Fifty Shades Freed (Christian & Ana)(251)

"Um . . . can I come and scrub your back?" I mumble through a mouth full of toast and scrambled egg.

"No. Eat."

Leaving the breakfast bar, he tugs his T-shirt over his head, treating me to the sight of his finely sculptured shoulders and naked back as he saunters out of the great room. I stop mid-chew. He's doing this on purpose. Why?

Christian is relaxed on the drive north. We've just left Ray and Mr. Rodriguez watching soccer on the new flat-screen television that I suspect Christian has bought for Ray's hospital room.

Christian has been laid back ever since "the talk." It's as if a weight has been lifted; Mrs. Robinson's shadow no longer looms so large over us, maybe because I've decided to let it go—or because he has, I don't know. But I feel closer to him now than I ever have before. Perhaps because he's finally confided in me. I hope he continues to do so. And he's more accepting of the baby, too. He hasn't gone out and bought a crib yet, but I have high hopes.

I gaze at him, drinking him in as he drives. He looks casual, cool . . . sexy with his tousled hair, Ray-Bans, pinstripe jacket, white linen shirt, and jeans.

He glances at me and clasps my leg above the knee, his fingers stroking gently. "I'm glad you didn't change."

I did slip on a denim jacket and change to flats, but I'm still wearing the short skirt. His hand lingers above my knee. I put my hand on his.

"Are you going to continue to tease me?"

"Maybe." Christian smiles.

"Why?"

"Because I can." He grins, boyish as ever.

"Two can play at that game," I whisper.

His fingers move tantalizingly up my thigh. "Bring it on, Mrs. Grey." His grin broadens.

I pick up his hand and put it back on his knee. "Well, you can keep your hands to yourself."

He smirks. "As you wish, Mrs. Grey."

Dammit. This game is going to backfire on me.

Christian turns into the driveway of our new house. He stops at the keypad and punches in a number, and the ornate white metal gates swing open. We roar up the tree-lined lane under leaves that are a blend of green, yellow, and burnished copper. The tall grass in the meadow is turning gold, but there are still a few yellow wildflowers dotted among the grass. It's a beautiful day. The sun is shining, and the salty tang of the Sound is in the air mixed with the scent of the coming fall.

This is such a tranquil and beautiful place. And to think we're going to make our home here.

The lane curves around, and our house comes into view. Several large trucks, sides emblazoned with GREY CONSTRUCTION, are parked out front. The house is decked in scaffolding, and several workmen in hard hats are busy on the roof.

Christian pulls up outside the portico and switches off the engine. I can sense his excitement.

"Let's go find Elliot."

"Is he here?"

"I hope so. I'm paying him enough."

I snort, and Christian grins as we get out of the car.

"Yo, Bro!" Elliot shouts from somewhere. We both glance around.

"Up here!" He's up on the roof, waving down at us and beaming from ear to ear. "About time we saw you here. Stay where you are. I'll be right down."

I glance at Christian, who shrugs. A few minutes later, Elliot appears at the front door.

"Hey, bro." He shakes Christian's hand. "And how are you, little lady?" He picks me up and swings me around.

"Better, thanks," I giggle breathlessly, my ribs protesting. Christian frowns at him, but Elliot ignores him.