Good Novel
Chapter 238
Chapter 238
“I like dirty.”
“Me, too, Mrs. Grey. But not now, not here.” I grab the shampoo and squirt some into my hands. Using
only my fingertips, I gently wash her hair, remembering how gentle she was when she last washed
mine, and how cherished I felt then.
After I’ve rinsed out the suds, I switch off the shower and exit, taking her with me. I cloak her in a warm
towel, wrap one around my own waist, and hand her a towel for her hair. “Here.” She can judge how
vigorous to be—she’s the one with a hairline fracture in her skull. My lighter mood takes a nose dive.
That asshole.
“I still don’t understand why Elizabeth was involved with Jack.” Ana intrudes on my dark thoughts.
“I do,” I offer.
She peers at me, and I’m expecting a question, but she seems to lose her train of thought as her eyes
study me…all of me.
Mrs. Grey! I smirk. “Enjoying the view?”
“How do you know?”
“That you’re enjoying the view?”
“No.” She sounds exasperated. “About Elizabeth.”
I sigh. “Detective Clark hinted at it.”
Ana’s brows knit together and her gaze goads me, demanding more information.
“Hyde had videos. Videos of all of them. On several USB flash drives. Videos of him fucking her, and
fucking all his PAs.”
Her mouth drops open.
“Exactly. Blackmail material. He likes it rough.”
So do I. Fuck.
Christ.
Self-disgust sweeps over me like an avenging angel.
“Don’t,” Ana interrupts, the word like the crack of a whip.
“Don’t what?”
“You aren’t anything like him.”
How did she guess?
“You’re not.” Ana’s tone is insistent. Content © NôvelDrama.Org 2024.
Oh, but, Ana, I am. “We’re cut from the same cloth.”
“No you’re not!” Ana’s fervent denial silences me. “His dad died in a brawl in a bar. His mother drank
herself into oblivion. He was in and out of foster homes as a kid, in and out of trouble, too—mainly
boosting cars. Spent time in juvie.” My God, she’s remembered everything I told her on the plane to
Aspen and she doesn’t stop—she’s on a roll. “You both have troubled pasts, and you were both born in
Detroit. That’s it, Christian.” She fists her hands and places them on her hips.
She’s trying to intimidate me, dressed only in a towel.
It’s not going to work.
Because I know who I am.
But I don’t want to rile her. Now is not the time for an argument. It’s not good for her or the baby. “Ana,
your faith in me is touching, especially in light of the last few days. We’ll know more when Welch is
here.”
“Christian—”
Bending, I plant a swift kiss on her lips to end the discussion. “Enough.” Her expression is sullen. “And
don’t pout,” I add. “Come. Let me dry your hair.”
She presses her lips together, but to my relief, she drops the subject. I lead her into the bedroom, then
head into the closet, where I dress quickly, dragging on jeans and a T-shirt. I grab a pair of her
sweatpants and one of my T-shirts for her.
While she slips on the clothes, I plug in the hair dryer, sit down on the bed, and gesture to her to join
me. Ana perches between my legs and I start to brush through her wet hair.
I love combing out her hair.
It’s so soothing.
Soon, the only sound in our bedroom is the high-pitched whine of the hair dryer. Ana’s shoulders slump
as she relaxes against me, and she’s quiet for a while.
“So, did Clark tell you anything else while I was unconscious?” Her words drag me from my absorbing
task.
“Not that I recall.”
“I heard a few of your conversations.”
“Did you?” I stop brushing.
“Yes. My dad, your dad, Detective Clark, your mom.”
“And Kate?”
“Kate was there?”
“Briefly, yes. She’s mad at you, too.”
She jerks around. “Stop with the ‘Everyone is mad at Ana’ crap, okay?” Her tone is as high-pitched as
the hair dryer.
“Just telling you the truth.” I shrug.
I’m still a little mad at you myself, Ana.
“Yes, it was reckless, but you know—your sister was in danger.”
“Yes. She was,” I murmur, as a bleak morbid fantasy of what could have happened plays out once
more in my head.
Disarmed with a simple truth. Ana, you humble me at every turn.
I switch off the hair dryer and grasp her chin, gazing into clear but vibrant eyes, eyes I could drown in.
No. I’m not mad.
I’m in awe of my brave, brave woman.
She had the courage to save Mia.
“Thank you.” The words are inadequate. “But no more recklessness. Because next time, I will spank
the living shit out of you.”
She sucks in a breath. “You wouldn’t!”
Oh, baby. My palm is twitching right now. “I would.” I can’t hold back my smug smile. “I have your
stepfather’s permission.”
Ana’s pupils dilate, and her lips part.
And it’s there between us, that electricity that crackles invisibly—I feel it everywhere, and I know she
does, too.
Ana. No.
Suddenly, she launches herself at me.
Fuck! Ana!
I catch her and twist so that we fall together on the bed, Ana in my arms.
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