She obliges, and gently I clean the makeup off until, finally, she’s smudge-free. “Ah. There’s the woman I married.”
“You don’t like makeup?”
“I like it well enough, but I prefer what’s beneath it.” I kiss her forehead. “Here. Take these.” I place the tablets on her palm and hand her the water.
She gazes up at me, pouting.
What?
“Take them.” You’ll feel worse tomorrow if you don’t.
She rolls her eyes but does as she’s told.
“Good. Do you need a private moment?”
She scoffs. “So coy, Mr. Grey. Yes, I need to pee.”
I laugh. “You expect me to leave?”
She giggles. “You want to stay?”
I cock my head to one side. It’s tempting.
“You are one kinky son of a bitch. Out. I don’t want you to watch me pee. That’s a step too far.” She stands up and waves me out of the bathroom.
I suppress my laughter and leave her to it. In the bedroom, I strip out of my clothes, change into my pajama bottoms, and hang my jacket in the closet. When I turn around, Ana is watching me. Grabbing a T-shirt, I stroll up to her, appreciating her frankly lascivious appraisal of my body. “Enjoying the view?”
“Al-ways,” she slurs.
“I think you’re slightly drunk, Mrs. Grey.”
“I think, for once, I have to agree with you, Mr. Grey.”
“Let me help you out of what little there is of this dress. It really should come with a health warning.” I turn her around, sweep her hair to the side, and undo the single button at the halter neck.
“You were so mad,” she says.
“Yes. I was.”
“At me?”
“No. Not at you.” I kiss her shoulder. “For once.”
“Makes a nice change.”
“Yes. It does.” I kiss her other shoulder, then tug her dress over her behind. Hooking my thumbs into her panties, I bend down and remove them together. I take her hand. “Step.” She does, tightening her fingers around mine as she wobbles. I toss her clothes on top of the coat. “Arms up.” I slip the T-shirt over her head and pull her into my arms and kiss her. She tastes of champagne and toothpaste and my favorite flavor, Ana. “As much as I’d love to bury myself in you, Mrs. Grey—you’ve had too much to drink, you’re at nearly eight thousand feet, and you didn’t sleep well last night. Come. Get into bed.” I pull back the duvet and let her climb in. She snuggles down as I cover her up and kiss her forehead.
“Close your eyes. When I come back to bed, I’ll expect you to be asleep.”
“Don’t go.”
“I have some calls to make, Ana.”
“It’s Saturday. It’s late. Please.” She looks up at me with her soul-searching eyes.
I run my hand through my hair. “Ana, if I come to bed with you now, you won’t get any rest. Sleep.” She pouts once more, but without any real passion. She’s too tired. I brush my lips against her forehead again. “Good night, baby.” I turn and leave her. I have to get Taipei on the line.
Sunday, August 28, 2011
Ana is comatose when I return to bed. Slipping beneath the covers, I lean over and kiss her hair. She mumbles something unintelligible, but remains fast asleep. I close my eyes. My conversation with the owners of the Taiwanese shipyard was a success: a brother and sister in business together—it’s a first for me—and they’re keen to discuss terms in person. We just have to settle on a date. It’s the icing on the cake of a good day. Well, apart from losing it at the club and punching that asshole’s lights out. I grin into the darkness. No, that felt pretty good, too. With a self-satisfied smile on my face, I drift.
Ana squirms against me and I wake, fully. As usual, my limbs are entwined with hers. “What’s wrong?” I ask.
“Nothing.” She’s luminous in the early morning sunshine. “Good morning.” She runs her fingers through my hair.
“Mrs. Grey, you look lovely this morning.” I press my lips to her cheek.
Her eyes search mine. “Thank you for taking care of me last night.”
“I like taking care of you. It’s what I want to do.” Always.
“You make me feel cherished.” Her smile warms my heart.
“That’s because you are.” More than you’ll ever know. I grasp her hand and she winces. I release her immediately. Shit! “The punch?” I ask.
I knew I should have hit that prick again.
“I slapped him. I didn’t punch him.”
“That fucker! I can’t bear that he touched you.” My temper flares.
“He didn’t hurt me—he was just inappropriate, Christian. I’m okay. My hand’s a little red, that’s all. Surely you know what that’s like?” She smirks, laughing at me as usual, and my brief burst of anger dissolves.
“Why, Mrs. Grey, I am very familiar with that. I could reacquaint myself with that feeling this minute, should you so wish.”