Fifty Shades Darker(53)

Whoa! He sounds angry. Why? What have I said?

"Um... not yet. Did you choose all those clothes?"

"No, Anastasia, I didn't. I gave a list and your size to a personal shopper at Neiman Marcus. They should fit. Just so that you know, I have ordered additional security for this evening and the next few days. With Leila unpredictable and unaccounted for somewhere on the streets of Seattle, I think it's a wise precaution. I don't want you going out unac-companied. Okay?"

I blink at him. "Okay." What happened to I-must-have-you-now Grey?

"Good. I'm going to brief them. I shouldn't be long."

"They're here?"

"Yes."

Where?

Collecting his plate, Christian places it in the sink and disappears from the room. What the hell was that about? He's like several different people in one body. Isn't that a symptom of schizophrenia? I must Google that.

I clear my plate, wash up quickly, and head back up to my bedroom carrying the anastasia rose steele dossier. Back in the walk-in closet, I pull out the three long evening dresses. Now, which one?

Lying down on the bed, I gaze at my Mac, my iPad, and my Blackberry. I am overwhelmed with technology. I set about transferring Christian's playlist from my iPad to the Mac, then fire up Google to surf the net.

I'm lying across the bed looking at my Mac as Christian enters.

"What are you doing?" he inquires softly.

I panic briefly, wondering if I should let him see the website I'm on: Multiple Personality Disorder: The Symptoms.

Stretching out beside me, he eyes the webpage with amusement.

"On this site for a reason?" he asks nonchalantly.

Brusque Christian has gone - playful Christian is back. How the hell am I supposed to keep up with this?

"Research. Into a difficult personality." I give him my most deadpan look.

His lips twitch with a suppressed smile. "A difficult personality?"

"My own pet project."

"I'm a pet project now? A sideline. Science experiment maybe. When I thought I was everything. Miss Steele, you wound me."

"How do you know it's you?"

"Wild guess." He smirks.

"It's true that you are the only f*cked-up, mercurial, control freak that I know, intimately."

"I thought I was the only person you know intimately." He arches a brow.

I flush. "Yes. That, too."

"Have you reached any conclusions yet?"

I turn and gaze at him. He's on his side stretched out beside me with his head resting on his elbow, his expression soft, amused.

"I think you're in need of intense therapy."

He reaches up and gently tucks my hair behind my ears.

"I think I'm in need of you. Here." He hands me a tube of lipstick.

I frown at him, perplexed. It's harlot red, not my color at all.

"You want me to wear this?" I squeak.

He laughs. "No, Anastasia, not unless you want to. Not sure it's your color," he finishes dryly.

He sits up on the bed cross-legged and drags his shirt off over his head. Oh my. "I like your road map idea."

I stare at him blankly. Road map?

"The no-go areas," he says by way of explanation.

"Oh. I was kidding."

"I'm not."

"You want me to draw on you, with lipstick?"

"It washes off. Eventually."

This means I could touch him freely. A small smile of wonder plays on my lips, and I smirk at him.