E L James is a TV executive, wife, and mother of two, based in West London. E L James is currently working on the sequel to Fifty Shades of Grey and a new romantic .. waiting – awkwardly on my part, coolly self-possessed on his. for the wide glass doors, and I'm free in the bracing, cleansing, damp air of Seattle. , no part may be reproduced, copied, scanned, wife, and mother of two, based in West London. Since Fifty Shades of Grey. E L James is currently. Fifty Shades of Grey, Fifty Shades. Darker, and Fifty Shades Freed are works of fiction. .. Two says. I stand rather shakily, trying to suppress my nerves. Gathering up my .. waiting— awkwardly on my part, coolly suddenly I'm free in the.
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Jack is talking to Elizabeth as I head for the doors. Smiling broadly, he hurries over to open them for me. Outside on the curb, Taylor is waiting. He opens the rear door of the car.
I glance hesitantly at Jack who has followed me out. I turn and climb into the back, and there he sits—Christian Grey—wearing his gray suit, no tie, his white shirt open at the collar.
His gray eyes are glowing. My mouth dries. Oh no! Answer me. Holy shit. I had a yogurt at lunchtime. Oh—and a banana. I wave back. Your last meal? Tell me. I groan in frustration, rolling my eyes heavenward, and Christian narrows his eyes. And for the first time in a long time, I want to laugh. I try hard to stifle the giggle that threatens to bubble up. He closes his eyes as fury and possibly regret, sweeps across his face. I stare down at the knotted fingers in my lap.
Why does he always make me feel like an errant child? He shifts and turns toward me. I swallow. Oh no. Skin against skin. We need to talk. He has his arms around me, and his nose is in my hair.
I want to struggle out of his hold, to maintain some distance, but his arms are wrapped around me. I melt. Oh, this is where I want to be. I rest my head against him, and he kisses my hair repeatedly. This is home. He smells of linen, fabric softener, body wash, and my favorite smell—Christian.
For a moment, I allow myself the illusion that all will be well, and it soothes my ravaged soul. Of course. Charlie Tango.
Taylor opens the door and I slide out. He gives me a warm, avuncular smile that makes me feel safe. I smile back. He looks quizzically at Taylor who stares impassively back at him, revealing nothing. I revel in the feel of his large hand and his long, skilled fingers curled around mine.
I feel the familiar pull—I am drawn, Icarus to his sun. I have been burned already, and yet here I am again.
Reaching the elevators, he presses the call button. As the doors open, he releases my hand and ushers me in. The doors close and I risk a second peek. I can almost taste it, pulsing between us, drawing us together. Desire pools dark and deadly in my groin. He clasps my hand and grazes my knuckles with his thumb, and all my muscles clench tightly, deliciously, deep inside me.
How can he still do this to me? I gaze up at him, releasing my lip. I want him. Here, now, in the elevator. How could I not? Oh, I still affect him. My inner goddess stirs from her five-day sulk. Christian puts his arm around me, pulling me into his side, and we hurry across to where Charlie Tango stands in the center of the helipad with its rotor blades slowly spinning.
A tall, blond, square-jawed man in a dark suit leaps out and, ducking low, runs toward us. Shaking hands with Christian, he shouts above the noise of the rotors.
Safe flight to Portland. Without releasing me, Christian nods, ducks down, and leads me to the helicopter door. Once inside he buckles me firmly into my harness, cinching the straps tight. He gives me a knowing look and his secret smile. I scowl at him. He sits in his seat and buckles himself in, then starts running through all his preflight checks.
He puts on his headphones and flips a switch and the rotors speed up, deafening me. Turning, he gazes at me. Please confirm, over. I turn to gape at him in surprise. What does this mean? How is it that he can say the most romantic things? The last time we flew to Seattle it was dark, but this evening the view is spectacular, literally out of this world. I can still take you there and feed you. I shake my head and flush before taking a less confrontational approach.
Christian turns and gazes at me. The dusk is to our right, the sun low on the horizon—large, blazing fiery orange—and I am Icarus again, flying far too close. The dusk has followed us from Seattle, and the sky is awash with opal, pinks, and aquamarines woven seamlessly together as only Mother Nature knows how.
We are on top of the strange brown brick building in Portland we left less than three weeks ago. He powers down Charlie Tango, flipping various switches so the rotors stop, and eventually all I hear is my own breathing through the headphones. Briefly it reminds me of the Thomas Tallis experience. I blanch. Christian unbuckles his harness and leans across to undo mine. A gray-haired man with a beard walks over to meet us, smiling broadly, and I recognize him as the old-timer from the last time we were here.
No kidding. My anxiety has returned full force, and I realize that our time in Charlie Tango has been the eye of the storm. Christian is quiet and brooding. Christian stares pensively out the window. Christian turns and gazes at me, his eyes dark and guarded, giving nothing away. His mouth—oh, his mouth is distracting, and unbidden. I remember it on me—everywhere. My skin heats. He shifts in his seat and frowns. Honestly, the audacity of this man—this man who has put me through hell over the last few days.
I shake my head, confused. What does that mean? He opens the car door for me, and I clamber out. Where you want to be. I press my lips together as he glares down at me.
Taking my hand, he leads me into the building. We are in a converted warehouse—brick walls, dark wood floors, white ceilings, and white pipe work.
She glances briefly at me, then much longer than is strictly necessary at Christian, then turns back to me, blinking as she blushes. My brow creases. I try hard not to scowl at her. As her eyes regain their focus, she blinks again.
How does she know my name? I shake my head, equally puzzled. He shrugs, distracted. Holy cow! He enfolds me in his arms, hugging me hard.
My friend, my only friend while Kate is away. Tears pool in my eyes. You look, well, odd. Dios mio, have you lost weight? Christian glances up when I look his way and our eyes lock. This beautiful man wants me back, and deep down inside me sweet joy slowly unfurls like a morning glory in the early dawn. Come on. Kim Carpenter. The Lucky One. Nicholas Sparks. The Best of Me. Lone Wolf. Jodi Picoult. Where We Belong. Emily Giffin. The Casual Vacancy.
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