lock the door.
lock the door.
“Ana!” Christian knocks on the door. I turn on the shower. The door rattles.
“Ana, open the damned door.”
“Go away!”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“Suit yourself.”
“Ana, please.”
I climb into the shower, effectively blocking him out. Oh, it’s warm. The
healing water cascades over me, cleansing the exhaustion of the night off my
skin. Oh my. This feels so good. For a moment, for one short moment, I can
pretend all is well. I wash my hair and by the time I’ve finished, I feel better,
stronger, ready to face the freight train that is Christian Grey. I wrap my hair
in a towel, briskly dry myself with another towel, and wrap it around me.
I unlock the door and open it and find Christian is leaning against the wall
opposite, his hands behind his back. His expression is wary, that of a hunted
predator. I stride past him into our walk-in closet.
“Are you ignoring me?” Christian asks in disbelief as he stands on 400 | P a
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E L JAMES
the threshold of the closet.
“Perceptive, aren’t you?” I murmur absentmindedly as I search for something
to wear. Ah, yes—my plum dress. I slide it off the hanger, choose my high
black stiletto boots, and head for the bedroom. I pause for Christian to step
out of my way, which he does, eventually—his intrinsic good manners taking
over. I sense his eyes boring into me as I walk over to my chest of drawers,
and I peek at him in the mirror, standing motionless in the doorway, watching
me. In an act worthy of an Oscar winner, I let my towel fall to the floor and
pretend that I am oblivious to my naked body. I hear his restrained gasp and
ignore it.
“Why are you doing this?” he asks. His voice is low.
“Why do you think?” My voice is velvet soft as I pull out a pretty pair of black
lace La Perla panties.
“Ana—” He stops as I shimmy into them.
“Go ask your Mrs. Robinson. I’m sure she’ll ha一ve an explanation for you,” I
mutter as I search for the matching bra.
“Ana, I’ve told you before, she’s not my—”
“I don’t want to hear i
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