What is she doing?
She runs her finger along what I can only assume is the lipstick line. I close my eyes, waiting for the darkness to constrict my chest. Her finger touches my shirt.
“I’m not going to touch you. I just want to undo your shirt,” she says.
Opening my eyes, I keep my panic in check and focus on her face. I don’t stop her. The material of my shirt lifts and she unfastens a second button. Keeping the fabric off my skin, her fingers move to the next button down and she undoes that one, then the next. I don’t move. I daren’t. My breathing is shallow as I suppress my fear; my whole body is tense and waiting.
Don’t touch me.
Please, Ana.
She opens the next button down and smiles up at me. “Back on home territory,” she says, and her fingers trail along the line she made much, much earlier in the day and I tense my diaphragm as her fingers skim across my skin.
She undoes the final button and opens my shirt fully and I let out the breath I’m holding. Next she grabs my hand and, grasping my shirt cuff, removes my left cuff link, followed by the right. “Can I take your shirt off?” she asks.
I nod, totally disarmed, and she lifts my shirt up off my shoulders and pulls it from my body. She’s done. She looks pleased with herself, and I’m standing half naked in front of her.
Slowly I relax.
That wasn’t so bad.
“What about my pants, Miss Steele?” I manage a lascivious smirk.
“In the bedroom. I want you in your bed.”
“Do you, now? Miss Steele, you are insatiable.”
“I can’t think why,” she says, taking my hand. I let her lead me across the living room, through the corridor, and into my bedroom. It’s cold. My nipples pucker against the chill in the room.
“You opened the balcony door?” I ask.
“No,” Ana replies, looking at the open door with a bewildered expression. Then she turns to me, her face ashen. She’s alarmed.
“What?” I ask, as every hair on my body stands on end—not from cold but from fear.
“When I woke,” she whispers, “there was someone in here. I thought it was my imagination.”
“What?” I scan the room quickly, then dash to the balcony and look outside. No one there—but I distinctly remember locking this door during the search. And I know Ana’s never been on the balcony. I lock it again.
“Are you sure?” I ask her. “Who?”
“A woman, I think. It was dark. I’d only just woken up.”
Fuck!
“Get dressed. Now!” I order. Why the hell didn’t she tell me when she came into my office? I have to get her out of here.
“My clothes are upstairs,” she whimpers.
From my chest of drawers I pull out some sweatpants. “Put these on.” I toss them at her, pull out a T-shirt, and dress quickly.
I pick up the phone at my bedside.
“Mr. Grey?” Taylor answers.
“She’s still fucking here,” I bark.
“Shit,” says Taylor, and he hangs up.
Moments later he barrels into the bedroom with Ryan.
“Ana says she saw someone in the room. A woman. She came to see me in my study and neglected to tell me this.” I give her a pointed look. “Then when we got back here the balcony door was open. I remember closing and locking it myself during the search. It’s Leila. I know it is.”
“How long ago?” Taylor asks Ana.
“About ten minutes,” she answers.
“She knows the apartment like the back of her hand. I’m taking Anastasia away now. She’s hiding here somewhere. Find her. When is Gail back?”
“Tomorrow evening, sir.”
“She’s not to return until this place is secure. Understand?”
“Yes, sir. Will you be going to Bellevue?”
“I’m not taking this problem to my parents. Book me somewhere.”
“Yes. I’ll call you.”
“Aren’t we all overreacting slightly?” Ana asks.
“She may have a gun,” I growl.
“Christian, she was standing at the end of the bed. She could have shot me then if that’s what she wanted to do.”
I take a deep breath, because now isn’t the time to lose it. “I’m not prepared to take the risk. Taylor, Anastasia needs shoes.” Taylor leaves, but Ryan stays to watch over Ana.
I hurry into my closet, strip out of my pants, and pull on some jeans and my jacket. From my dress-pants pocket I grab the condoms I’d slipped in there earlier and stuff them into my jeans pocket. I pack some clothes, and as an afterthought grab my denim jacket.
Ana is where I left her, looking lost and anxious. My sweatpants are far too big on her, but there’s no time for her to change. I place the denim jacket over her shoulders and grab her hand.
“Come.”
I lead her into the living room to wait for Taylor.
“I can’t believe she could hide somewhere in here,” Ana says.
“It’s a big place. You haven’t seen it all yet.”