murmurs and kisses me chastely again.
“Are you okay?” I ask, releasing him and touching his
chest, his arms, his waist—oh, the feel of this warm, vital,
sensual man beneath my fingers—reassures me that he’s
here, standing in front of me. He’s back. He doesn’t so
much as flinch. He just regards me intently.
“I’m okay. I’m not going anywhere.”
“Oh, thank God,” I clasp him round his waist again,
and he hugs me once more. “Are you hungry? Do you
need something to drink?”
“Yes.”
I step back to fetch him something, but he doesn’t let
me go. He tucks me under his arm and extends a hand to
José.
“Mr. Grey,” says José evenly.
Christian snorts. “Christian, please,” he says.
“Christian, welcome back. Glad you’re okay . . . and
um—thanks for letting me stay.”
“No problem.” Christian narrows his eyes, but he’s
distracted by Mrs. Jones, who is suddenly at his side. It
only occurs to me now that she’s not her usual smart self. I
hadn’t noticed it before. Her hair is loose, and she’s in soft
gray leggings and a large gray sweatshirt that dwarfs
her with WSU Cougars emblazoned on the front. She
looks years younger.
“Can I get you something, Mr. Grey?” She wipes her
eyes with a tissue.
Christian smiles fondly at her. “A beer, please, Gail—
Budvar—and a bite to eat.”
“I’ll fetch it,” I murmur, wanting to do something for
my man.
“No. Don’t go,” he says softly, tightening his arm
“No. Don’t go,” he says softly, tightening his arm
around me.
The rest of his family close in, and Ethan and Kate join
us. He shakes Ethan’s hand and gives Kate a quick peck
on the cheek. Mrs. Jones returns with a bottle of beer and
a glass. He takes the bottle but shakes his head at the
glass. She smiles and returns to the kitchen.
“Surprised you don’t want something stronger,”
mutters Elliot. “So what the fuck happened to you? First I
knew was when Dad called me to say the chopper was
missing.”
“Elliot!” Grace scolds.
“Helicopter,” Christian growls, correcting Elliot, who
grins, and I suspect this is a fami
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