Chapter 239


    But her face crumples in pain, and she gasps.


    “Behave!” I growl, my tone harsher than I intend.


    “Sorry.” She caresses my cheek and I take her hand and kiss her palm.


    “Honestly, Ana, you really have no regard for your own safety.” I lift the hem of her T-shirt and rest my


    fingertips on her belly.


    A thrill of the unknown sharpens all my senses.


    There is life. Here. Inside her.


    What did she say? Flesh of my flesh.


    Our child.


    “It’s not just you anymore,” I whisper, and skate my fingers across her taut, warm skin. Ana tenses


    beneath me, dragging air into her lungs. I know that sound. My eyes move to hers, and I lose myself in


    their fathomless blue depths.


    It’s Ana’s desire. I feel it, too.


    Our special alchemy.


    But it’s impossible. She’s hurt. Reluctantly, I lift my fingertips from her skin, tug down her T-shirt, then


    tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear, because I still need to touch her. But I can’t give her what we


    both want. “No,” I breathe.


    Ana’s face falls, her expression forlorn.


    “Don’t look at me like that. I’ve seen the bruises. And the answer’s no.” I kiss her forehead and she


    squirms beside me.


    “Christian,” she moans, needling me.


    “No. Get into bed.” I sit up to remove myself from temptation.


    “Bed?” She looks crestfallen.


    “You need rest.”


    “I need you.” The whine has gone, leaving only a huskye-on in her voice.


    Closing my eyes, I shake my head at her audacity and my desire.


    She’s hurt. I open my eyes and re at her. “Just do as you’re told, Ana.”


    “Okay,” she mutters, with an exaggerated pout that immediately lifts my spirits and makes me want to


    “I’ll bring you some lunch.”


    “You’re going to cook?” She blinks, incredulous.


    “I’m going to heat something up. Mrs. Jones has been busy.”


    “Christian, I’ll do it. I’m fine. Jeez, I want sex—I can certainly cook.” She struggles to sit up but winces.


    Damn it! Ana!


    “Bed!” I point at the pillow, all carnal thoughts banished.


    “Join me.” She makes onest-ditch attempt.


    I don’t know what’s gotten into her.


    Not you recently, Grey.


    “Ana, get into bed. Now.” I scowl.


    She answers with a scowl of her own, stands, and drops her sweatpants to the floor in a dramatic


    gesture. In spite of her glower, she looks lovely. I hide my smile, and part of me is beyond pleased that


    she still wants me, after all that’s transpired over thest few days.


    She loves me.


    I draw back the duvet. “You heard Dr. Singh. She said rest.”


    Still pouting, Anaplies, sliding into bed and folding her arms, conveying her frustration. I want to


    “Stay,” I order, and with the memory of her beautiful, sour face, I hurry into the kitchen to find the fabled


    chicken stew Taylor mentioned this morning.


    It’s good to see Ana wolfing down Mrs. Jones’s cooking. I sit cross-legged in the middle of the bed,


    watching her as I devour my lunch. It’s delicious, and nourishing, too—perfect for Ana.


    “That was very well heated.” She smacks her lips, looking replete and a little drowsy. I beam at her,


    feeling pleased. I managed not to burn myself this time—so, yeah, it was!


    “You look tired.” I ce my bowl on her tray and, standing, take both from her.


    “I am,” she admits.


    “Good. Sleep.” I kiss her quickly. “I have some work I need to do. I’ll do it in here, if that’s okay with


    you.”


    She nods and closes her eyes, and secondster she’s out.


    Ros has sent me a preliminary report of her visit to Taiwan. She reassures me that while it was the right


    decision for her to go, I’ll still need to travel there myself, and soon. It’s strange reading her quick


    summary. It’s been days since I thought about my business, mypany, the shipyard, or even the


    world atrge—I’ve lost track of time. My attention has been solely concentrated on my wife. I nce


    over at her. She’s still fast asleep.


    I read through my other e-mails, and there’s a detailed earnings projection on Geolumara, and a


    remarkably upbeat e-mail from Hassan at GEH Fiber-Optics—morale there is up since my visit and


    business is going well. My trip to see them was worth it.


    Taylor’s gentle tap at the door disturbs my reading. “Welch is here, sir.”


    I can barely hear him, he’s speaking so softly. I nod and, with another quick check on my sleeping


    beauty, follow him out to the living room.


    Welch is standing and admiring the view from the window. He’s grasping arge mani envelope.


    Showtime, Grey.


    Content provided by N?velDrama.Org.


    “Welch.”


    He turns. “Mr. Grey.”


    “Shall we head into my study?”


    I listen to Ana’s breathing as I watch her, timing each of my breaths to hers. In. Out. In. Out. Focusing


    on her means that I don’t have to focus on the photographs Welch has left with me.


    Why didn’t Carrick and Grace tell me?


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