Freed (Fifty Shades as Told by Christian #3) - E.L. James Page 0,39

says, and I carry her into the bedroom.

Saturday, July 16, 2011

Wake up, sleepy head.” Gently I tug Ana’s earlobe with my teeth.

“Hmm…” She groans and refuses to open her eyes. I tug again. “Ah!” she gripes and her eyes flutter open.

“Good morning, Miss Steele.”

“Good morning.” She reaches up to stroke my face. I’m fully dressed and lying stretched out beside her.

“Sleep well?” I kiss her palm.

She gives me a sleepy nod.

“I have a surprise.”

“Oh?”

“Up.” I slide off the bed.

“What surprise?”

“If I told you…”

She slides her head to one side, unimpressed. She needs an answer.

“Floating above the Pacific Northwest?”

She gasps and sits up immediately. “Soaring?” she asks.

“The very same.”

“We can chase the”—she glances out of the window—“rain?” She looks crestfallen.

“It’s sunnier where we’re going.”

“Then we can chase the midday sun!”

“We can. If you get up!”

She squeals with delight and scrambles out of bed, all haste and long limbs. She stops to give me a swift chaste kiss before dashing into the bathroom.

“It should be warm,” I call after her with a huge grin. I think she’s pleased.

As we speed down I-90 in the R8, fleeing the dreary weather, I allow myself the luxury of being in the moment. My girl is beside me, The Killers are on the sound system, and we’re going soaring, in my new sailplane. All is right in the world.

Flynn would be proud.

Of course, we’re being followed by Sawyer and Reynolds, but a guy can’t have everything.

“Where are we going?” Ana asks, peering through the drizzle.

“Ephrata.”

From the corner of my eye I see she’s perplexed. “It’s about two and a half hours away. It’s where I keep my sailplanes.”

“You have more than one?”

“Two. Now.”

“The Blaník?” she asks, and when I frown she continues, sounding a little less certain. “You mentioned it to the pilot when we went soaring in Georgia.” She looks down at her fingers and starts twisting her engagement ring. “It’s why I bought you the model one.” Her voice drops so I have to strain to hear her.

“The only Blaník I have is that little glider. It has pride of place on my desk at work.” Reaching over, I grasp her knee, briefly recalling the circumstances when she gifted the little model to me.

Don’t go there, Grey.

“I trained to fly in a Blaník. Right now, I have a brand-new, state-of-the-art ASH 30. One of the first in the world. It will be my—our maiden flight in her.” I flash her a quick grin.

Ana’s face erupts into smile and she shakes her head fondly.

“What?” I ask.

“You.”

“Me?”

“Yes. You and your toys.”

“A man has to chill, Ana.” I wink at her and she blushes.

“You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”

“That and the ‘are you gay’ question.”

Ana laughs. “You enjoy expensive pursuits.”

“This is not news.”

She stifles her smile and shakes her head again, and I don’t know if she’s laughing at me or with me.

Plus ça change, Anastasia.

We turn into the parking lot at Ephrata Municipal Airport just before eleven. The promised sun has materialized, dispersing the rain clouds and ushering in pretty white cumulus, perfect for soaring. I’m itching to see my new plane and get her airborne. “Ready?” I ask.

“Yes!” Ana’s eyes shine, her excitement palpable. Like mine.

“It’s so bright, we’re going to need shades.” From the glove box I take my aviators and hand a pair of Wayfarers to Ana, then retrieve the two Mariners caps.

“Thank you. I forgot my sunglasses.”

As I climb out of the car, Sawyer arrives in the Q7 and parks beside the R8. I give him a wave and he rolls down the window. “There’s a pilot’s lounge if you guys want to wait in there,” I say. “Follow us in.”

“Mr. Grey, please.” Sawyer’s tone stops me. And I know he wants to check out the offices before Ana and I go inside. I step out of the way to let Reynolds and Sawyer through.

This is getting old.

I take a deep breath. I won’t let his vigilance dampen my spirits—after all, it’s what I pay him to do. Taking Ana’s hand, I follow our security into the office, where Darius Jackson is waiting.

“Christian Grey,” he calls out, and pumps my hand with a hearty shake. It’s great to see him. He’s a big guy, tall, but rounder than when I last saw him. “You’re keeping well,” he observes.

“As are you, Darius. This is my fiancée, Anastasia Steele.”

“Miss Steele.” Darius gives her a broad, brilliant smile.

“Ana,” she corrects us both, but smiles and takes his hand.

“Darius was my