Fifty Shades Trilogy Bundle: Fifty Shades of Grey; Fifty Shades Darker; Fifty Shades Freed by E. L. James

up and shout in his ear, “She’s on the dance floor,” brushing his hair with my nose, smelling his clean, fresh smell. All those forbidden, unfamiliar feelings that I have tried to deny surface and run amok through my drainedbody. I flush, and somewhere deep, deep down my muscles clench deliciously.
    He rolls his eyes at me and takes my hand again and leads me to the bar. He’s served immediately, no waiting for Mr. Control Freak Grey. Does everything come so easily to him? I can’t hear what he orders. He hands me a very large glass of iced water.
    “Drink.” He shouts his order at me.
    The moving lights are twisting and turning in time to the music, casting strange colored light and shadows all over the bar and the clientele. He’s alternately green, blue, white, and a demonic red. He’s watching me intently. I take a tentative sip.
    “All of it,” he shouts.
    He’s so overbearing. He runs his hand through his unruly hair. He looks frustrated, angry. What is his problem? Apart from a silly drunk girl calling him in the middle of the night so he thinks she needs rescuing. And it turns out she does from her over-amorous friend. Then seeing her being violently ill at his feet.
Oh, Ana … are you ever going to live this down?
My subconscious is figuratively tutting and glaring at me over her half-moon specs. I sway a little, and he puts his hand on my shoulder to steady me. I do as I’m told and drink the entire glass. It makes me feel queasy. Taking the glass from me, he places it on the bar. I notice through a blur what he’s wearing: a loose white linen shirt, snug jeans, black Converse sneakers, and a dark pinstriped jacket. His shirt is unbuttoned at the top, and I see a sprinkling of hair in the gap. In my groggy frame of mind, he looks yummy.
    He takes my hand once more.
Holy cow
—he’s leading me onto the dance floor. Shit. I do not dance. He can sense my reluctance, and under the colored lights I see his amused, sardonic smile. He gives my hand a sharp tug, and I’m in his arms again, and he starts to move, taking me with him. Boy, he can dance, and I can’t believe that I’m following him step for step. Maybe it’s because I’m drunk that I can keep up. He’s holding me tight against him, his body against mine … if he wasn’t clutching me so tightly, I’m sure I would swoon at his feet. In the back of my mind, mymother’s often-recited warning comes to me:
Never trust a man who can dance
.
    He moves us through the crowded throng of dancers to the other side of the dance floor, and we are beside Kate and Elliot, Christian’s brother. The music is pounding away, loud and leery, outside and inside my head. Oh no.
Kate is making her moves
. She’s dancing her ass off, and she only ever does that if she likes someone. Really likes someone. It means there’ll be three of us for breakfast tomorrow morning.
Kate!
    Christian leans over and shouts in Elliot’s ear. I cannot hear what he says. Elliot is tall with wide shoulders, curly blond hair, and light, wickedly gleaming eyes. I can’t tell their color under the pulsating heat of the flashing lights. Elliot grins and pulls Kate into his arms, where she is more than happy to be … 
Kate!
Even in my inebriated state, I am shocked. She’s only just met him. She nods at whatever Elliot says and grins at me and waves. Christian propels us off the dance floor in double time.
    But I never got to talk to her. Is she okay? I can see where things are heading for her and him.
I need to do the safe-sex lecture
. In the back of my mind, I hope she reads one of the posters on the inside of the bathroom door. My thoughts crash through my brain, fighting the drunk, fuzzy feeling. It’s so warm in here, so loud, so colorful—too bright. My head begins to swim, oh no … and I can feel the floor coming up to meet my face, or so it feels. The last thing I hear before I pass out in Christian Grey’s arms is his harsh epithet.
    “Fuck!”

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