkling water. Hmm…it tastes delicious and quenches my thirst.
Dashing back into the bathroom, I check myself in the mirror: eyes bright, cheeks slightly pink, slightly smug look because of my panty plan, and I head downstairs. Fifteen minutes. Not bad, Ana.
Christian is standing by the panoramic window, wearing the gray flannel pants I love, the ones that hang in that unbelievably sexy way off his hips, and, of course, a white linen shirt. Doesn’t he have any other colors?
Frank Sinatra sings softly over the surround-sound speakers. Christian turns and smiles as I enter. He looks at me expectantly.
“Hi,” I say softly, and my sphinxlike smile meets his.
“Hi,” he says. “How are you feeling?” His eyes are alight with amusement.
“Good, thanks. You?”
“I feel mighty fine, Miss Steele.”
He is so waiting for me to say something.
“Frank. I never figured you for a Sinatra fan.”
He raises his eyebrows at me, his look speculative. “Eclectic taste, Miss Steele,” he says, and he paces toward me like a panther until he’s standing in front of me. His gaze is so intense, it takes my breath away.
Frank starts crooning…an old song, one of Ray’s favorites, “Witchcraft.”
Christian leisurely traces his fingertips down my cheek, and I feel it all the way down there. “Dance with me.” His voice is low and husky.
Taking the remote out of his pocket, he turns up the volume and offers his hand, his gray gaze full of promise and longing and humor. He is totally beguiling, and I’m bewitched. I place my hand in his. He grins lazily down at me and pulls me into his embrace, his arm curling around my waist.
I put my free hand on his shoulder and grin up at him, caught in his infectious, playful mood. He sways once, then we’re off.
Boy, can he dance. We cover the floor, from the window to the kitchen and back again, whirling and turning in time to the music. And he makes it so effortless for me to follow.
We glide around the dining table, over to the piano, and backward and forward in front of the glass wall, Seattle twinkling outside, a dark and magical mural to our dance. I can’t help my carefree laugh.
He grins at me as the song comes to a close. “There’s no nicer witch than you,” he murmurs, then kisses me sweetly. “Well, that’s brought some color to your cheeks, Miss Steele. Thank you for the dance. Shall we go and meet my parents?”
“You’re welcome, and yes, I can’t wait to meet them.” I’m a little breathless.
“Do you have everything you need?”
“Oh yes,” I respond sweetly.
“Are you sure?”
I nod as nonchalantly as I can manage under his intense, amused scrutiny.
His face splits into a huge grin, and he shakes his head. “Okay. If that’s the way you want to play it, Miss Steele.”
He grabs my hand, collects his jacket, which is hanging on one of the barstools, and leads me through the foyer to the elevator. Oh, the many faces of Christian Grey. Will I ever be able to understand this mercurial man?
I peek up at him in the elevator. He’s enjoying a private joke, a trace of a smile flirting with his lovely mouth.
I fear that it may be at my expense. What was I thinking?
I’m going to see his parents, and I’m not wearing any underwear.
My subconscious gives me an unhelpful I-told-you-so expression.
In the relative safety of his apartment, it seemed like a fun, teasing idea.
Now, I’m almost outside with no panties!
He peers at me, and it’s there, the charge building between us.
The amused look disappears from his face, and his expression clouds, his eyes dark… Oh my.
The elevator doors open on the ground floor. Christian shakes his head as if to clear his thoughts and gestures for me to exit before him in a most gentlemanly manner.
Who’s he kidding? He’s no gentleman. He has my panties.
Taylor pulls up in the large Audi. Christian opens the rear door for me, and I climb inside as elegantly as I can, considering my state of wanton undress. I’m grateful the plum dress is so clingy and hangs to the top of my knees.
We speed up Interstate 5, both of us quiet, no doubt inhibited by Taylor’s steady presence in the front.
Christian’s mood is almost tangible and seems to shift, the humor dissipating slowly as we head north.
He’s brooding, staring out the window, and I know he’s slipping away from me.
What is he thinking? I can’t ask him. What can I say in front of Taylor?
“Where did you learn to dance?” I ask tentatively. He turns to me, his eyes unreadable beneath the intermittent glow of the passing streetlights.
“Do you really want to know?” he asks.
My heart sinks, and now I don’t because I can guess. “Yes,” I respond reluctantly.
“Mrs. Robinson was fond of dancing.”
Oh, my worst suspicions confirmed. She has taught him well, and the thought depresses me—there’s nothing I can teach him. I have no special skills. “She must have been a good teacher.”
“She was.”
My scalp prickles. Did she have the best of him? Before he became so closed? Or did she bring him out of himself? He has such a fun, playful side. I smile involuntarily as I recall being in his arms as he spun me around his living room, so unexpected, and he has my panties somewhere.
And then there’s the Red Room of Pain. I rub my wrists reflexively—thin strips of plastic will do that to a girl.
She taught him all that, too, or ruined him, depending on one’s point of view.
Or perhaps he would have found his way there anyway in spite of Mrs. R.
I realize, in that moment, that I hate her.
I hope I never meet her because I will not be responsible for my actions if I do.
I can’t remember ever feeling this passionately about anyone, especially someone I’ve never met.
Gazing unseeing out the window, I nurse my irrational anger and jealousy.
My mind drifts back to the afternoon. Given what I understand of his preferences, I think he’s been easy on me. Would I do it again? I can’t even pretend to put up an argument against that. Of course I would, if he asked me—as long as he didn’t hurt me and if it’s the only way to be with him.
That’s the bottom line. I want to be with him. My inner goddess sighs with relief. I reach the conclusion that she rarely uses her brain to think but another vital part of her anatomy, and at the moment, it’s a rather exposed part.
“Don’t,” he murmurs.
I frown and turn to look at him. “Don’t what?” I haven’t touched him.
“Overthink things, Anastasia.” Reaching out, he grasps my hand, draws it up to his lips, and kisses my knuckles gently. “I had a wonderful afternoon. Thank you.”
And he’s back with me again. He’s so confusing. I ask a question that’s been bugging me. “Why did you use a cable tie?”
He grins. “It’s quick, it’s easy, and it’s something different for you to feel and experience. I know they’re quite brutal, and I do like that in a restraining device… Very effective at keeping you in your place.”
I flush and glance nervously at Taylor, who remains impassive, eyes on the road.
What am I supposed to say to that?
Christian shrugs innocently. “All part of my world, Anastasia.” He squeezes my hand and lets go, staring out the window again.