Fifty Shades of Grey (book 1+ 2)

Chapter 143

He crease on his brow deepens.

"Well, naturally I am all those things, and now you've got me really intrigued. What are you hiding from

me, Miss Steele?"

I blink at him innocently.

"I'm not hiding anything."

"Anastasia, you are a hopeless liar."

"I thought you were going to make me giggle after sex, this isn't doing it for me."

His lips quirk up.

"I can't tell jokes."

"Mr. Grey! Something you can't do?" I grin at him, and he grins back.

"No, hopeless joke teller." He looks so proud of himself that I start to giggle.

"I'm a hopeless joke teller too,"

"That is such a lovely sound," he murmurs, and he leans forward and kisses me.

"And you are hiding something, Anastasia. I may have to torture it out of you."

Chapter Twenty-Six

I wake with a jolt. I think I've just fallen down some stairs in a dream, and I bolt upright, momentarily

disorientated. It is dark, and I'm in Christian's bed alone. Something has woken me, some nagging

thought. I glance over at the alarm clock on his bedside. It is 5:00 in the morning, but I feel rested. Why Content © NôvelDrama.Org 2024.

is thatOh - it's the time difference - it would be 8:00 a.m. in Georgia. Holy crap... I need to take my pill. I

clamber out of bed, grateful for whatever it is that has woken me. I can hear faint notes from the piano.

Christian is playing. This I must see. I love watching him play. Naked, I grab my bathrobe from the chair

and wander quietly down the corridor, slipping on my robeand listening to the magical sound of the

melodic lament that's coming from the great room.

Shrouded in darkness, Christian sits in a bubble of light as he plays, and his hair glints with burnished

copper highlights. He looks naked, though I know he's wearing his PJ

bottoms. He's concentrating, playing beautifully, lost in the melancholy of the music. I hesitate,

watching from the shadows, not wanting to interrupt him. I want to hold him.

He looks lost, sad even, and achingly lonely - or maybe it's just the music that's so full of poignant

sorrow. He finishes the piece, pauses for a split second, then starts to play it again.

I move cautiously toward him, drawn as the moth to the flame... the idea makes me smile.

He glances up at me and frowns before his gaze returns to his hands Oh crap, is he pissed off that I

am disturbing him?

"You should be asleep," he scolds mildly.

I can tell he's pre-occupied with something.

"So should you," I retort not quite as mildly.

He glances up again, his lips twitching with a trace of a smile.

"Are you scolding me, Miss Steele?"

"Yes, Mr. Grey, I am."

"Well, I can't sleep." He frowns once more as a trace of irritation or anger flashes across his face. With

meSurely not.

I ignore his facial expression and very bravely sit down beside him on the piano stool, placing my head

on his bare shoulder to watch his deft, agile fingers caress the keys. He pauses fractionally, and then

continues to the end of the piece.

"What was that?" I ask softly.

"Chopin. Opus 28, number 4. In E minor, if you're interested," he murmurs.

"I'm always interested in what you do."

He turns and softly presses his lips against my hair.

"I didn't mean to wake you."

"You didn't. Play the other one."

"Other one?"

"The Bach piece that you played the first night I stayed."

"Oh, the Marcello."

He starts to play slowly and deliberately. I feel the movement of his hands in his shoulder as I lean

against him and close my eyes. The sad, soulful notes swirl slowly and mournfully around us, echoing

off the walls. It is a hauntingly beautiful piece, sadder even than the Chopin, and I lose myself to the

beauty of the lament. To a certain extent, it reflects how I feel. The deep poignant longing I have to

know this extraordinary man better, to try and understand his sadness. All too soon, the piece is at an

end.

"Why do you only play such sad music?"

I sit upright and gaze up at him as he shrugs in answer to my question, his expression wary."So you

were just six when you started to play?" I prompt.

He nods, his wary look intensifying. After a moment he volunteers.

"I threw myself into learning the piano to please my new mother."

"To fit into the perfect family?"

"Yes, so to speak," he says evasively. "Why are you awakeDon't you need to recover from yesterday's

exertions?"

"It's 8:00 in the morning for me. And I need to take my pill."

He raises his eyebrows in surprise.

"Well remembered," he murmurs, and I can tell he's impressed. His lips quirk up in a half smile.

"Only you would start a course of time-specific birth control pills in a different time zone. Perhaps you

should wait half an hour and then another half hour tomorrow morning.

So s eventually you can take them at a reasonable time."

"Good plan," I breathe. "So what shall we do for half an hour?" I blink innocently at him.

"I can think of a few things," he grins, gray eyes bright. I gaze back impassively as my insides clench

and melt under his knowing look.

"On the other hand, we could talk," I suggest quietly.

His brow creases.

"I prefer what I have in mind." He scoops me onto his lap.

"You'd always rather have sex than talk," I laugh, steadying myself by holding on to his upper arms.

"True. Especially with you." He nuzzles my hair and starts a steady trail of kisses from below my ear to

my throat. "Maybe on my piano," he whispers.

Oh my. My whole body tightens at the thought. Piano. Wow.

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