"Come on, Steele. Let's get drunk."

Sounds like the best offer I've had in a while. We clink gla.s.ses, and I take a gulp of the burning amber liquid, the fery heat a welcome distraction from the hideous blossoming pain in my heart.It's late, and I feel fuzzy. Ethan and I are locked out of the apartment. He insists on walking me back to Escala, but he won't stay. He's called the friend he met earlier for a drink and arranged to crash with him.

"So, this is where the Mogul lives." Ethan whistles through his teeth, impressed.

I nod.

"Sure you don't want me to come in with you?" he asks.

"No, I need to face this-or just go to bed."

"See you tomorrow?"

"Yes. Thanks, Ethan." I hug him.

"You'll work it out, Steele," he murmurs against my ear. He releases me and watches while I head into the building.

"Laters," he calls. I offer him a weak smile and a wave then press the b.u.t.ton to call the elevator.

The elevator doors open, and I step into Christian's apartment. Taylor is not waiting, which is unusual. Opening the double doors, I head toward the great room. Christian is on the phone, pacing the room near the piano.

"She's here," he snaps. He turns to glare at me as he switches off his phone. "Where the f.u.c.k have you been?" he growls but doesn't make a move toward me.

Holy c.r.a.p, he's angry with me? He's the one that just spent G.o.d knows how long with his loony ex-girlfriend, and he's angry with me?

"Have you been drinking?" he asks, appalled.

"A bit." I didn't think it was that obvious.

He gasps and runs his hand through his hair. "I told you to come back here." His voice is menacingly quiet. "It's now ffteen after ten. I've been worried about you."

"I went for a drink or three with Ethan while you attended to your ex," I hiss at him. "I didn't know how long you were going to be ... with her."

He narrows his eyes and takes a few paces toward me but stops.

"Why do you say it that like that?"

I shrug and stare down at my fngers.

"Ana, what's wrong?" And for the frst time, I hear something other than anger in his voice. What? Fear?

I swallow, trying to work out what I want to say. "Where's Leila?" I ask looking up at him.

"In a psychiatric hospital in Fremont," he says, and his face is scrutinizing mine. "Ana, what is it?" He moves toward me until he's standing right in front of me. "What's wrong?"

he breathes.

I shake my head. "I'm no good for you."

"What?" he breathes, his eyes widening in alarm. "Why do you think that? How can you possibly think that?"

"I can't be everything you need."

"You are everything I need.

"Just seeing you with her ..." My voice trails off.

"Why do you do this to me? This is not about you, Ana. It's about her." He takes a sharp breath, running his hand through his hair again. "At the moment she's a very sick girl.""But I felt it ... what you had together."

"What? No." He reaches for me, and I step back instinctively. He drops his hand, blink- ing at me. He looks as though he's seized with panic.

"You're running?" he whispers as his eyes widen with fear.

I say nothing as I try to collect my scattered thoughts.

"You can't," he pleads.

"Christian ... I-" I struggle to collect my thoughts. What am I trying to say? I need time, time to process this. Give me time.

"No. No!" he says.

"I ..."

He looks wildly around the room. For inspiration? For divine intervention? I don't know.

"You can't go. Ana, I love you!"

"I love you, too, Christian, it's just-"

"No ... no!" he says in desperation and puts both hands on his head.

"Christian ..."

"No," he breathes, his eyes wide with panic, and suddenly he drops to his knees in front of me, head bowed, long-fngered hands spread out on his thighs. He takes a deep breath and doesn't move.

What? "Christian, what are you doing?"

He continues to stare down, not looking at me.

"Christian! What are you doing?" My voice is high-pitched. He doesn't move. "Chris- tian, look at me!" I command in panic.

His head sweeps up without hesitation, and he regards me pa.s.sively with his cool gray gaze-he's almost serene ... expectant.

Holy f.u.c.k ... Christian. The submissive.

CHAPTER 14.

Christian on his knees at my feet, holding me with his steady gray gaze, is the most chilling and sobering sight I have ever seen-more so than Leila and her gun. The vague alcoholic fuzziness I'm suffering from evaporates in an instant and is replaced by a p.r.i.c.kling scalp and a creeping sense of doom as the blood drains from my face.

I inhale sharply with shock. No. No, this is wrong, so wrong and so disturbing.

"Christian, please, don't do this. I don't want this."

He continues to regard me pa.s.sively, not moving, saying nothing.

Oh f.u.c.k. My poor Fifty. My heart squeezes and twists. What the h.e.l.l have I done to him? Tears p.r.i.c.k my eyes.

"Why are you doing this? Talk to me," I whisper.

He blinks once.

"What would you like me to say?" he says softly, blandly, and for a moment I'm re- lieved that he's talking, but not like this-no. No.

Tears begin to ooze down my cheeks, and suddenly it is too much to see him in the same prostrate position as the pathetic creature that was Leila. The image of a powerful man who's really still a little boy, who was horrifcally abused and neglected, who feels unworthy of love from his perfect family and his much-less-than perfect girlfriend ... my lost boy ... it's heartbreaking.

Compa.s.sion, loss, and despair all swell in my heart, and I feel a choking sense of des- peration. I am going to have to fght to bring him back, to bring back my Fifty.

The thought of me dominating anyone is appalling. The thought of dominating Chris- tian is nauseating. It would make me like her-the woman who did this to him.

I shudder at that thought, fghting the bile in my throat. No way can I do that. No way do I want that.

As my thoughts clear, I can see only one way. Not taking my eyes off his, I sink to my knees in front of him.

The wooden foor is hard against my shins, and I dash my tears away roughly with the back of my hand.

Like this, we are equals. We're on a level. This is the only way I'm going to retrieve him.

His eyes widen fractionally as I stare up at him, but beyond that his expression and stance don't change.

"Christian, you don't have to do this," I plead. "I'm not going to run. I've told you and told you and told you, I won't run." All that's happened ... it's overwhelming. I just need some time to think ... some time to myself. Why do you always a.s.sume the worst?" My heart clenches again because I know; it's because he's so doubting, so full of self-loathing.

Elena's words come back to haunt me. "Does she know how negative you are about yourself? About all your issues?"

Oh, Christian. Fear grips my heart once more and I start babbling, "I was going to sug- gest going back to my apartment this evening. You never give me any time ... time to just think things through," I sob, and a ghost of a frown crosses his face. "Just time to think. We barely know each other, and all this baggage that comes with you ... I need ... I need time to think it through. And now that Leila is ... well, whatever she is ... she's off the streets and not a threat ... I thought ... I thought ..." My voice trails off and I stare at him. He regards me intently and I think he's listening "Seeing you with Leila ..." I close my eyes as the painful memory of his interaction with his ex-sub gnaws at me anew. "It was such a shock. I had a glimpse into how your life has been ... and ..." I gaze down at my knotted fngers, tears still trickling down my cheeks. "This is about me not being good enough for you. It was an insight into your life, and I am so scared you'll get bored with me, and then you'll go ... and I'll end up like Leila . . . a shadow. Because I love you, Christian, and if you leave me, it will be like a world without light. I'll be in darkness. I don't want to run. I'm just so frightened you'll leave me ..."

I realize as I say these words to him-in the hope that he's listening-what my real problem is. I just don't get why he likes me. I have never understood why he likes me.

"I don't understand why you fnd me attractive," I murmur. "You're, well, you're you ... and I'm ..." I shrug and gaze up at him. "I just don't see it. You're beautiful and s.e.xy and successful and good and kind and caring-all those things-and I'm not. And I can't do the things you like to do. I can't give you what you need. How could you be happy with me? How can I possibly hold you?" My voice is a whisper as I express my darkest fears. "I have never understood what you see in me. And seeing you with her, it brought all that home." I sniff and wipe my nose with the back of my hand, gazing at his impa.s.sive expression.

Oh, he's so exasperating. Talk to me, d.a.m.n it!

"Are you going to kneel here all night? Because I'll do it, too," I snap at him.

I think his expression softens-maybe he looks vaguely amused. But it's so hard to tell.

I could reach across and touch him, but this would be a gross abuse of the position he's put me in. I don't want that, but I don't know what he wants, or what he's trying to say to me. I just don't understand.

"Christian, please, please ... talk to me," I beseech him, wringing my hands in my lap.

I am uncomfortable on my knees, but I continue to kneel, staring into his serious, beautiful, gray eyes, and I wait.

And wait.

And wait.

"Please," I beg once more.

His intense gaze darkens suddenly and he blinks.

"I was so scared," he whispers.

Oh, thank the Lord! Inside, my subconscious staggers back into her armchair, sagging with relief, and takes a large swig of gin.

He's talking! Grat.i.tude overwhelms me, and I swallow, trying to contain my emotion and the fresh bout of tears that threatens.

His voice is soft and low. "When I saw Ethan arrive outside, I knew someone had let you into your apartment. Both Taylor and I leapt out of the car. We knew and to see her there like that with you-and armed. I think I died a thousand deaths, Ana. Someone threat- ening you ... all my worst fears realized. I was so angry, with her, with you, with Taylor, with myself."

He shakes his head revealing his agony. "I didn't know how volatile she would be. I didn't know what to do. I didn't know how she'd react." He stops and frowns. "And then she gave me a clue; she looked so contrite. And I just knew what I had to do." He pauses, gazing at me, trying to gauge my reaction.

"Go on," I whisper.

He swallows. "Seeing her in that state, knowing that I might have something to do with her mental breakdown ..." He closes his eyes once more. "She was always so mischievous and lively." He shudders and takes a rasping breath, almost like a sob. This is torture to listen to, but I kneel, attentive, lapping up this insight.

"She might have harmed you. And it would have been my fault." His eyes drift off, flled with uncomprehending horror, and he's silent once more.

"But she didn't," I whisper. "And you weren't responsible for her being in that state, Christian." I blink up at him, encouraging him to continue.

Then it dawns on me afresh that everything he did was to keep me safe, and perhaps Leila, too, because he also cares for her. But how much does he care for her? The question lingers in my head, unwelcome. He says he loves me, but then he was so harsh, throwing me out of my own apartment."I just wanted you gone," he murmurs, with his uncanny ability to read my thoughts.

"I wanted you away from the danger, and ... You. Just. Wouldn't. Go," he hisses through clenched teeth and shakes his head. His exasperation is palpable.

He gazes at me intently. "Anastasia Steele, you are the most stubborn woman I know."

He closes his eyes and shakes his head once more in disbelief.

Oh, he's back. I breathe a long, cleansing sigh of relief.

He opens his eyes again, and his expression is forlorn-sincere. "You weren't going to run?" he asks.