Fifty Shades Freed (Christian & Ana)(209)

I climb into the shower, effectively blocking him out. Oh, it's warm. The healing water cascades over me, cleansing the exhaustion of the night off my skin.

Oh my. This feels so good. For a moment, for one short moment, I can pretend all is well. I wash my hair and by the time I've finished, I feel better, stronger, ready to face the freight train that is Christian Grey. I wrap my hair in a towel, briskly dry myself with another towel, and wrap it around me.

I unlock the door and open it and find Christian is leaning against the wall opposite, his hands behind his back. His expression is wary, that of a hunted predator. I stride past him and into our walk-in closet.

"Are you ignoring me?" Christian asks in disbelief as he stands on the threshold of the closet.

"Perceptive, aren't you?" I murmur absentmindedly as I search for something to wear. Ah, yes—my plum dress. I slide it off the hanger, choose my high black stiletto boots, and head for the bedroom. I pause for Christian to step out of my way, which he does, eventually—his intrinsic good manners taking over. I sense his eyes boring into me as I walk over to my chest of drawers, and I peek at him in the mirror, standing motionless in the doorway, watching me. In an act worthy of an Oscar winner, I let my towel fall to the floor and pretend that I am oblivious to my naked body. I hear his restrained gasp and ignore it.

"Why are you doing this?" he asks. His voice is low.

"Why do you think?" My voice is velvet soft as I pull out a pretty pair of black lace La Perla panties.

"Ana—" He stops as I shimmy into them.

"Go ask your Mrs. Robinson. I'm sure she'll have an explanation for you," I mutter as I search for the matching bra.

"Ana, I've told you before, she's not my—"

"I don't want to hear it, Christian." I wave my hand dismissively. "The time for talking was yesterday, but instead you decided to rant and get drunk with the woman who abused you for years. Give her a call. I am sure she'll be more than willing to listen to you now." I find the matching bra and slowly pull it on and fasten it. Christian walks further into the bedroom and places his hands on his hips.

"Why were you snooping on me?" he says.

In spite of my resolve I flush. "That's not the point, Christian," I snap at him.

"Fact is, going gets tough and you run to her."

His mouth settles into a grim line. "It wasn't like that."

"I'm not interested." Picking a pair of black thigh-highs with lacey tops, I retreat to the bed. I sit, point my toe, and gently ease the gossamer material up to my thigh.

"Where were you?" he asks, his eyes following my hands up my legs, but I continue to ignore him as I slowly roll on the other stocking. Standing, I bend to towel-dry my hair. Through my parted thighs, I can see his bare feet, and I sense his intense gaze. When I've finished, I stand and step back to the chest of drawers where I grab my hairdryer.

"Answer me." Christian's voice is low and husky.

I switch on the hairdryer so I can no longer hear him and watch him through my lashes in the mirror as I finger dry my hair. He glares at me, eyes narrow and cool, chilling even. I look away, focusing on the task at hand and trying to suppress the shiver that runs through me. I swallow hard and concentrate on drying my hair. He's still mad. He goes out with that damned woman, and he's mad at me? How dare he! When my hair looks wild and untamed, I stop. Yes . . . I like it.

I switch off the hairdryer.

"Where were you?" he whispers, his tone arctic.

"What do you care?"