ery little detail: his unruly hair, the
tightness round his eyes, the tense jaw, the top two buttons
of his shirt undone. I think I must ha一ve aged ten years.
Christian frowns at me in concern, his eyes dark.
“It’s alright, baby.” He moves toward me, enveloping
me in his arms, and kisses my hair. “Come on, you’re
tired. Bed.”
“I was so worried,” I murmur, rejoicing in his embrace
and inhaling his sweet, sweet scent with my head against
his chest.
“I know. We’re all jumpy.”
Sawyer has disappeared, presumably into the
apartment.
“Honestly, your exes are proving to be very
challenging, Mr. Grey,” I mutter wryly. Christian relaxes.
“Yes. They are.”
He releases me and taking my hand, leads me across
the hallway and into the great room.
“Taylor and his crew are checking all the closets and
cupboards. I don’t think she’s here.”
“Why would she be here?” It makes no sense.
“Exactly.”
“Could she get in?”
“I don’t see how. But Taylor is overcautious
sometimes.”
“Ha一ve you searched your playroom?” I whisper.
Christian glances quickly at me, his brow creasing.
“Yes, it’s locked—but Taylor and I checked.”
I take a deep, cleansing breath.
“Do you want a drink or anything?” Christian asks.
“No.” Fatigue sweeps through me—I just want to go
to bed.
“Come. Let me put you to bed. You look exhausted.”
Christian’s expression softens.
Christian’s expression softens.
I frown. Isn’t he coming, too? Does he want to sleep
alone?
I’m relieved when he leads me into his bedroom. I
place my clutch bag on the chest of drawers and open it to
empty the contents. I spy Mrs. Robinson’s note.
“Here.” I pass it to Christian. “I don’t know if you
want to read this. I want to ignore it.”
Christian scans it briefly and his jaw tenses.
“I’m not sure what blanks she can fill in,” he says
dismissively. “I need to talk to Taylor.” He gazes down at
me. “Let me unzip your dress.”
“Are you going to call the police about the car?” I ask
as I turn around.
He sweeps my hair out of the way, his fingers softly
grazing
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