Freed (Fifty Shades as Told by Christian #3) - E.L. James Page 0,237

I kiss her forehead.

She stirs and frowns. “Christian,” she murmurs, her voice wistful and full of longing. The hope kindled by her earlier call ignites into a fire.

“I’m here,” I whisper.

But she turns over, sighs, and falls back into a deep slumber. I’m so tempted to strip down and join her, but I don’t think I’d be welcome. “I love you, Anastasia Grey. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Damn. No, I won’t.

I have to fly to Portland and see the finance committee at WSU in Vancouver. That means leaving early.

I place my favorite tie beside her on the pillow so she’ll know I’ve been here. As I do, I recall the first time I tied her hands. The thought travels straight to my cock.

I wore it to tease her at her graduation.

I wore it at our wedding.

I’m a sentimental fool. “Tomorrow, baby,” I whisper. “Sleep well.”

I forgo the piano, even though I want to play. I don’t want to wake her. But as I head alone into our bedroom, I’m more hopeful. She whispered my name.

Yes. There’s hope for us yet.

Don’t give up on me, Ana.

Thursday, September 15, 2011

It’s 5:30 in the morning and I’m in the gym, pounding away on the treadmill. Sleep eluded me last night, and when I did drift off, I was haunted by my dreams:

Ana disappearing into the garage at The Heathman without looking back at me.

Ana an enraged siren, holding a thin cane, eyes blazing, wearing nothing but expensive lingerie and leather boots, her angry words like barbs.

Ana lying unmoving on a sticky green rug.

I shake off that last image and run harder, pushing my body to its limits. I don’t want to feel anything except the pain of my bursting lungs and aching legs. With Bloomberg’s rolling business news on the TV and “Pump It” in my ears, I blot out the world… I blot out thoughts of my wife, sleeping soundly two rooms away from me.

Dream of me, Ana. Miss me.

In the shower while I hose off my workout sweat, I contemplate waking her just to say good-bye. I fly to Portland in Charlie Tango this morning, and I’d like a sweet smile to take with me.

Let her sleep, Grey.

And given how pissed she is at me, there’s no guarantee of a sweet smile.

Mrs. Jones is still giving me the cold shoulder, but I grill her anyway. “Did Ana eat last night?”

“She did.” Mrs. Jones’s attention is on the omelet she’s preparing for me. I think that’s all the information I’m going to get this morning. I sip my coffee and sulk, feeling fifty shades of miserable.

In the car on the way to Boeing Field I write an e-mail to Ana.

Keep it factual, Grey.

From: Christian Grey

Subject: Portland

Date: September 15 2011 06:45

To: Anastasia Grey

Ana,

I am flying down to Portland today.

I have some business to conclude with WSU.

I thought you would want to know.

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

But I know my real intention in sending an e-mail isn’t to inform her…but to get a response.

I live in hope.

Stephan is on hand to fly us down to Portland. After my sleepless night, I’m dog-tired. If I fall asleep, I’ll be more comfortable in the rear, so for the first time ever, I offer Taylor the front passenger seat, remove my jacket, and take a back seat in Charlie Tango. I leaf through the notes I have for the meeting, and once I’ve done that, I lean back and close my eyes.

Ana is running through the meadow at the new house. She’s laughing as I chase her. I’m laughing, too. I catch her and pull her down into the long grass. She giggles and I kiss her. Her lips are soft, because she’s been crying. No. Don’t cry. Baby, don’t cry. Please don’t cry. She closes her eyes. She sleeps. She won’t wake. Ana! Ana! She’s lying on a thread worn rug. Pale. Unmoving. Ana. Wake up. Ana!

Gasping, I wake, and I’m momentarily disoriented. Wait—I’m in Charlie Tango, and we’ve just landed in Portland. The rotors are still spinning, and Stephan is talking to the tower. I rub my face to rouse myself and unbuckle my harness.

Taylor opens his door and steps out onto the helipad while I don my jacket, careful not to snag the cable of my headphones.

“Thanks, Stephan,” I say over the cans.

“No problem, Mr. Grey.”

“We should be back around one this afternoon.”

“We’ll be ready and waiting.” He frowns, his concern evident in the creases across his brow, while Taylor, head down,