Chapter 64

“You know, when you fell into my office to interview me, you were all ‘Yes, sir,’ ‘No, sir.’ I thought you were a natural-born submissive. But quite frankly, Anastasia, I’m not sure you have a submissive bone in your delectable body.” I walk the few steps that separate us and look down into eyes that shine with determination.

“You may be right,” she says.

No. No. I don’t want to be right.

“I want the chance to explore the possibility that you do.” I caress her face and her lower lip with my thumb. “I don’t know any other way, Anastasia. This is who I am.”

“I know,” she says.

Lowering my head so my lips hover over hers, I wait until she raises her mouth to mine and closes her eyes. I want to give her a brief, chaste kiss, but as our lips touch, she leans in to me, her hands suddenly fisting in my hair, her mouth opening to me, her tongue insistent. I press my hand to the base of her spine, holding her against me, and deepen the kiss, mirroring her fervor.

Christ, I want her.

“I can’t persuade you to stay?” I whisper against the corner of her mouth, as my body responds, hardening with desire.

“No.”

“Spend the night with me.”

“And not touch you? No.”

Damn. The darkness uncoils in my guts, but I ignore it.

“You impossible girl,” I mutter, and pull back, examining her face and her tense, brooding expression.

“Why do I think you’re telling me good-bye?”

“Because I’m leaving now.”

“That’s not what I mean, and you know it.”

“Christian, I have to think about this. I don’t know if I can have the kind of relationship you want.”

I close my eyes and rest my forehead against hers.

What did you expect, Grey? She’s not cut out for this.

I take a deep breath and kiss her forehead, then bury my nose in her hair, inhaling her sweet, autumnal scent and committing it to memory.

That’s it. Enough.

Stepping back, I release her. “As you wish, Miss Steele. I’ll escort you to the lobby.” I hold out my hand for what could be the last time, and I’m surprised how painful this thought is. She places her hand in mine, and in silence we head down to reception.

“Do you have your valet ticket?” I ask as we reach the lobby. I sound calm and collected, but inside I’m in knots.

From her purse she retrieves the ticket, which I hand to the doorman.

“Thank you for dinner,” she says.

“It’s a pleasure as always, Miss Steele.”

This cannot be the end. I have to show her—demonstrate what this all means, what we can do together. Show her what we can do in the playroom. Then she’ll know. This might be the only way to save this deal. Quickly I turn to her. “You’re moving this weekend to Seattle. If you make the right decision, can I see you on Sunday?” I ask.

“We’ll see. Maybe,” she says.

That’s not a “no.”

I notice the goose bumps on her arms. “It’s cooler now, don’t you have a jacket?” I ask.

“No.”

This woman needs looking after. I take off my jacket. “Here. I don’t want you catching cold.” I slip it over her shoulders and she hugs it around herself, closes her eyes, and inhales deeply.

Is she drawn to my scent? Like I am to hers?

Perhaps all is not lost?

The valet pulls up in an ancient VW Beetle.

What the hell is that?

“That’s what you drive?” This must be older than Grandpa Theodore. Jesus! The valet hands over the keys and I tip him generously. He deserves danger pay.

“Is this roadworthy?” I glare at Ana. How can she be safe in this rust bucket?

“Yes.”

“Will it make it to Seattle?”

“Yes. She will.”

“Safely?”

“Yes.” She tries to reassure me. “Okay, she’s old. But she’s mine, and she’s roadworthy. My stepdad bought it for me.”

When I suggest that we could do better than this she realizes what I’m offering and her expression changes immediately.

She’s mad.

“You are not buying me a car,” she says emphatically.

“We’ll see,” I mutter, trying to keep calm. I hold open the driver’s door, and as she climbs in I wonder if I should ask Taylor to take her home. Damn. I remember that he’s off this evening.

Once I’ve shut the door, she rolls down the window…painfully slowly.

For Christ’s sake!

“Drive safely,” I growl.

“Good-bye, Christian,” she says, and her voice falters, as if she’s trying not to cry.

Shit. My whole mood shifts from irritation and concern for her well-being to helplessness as her car roars off up the street.

I don’t know if I’ll see her again.

I stand like a fool on the sidewalk until her rear lights disappear into the night.

Fuck. Why did that go so wrong?

I stalk back into the hotel, make for the bar, and order a bottle of the Sancerre. Taking it with me, I head up to my room. My laptop lies open on my desk, and before I uncork the wine, I sit down and start typing an e-mail.

* * *

From: Christian Grey

Subject: Tonight

Date: May 25 2011 22:01

To: Anastasia Steele

I don’t understand why you ran this evening. I sincerely hope I answered all your questions to your satisfaction. I know I have given you a great deal to contemplate, and I fervently hope that you will give my proposal your serious consideration. I really want to make this work. We will take it slow.