Fifty Shades of Grey

“What?” he asks, and I realize I’m frowning.

“What’s wrong?” I ask softly.

“What do you mean?”

“Well… you’re being more weird than usual.”

“You find me weird?” He tries to stifle a smile.

I blush.

“Sometimes.”

He regards me for a moment, his eyes speculative.

“As ever, I’m surprised by you, Miss Steele.”

“Surprised how?”

“Let’s just say that was an unexpected treat.”

“We aim to please, Mr. Grey.” I cock my head to one side like he often does to me and give his words back to him.

“And please me you do,” he says, but he looks uneasy. “I thought you were going to have a shower.”

Oh, he’s dismissing me.

“Yes… um, I’ll see you in a moment.” I scurry out of his office completely dumbfounded.

He seemed confused. Why? I have to say as physical experiences go, that was very satisfying. But emotionally – well, I’m rattled by his reaction, and that was about as emotionally enriching as cotton candy is nutritious.

Mrs. Jones is still in the kitchen.

“Would you like your tea now, Miss Steele?”

“I’ll have a shower first, thank you,” I mutter and take my blazing face quickly out of the room.

In the shower, I try to figure out what’s up with Christian. He is the most complicated person I know, and I cannot understand his ever-changing moods. He seemed fine when I went into his study. We had sex… and then he wasn’t. No, I don’t get it. I look to my subconscious. She’s whistling with her hands behind her back and looking anywhere but at me. She hasn’t got a clue, and my inner goddess is still basking in a remnant of post-coital glow. No – we’re all clueless.

I towel-dry my hair, comb it through with Christian’s one and only hair implement, and put my hair up in bun. Kate’s plum dress hangs laundered and ironed in the closet along with my clean bra and panties. Mrs. Jones is a marvel. Slipping on Kate’s shoes, I straighten my dress, take a deep breath, and head back out to the great room.

Christian is still nowhere to be seen, and Mrs. Jones is checking the contents of the pantry.

“Tea now, Miss Steele?” she asks.

“Please.” I smile at her. I feel slightly more confident now that I’m dressed.

“Would you like something to eat?”

“No, thank you.”

“Of course you’ll have something to eat,” Christian snaps, glowering. “She likes pancakes, bacon, and eggs, Mrs. Jones.”

“Yes, Mr. Grey. What would you like, sir?”

“Omelet, please, and some fruit.” He doesn’t take his eyes off me, his expression unfathomable. “Sit,” he orders, pointing to one of the bar stools.

I oblige, and he sits beside me while Mrs. Jones busies herself with breakfast. Gosh, it’s unnerving having someone else listen to our conversation.

“Have you bought your air ticket?”

“No, I’ll buy it when I get home – over the Internet.”

He leans on his elbow, rubbing his chin.

“Do you have the money?”

Oh no.

“Yes,” I say with mock patience as if I’m talking to a small child.

He raises a censorious eyebrow at me. Crap.

“Yes, I do, thank you,” I amend rapidly.

“I have a jet. It’s not scheduled to be used for three days, it’s at your disposal.”

I gape at him. Of course he has a jet, and I have to resist my body’s natural inclination to roll my eyes at him. I want to laugh. But I don’t, as I can’t read his mood.

“We’ve already made serious misuse of your company’s aviation fleet. I wouldn’t want to do it again.”

“It’s my company, it’s my jet.” He sounds almost wounded. Oh, boys and their toys!