Maybe we can both get what we want.

In my office, I print out her e-mail and notice that she hasn’t sent me any messages since our last exchange. My wife does not back down from a challenge. This evening will be interesting.

Gail is absent. As is Taylor. Idly, I wonder what they are doing.

Ryan is in Taylor’s office; he stands when I enter. “Good evening, Mr. Grey.”

“You can hang out upstairs. I’d like to give everyone the night off. We’ll call you if we need you.”

He hesitates before agreeing. “Okay, sir.”

And with that I wander back into the living room and over to the piano to await my wife’s return.

Behind me, the late-afternoon sun is drifting toward the horizon, and I’m in my corner of the ring, waiting for the match to start. Gloves on. Mouth guard in.

How many rounds will I go with Mrs. Grey?

The soft ping of the elevator rings through the foyer.

She’s here.

Showtime, Grey.

The thud of Ana’s briefcase hitting the floor in the hall is followed by her footsteps into the living room. She stops when she sees me.

“Good evening, Mrs. Grey.” Barefoot, I swagger toward her, like a gunfighter in an old black-and-white movie, my eyes fixed on her. “Good to have you home. I’ve been waiting for you.”

“Have you, now?” she whispers. She’s as beautiful as she looked this morning, though her eyes are wide and wary; her guard is up.

Game on, Ana.

“I have,” I answer.

“I like your jeans,” she murmurs, eyeing me from head to toe.

I wore them for you. I give her a wolfish grin and halt in front of her. She licks her lips, and swallows, but she doesn’t look away.

“I understand you have issues, Mrs. Grey.” From my back pocket I pull out her shouty-capped e-mail and unfold it in front of her, trying to intimidate her with a look.

I fail.

“Yes, I have issues,” she responds, gazing at me, her manner forthright but her voice betraying her, all breathy and sexy.

Leaning down, I run my nose along hers, relishing the contact. Her eyes close and she utters the softest of sighs.

“So do I,” I murmur against her fragrant skin.

Her eyes flutter open and I straighten up.

“I think I’m familiar with your issues, Christian.” She raises a brow, and humor hovers behind her eyes.

I narrow mine.

Don’t make me laugh, Ana.

I remember her saying that to me, not so long ago.

She takes a step back. “Why did you fly back from New York?” she asks, her voice kitten-soft, belying the lioness I know.

“You know why.”

“Because I went out with Kate?”

“Because you went back on your word, and you defied me, putting yourself at unnecessary risk.”

“Went back on my word? Is that how you see it?”

“Yes.”

She looks heavenward, then stops when she notices my scowl, but I’m not sure a spanking would be a good idea right now. “Christian,” she says in the same soft voice, “I changed my mind. I’m a woman. We’re renowned for it. That’s what we do.” When I don’t respond, she continues, “If I had thought for one minute that you would cancel your business trip…” She stops, seemingly at a loss.

“You changed your mind?”

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t think to call me?”

How could you be so inconsiderate?

“What’s more, you left the security detail short here and put Ryan at risk.”

Her cheeks pink. “I should have called, but I didn’t want to worry you. If I had, I’m sure you would have forbidden me to go, and I’ve missed Kate. I wanted to see her. Besides, it kept me out of the way when Jack was here. Ryan shouldn’t have let him in.”

But he did.

And had you been here…

Fuck. Enough, Grey.

I reach for her, pulling her into my arms. “Oh, Ana,” I whisper, and hold her as close as I can. “If something were to happen to you—”

He had a gun.

He had a syringe.

“It didn’t,” she whispers.

“But it could have. I’ve died a thousand deaths today, thinking about what might have happened. I was so mad, Ana. Mad at you. Mad at myself. Mad at everyone. I can’t remember being this angry…except—”

“Except?” she asks.

“Once in your old apartment. When Leila was there.”

Someone else with a fucking gun.

“You were so cold this morning.” Her voice breaks into a sob on the last word.

No. Ana. Don’t cry. I loosen my grip and tip her head up. “I don’t know how to deal with this anger,” I whisper.

I used to have a way. But that’s lost to me now.

Shit. Don’t go there, Grey.

I gaze down into troubled blue eyes that draw the truth from me. “I don’t think I want to hurt you.” That’s why I was cold. I was raging. “This morning, I wanted to punish you, badly, and—”

How do I explain that?

I want to rage at the world, and you are my world.

“You were worried you’d hurt me?” she asks.

“I didn’t trust myself.”

“Christian, I know you’d never hurt me. Not physically, anyway.” She clasps my face.