Total pages in book: 262
Estimated words: 268603 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1343(@200wpm)___ 1074(@250wpm)___ 895(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 268603 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1343(@200wpm)___ 1074(@250wpm)___ 895(@300wpm)
She inhales and I whisper, reeling her in, “We can go see how Elliot’s getting on with the house.”
A momentary flash of disappointment crosses her face, but then she smiles at my teasing. “I’d love to.”
“Good.”
“Don’t you have to work?”
“No. Ros is back from Taiwan. That all went well. Today, everything’s fine.”
There are certain advantages to being your own boss.
“I thought you were going to Taiwan.”
“Ana, you were in the hospital.” There was no way I was leaving you.
“Oh.”
“Yeah—oh. So today I’m spending some quality time with my wife.” I take a sip of Mrs. Jones’s great coffee.
“Quality time?” Ana’s yearning threads through each syllable.
Oh, baby.
Gail places Ana’s scrambled eggs in front of her. “Quality time,” I murmur.
Ana’s eyes dart from my lips to her breakfast. And her breakfast wins.
Damn. Thwarted by scrambled eggs.
“It’s good to see you eat,” I murmur, and pushing my plate aside, I step off my barstool and kiss Ana’s hair. “I’m going to shower.”
“Um…can I come and scrub your back?” she asks through a mouthful of breakfast.
“No. Eat.”
I stride off to the bathroom, feeling her eyes on me. As I exit, I strip off my shirt, and I don’t know if it’s to tempt her to join me in the shower or not. Keeping my hands off her is getting harder and harder in more ways than one.
Grey, grow up.
Ana has insisted that we go visit Ray first, but we don’t stay long. Mr. Rodriguez is with him, watching a British soccer match from yesterday—Manchester United vs. Chelsea. Manchester United is two goals up, which seems to please Mr. Rodriguez enormously, judging by his cheer.
I sigh. Try as I might, I don’t care for soccer.
Ana takes pity on me and lets Ray know that we’re off.
Thank heavens.
I sit back and relax as we cruise in my R8 to the new house. I’m excited to see the destruction that Elliot has wrought, and hopefully the beginnings of what our home will be.
Ana has changed her sky-high heels for more sensible flats; she’s tapping her feet to a Crosby, Stills & Nash song that blares over the Audi’s sound system, looking happy to be out and about. Two days of enforced bed rest has been good for her. She has color in her cheeks, and a soft, sweet smile for me when I glance at her, and she seems to have set aside her recent, horrific encounter with the evil Hyde.
I push him out of my mind.
Don’t go there, Grey.
I want to preserve my good mood.
Since I unburdened my soul a couple of nights ago, I’ve felt happier. I had no idea that spilling my guts to my wife would have such a beneficial effect. I don’t know if it’s because I’ve finally laid the ghost of Elena Lincoln to rest, or if it’s because my parents have provided me with some of the missing pieces from the incomplete puzzle that was my former life, but my heart is lighter somehow—freer, even—but tethered, and as steadfast as ever, to the beautiful woman beside me.
Ana knows me.
She refracts my darkness and turns it to brilliant light.
I shake my head at my fanciful thoughts.
Flowery, Grey.
She’s still here, in spite of all that I’ve done.
The warmth of her love spreads through my veins.
Reaching over, I squeeze her leg, then trail my fingers over her exposed flesh above her thigh-high, relishing the feel of her skin. “I’m glad you didn’t change.”
Ana covers my hand with her own. “Are you going to continue to tease me?”
I didn’t know that’s what I was doing.
But, hey, I’ll play. “Maybe.”
“Why?”
“Because I can.” I beam at her.
“Two can play that game,” she whispers.
I move my fingers up her inner thigh. “Bring it on, Mrs. Grey.”
She takes my hand and places it on my knee. “Well, you can keep your hands to yourself,” she says primly.
“As you wish, Mrs. Grey.”
I cannot hide my smile. I love playful Ana.
Ha. I love Ana. Period.
Stopping at the gates to our house, I press the entry code into the keypad. The metal gates swing slowly open, creaking a protest at being disturbed. They need replacing, and we’ll get around to it eventually. Speeding along the driveway, I wish I’d taken the top down on the car. The tall grass in the meadow is golden beneath the September sun, and the trees lining the drive are all decked in the colors of the coming fall. The Sound in the distance is a brilliant blue. It’s idyllic.
And it’s ours.
As the lane meanders around a wide curve, the house appears, surrounded by a number of Elliot’s construction trucks. It’s hidden behind scaffolding, and several of Elliot’s crew are at work on the roof. I park outside the portico, switch off the engine, and turn to Ana. “Let’s go find Elliot.” I’m buzzing to see what he’s accomplished so far.