Page 82

That’s why I’m here.
She’s not convinced.
Ana. Believe me. “You’ve still not answered my question. Write me an e-mail, please. But right now, I’d really like to sleep. Can I stay?”
“Do you want to stay?”
“You wanted me here.”
“You haven’t answered my question,” she persists.
Impossible woman. I just drove like a maniac to get here after your fucking message. There’s your answer.
I grumble that I’ll respond by e-mail. I’m not talking about this. This conversation is over.
Before I can change my mind and head back to The Heathman, I stand, empty my pockets, remove my shoes and socks, and strip off my pants. Slinging my jacket over her chair, I climb into her bed.
“Lie down,” I growl.
She complies, and I lean up on my elbow, looking at her. “If you are going to cry, cry in front of me. I need to know.”
“Do you want me to cry?”
“Not particularly. I just want to know how you’re feeling. I don’t want you slipping through my fingers. Switch the light off. It’s late, and we both have to work tomorrow.”
She does.
“Lie on your side, facing away from me.”
I don’t want you to touch me.
The bed dips as she moves, and I wrap my arm around her and gently pull her against me.
“Sleep, baby,” I murmur, and breathe in the scent of her hair.
Damn, she smells good.
Lelliot is running through the grass.
He’s laughing. Loud.
I am running after him. My face is smiling.
I am going to catch him.
There are small trees around us.
Baby trees covered in apples.
Mommy lets me pick the apples.
Mommy lets me eat the apples.
I put the apples in my pockets. Every pocket.
I hide them in my sweater.
Apples taste good.
Apples smell good.
Mommy makes apple pie.
Apple pie and ice cream.
They make my tummy smile.
I hide the apples in my shoes. I hide them under my pillow.
There is a man. Grandpa Trev-Trev-yan.
His name is hard. Hard to say in my head.
He has another name. Thee-o-door.
Theodore is a funny name.
The baby trees are his trees.
At his house. Where he lives.
He is Mommy’s daddy.
He has a loud laugh. And big shoulders.
And happy eyes.
He runs to catch Lelliot and me.
You can’t catch me.
Lelliot runs. He laughs.
I run. I catch him.
And we fall down in the grass.
He is laughing.
The apples sparkle in the sun.
And they taste so good.
Yummy.
And they smell so good.
So, so good.
The apples fall.
They fall on me.
I twist and they hit my back. Stinging me.
Ow.
But the scent is still there, sweet and crisp.
Ana.
When I open my eyes I’m wrapped around her, our limbs entwined. She’s regarding me with a tender smile. Her face is no longer blotchy and puffy; she looks radiant. My cock agrees, and stiffens in greeting.
“Good morning.” I’m disoriented. “Jesus, even in my sleep I’m drawn to you.” Stretching out, I disentangle myself from her and scan my surroundings. Of course, we’re in her bedroom. Her eyes glow with eager curiosity as my cock presses against her. “Hmm, this has possibilities, but I think we should wait until Sunday.” I nuzzle her just below her ear and lean up on my elbow.
She looks flushed. Warm.
“You’re very hot,” she scolds.
“You’re not so bad yourself.” I grin and flex my hips, teasing her with my favorite body part. She tries a disapproving look but fails miserably—she’s highly amused. Leaning down, I kiss her.
“Sleep well?” I ask.
She nods.
“So did I.”
I’m surprised. I did sleep really well. I tell her so. No nightmares. Only dreams…
“What’s the time?” I ask.
“It’s seven thirty.”
“Seven thirty? Shit!” I leap out of bed and start dragging on my jeans. She watches me dress, trying to suppress her laughter.
“You are such a bad influence on me,” I complain. “I have a meeting. I have to go—I have to be in Portland at eight. Are you smirking at me?”
“Yes,” she admits.
“I’m late. I don’t do late. Another first, Miss Steele.” I tug on my jacket, reach down and take her head in both my hands. “Sunday,” I whisper, and kiss her. I grab my watch, wallet, and money from her bedside table, pick up my shoes, and head for the door. “Taylor will come and sort your Beetle. I was serious. Don’t drive it. I’ll see you at my place on Sunday. I’ll e-mail you a time.”
Leaving her a little dazed, I rush out of the apartment and to my car.
I put on my shoes while I’m driving. Once they’re on I open up the throttle and weave in and out of the traffic heading to Portland. I’ll have to meet Eamon Kavanagh’s associates in my jeans. Thankfully this meeting is via WebEx.
I burst into my room at The Heathman and switch on my laptop: 8:02. Shit. I haven’t shaved, but I smooth my hair and straighten my jacket, and hope they don’t notice I’m only wearing a T-shirt underneath.
Who gives a fuck, anyway?
I open WebEx and Andrea is online, waiting for me. “Good morning, Mr. Grey. Mr. Kavanagh is delayed, but they’re ready for you in New York and here in Seattle.”
“Fred and Barney?” My Flintstones. I smirk at the thought.
“Yes, sir. And Ros, too.”