BOOKS BY E L JAMES Fifty Shades of Grey Fifty Shades Darker Fifty Shades .. “I'm sure you're far too busy, Mr. Grey, and I do have a long drive. to bring my car up from the garage and check her address once more on Google Maps. Fifty Shades of Grey: Book One of the Fifty Shades Trilogy · Book 1 Fifty Shades Trilogy Bundle: Fifty Shades of Grey; Fifty Shades Darker; Fifty Shades Freed. question Where can I download a PDF version of "Grey" the latest book in the Fifty Shades series? was .. FIITJEE AITS Complete lesforgesdessalles.info - Google Drive.
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Sign in. Main menu. Fifty Shades of Grey (book1).pdf - Google Drive. Google Drive. Показать похожие. Looking for books to add to your reading list? Check out these most. E L James is currently working on the sequel to Fifty Shades of Grey and a new romantic thriller drive, and the miles slip away as I floor the pedal to the metal.
And somehow—impossible though it seems—they may still be alive. I want it back. Expected by his enemies to die the miserable death of a military slave, Kaladin survived to be given command of the royal bodyguards, a controversial first for a low-status "darkeyes. Bound to catch the sympathetic attention of women looking for stories of self-improvement on physical and emotional levels. This is a second chance romance meet Romeo and Juliet vibes.
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Bella Andre. Beautiful Surrender. Priscilla West. Give a Little. Kate Perry. Audrey Carlan. Captivated By You. Sylvia Day. The Mistake. Elle Kennedy. Dirty Rowdy Thing. Helena Hunting. Keep Me Safe. Under My Skin. Ruthless King. Meghan March.
Stay the Night. When You're Back. Abbi Glines. The Shadows. In His Keeping. When I'm Gone. Kendall Ryan. Beth Kery. Something Beautiful: A Novella. The Lie.
The Friend Zone. Kristen Callihan. The Billionaire and the Virgin. Take Me: Down the Rabbit Hole. Holly Madison. Go Set a Watchman. Harper Lee. The Longest Ride. The Taming of the Billionaire. Truly, Madly, Greekly. Mandy Baggot.
Complete Me. James Patterson. Sinful Empire. Release Me. Sweet Filthy Boy. Big Rock. Lauren Blakely. Claim Me. Darkest Before Dawn. Silent Scream. Angela Marsons. Lost in Love. Beautiful Oblivion. Stephenie Meyer. Leaving Time with bonus novella Larger Than Life. Jodi Picoult. Hard Love. Meredith Wild. Luckiest Girl Alive. Jessica Knoll. The Empire State Series. Louise Bay.
Fix You. Christine Bell. The Hook Up. The Substitute. Denise Grover Swank. Stepbrother Dearest. Penelope Ward. I scratch my chin, debating whether or not to give her a really hard time. I like the effect I have on her. Grey, forgive me for interrupting, but your next meeting is in two minutes. Please cancel my next meeting. I stare at her. I turn my attention back to the intriguing, frustrating creature on my couch. I want to know if there are any secrets to uncover behind that lovely face.
Oh yes—the usual effect. I just need to get through my final exams. She looks surprised, and her teeth sink into that lip again. Why is that so arousing? Grey, and I do have a long drive. The thought irritates me. She fumbles with the recorder. Her response floors me—the way those words sound, coming out of that smart mouth—and briefly I imagine that mouth at my beck and call. The thought is unsettling. She stands and I extend my hand, eager to touch her.
Yes, I want to flog and fuck this girl in my playroom. Have her bound and wanting…needing me, trusting me. I swallow. Her lips form a hard line. Miss Steele bites back!
I grin behind her as she exits, and follow her out. Both Andrea and Olivia look up in shock. Yeah, yeah. Christ, Olivia is annoying—mooning over me all the time. The jacket is worn and cheap. Miss Anastasia Steele should be better dressed. I hold it up for her, and as I pull it over her slim shoulders, I touch the skin at the base of her neck. She stills at the contact and pales.
She is affected by me. The knowledge is immensely pleasing. Strolling over to the elevator, I press the call button while she stands fidgeting beside me. Oh, I could stop your fidgeting, baby.
The doors open and she scurries in, then turns to face me. And the elevator doors close, leaving my name hanging in the air between us, sounding odd and unfamiliar, but sexy as hell. I need to know more about this girl. My phone buzzes. Welch on the line for you. Montesano Jr. Franklin A. Lambert, DOB: July 18, m.
Frank Lambert March 1, , widowed Sept. Raymond Steele June 6, , divorced July 12, m. Stephen M. Morton Aug. Bob Adams April 6, Political Affiliations: None Found Religious Affiliations: None Found Sexual Orientation: Not Known Relationships: None Indicated at Present I pore over the executive summary for the hundredth time since I received it two days ago, looking for some insight into the enigmatic Miss Anastasia Rose Steele. Her fumbling fingers on the recorder, the way she tucked her hair behind her ear, the lip biting.
The lip biting gets me every time. Why are you here? I knew it would lead to this. I hate waiting…for anything. Will she?
Will she even make a good submissive? I shake my head. So here I am, an ass, sitting in a suburban parking lot in a dreary part of Portland.
Why no boyfriend, Miss Steele? I snort, thinking that unlikely. Perhaps I should let him know. I just need a distraction, and right now the only distraction I want is the one working as a salesclerk in a hardware store. Showtime, Grey. A bell chimes a flat electronic note as I walk into the store.
Velcro, split rings—Yeah. It takes me all of three seconds to spot her. Absentmindedly, she wipes a crumb from the corner of her lips and into her mouth and sucks on her finger. My cock twitches in response.
What am I, fourteen? Maybe this will stop if I fetter, fuck, and flog her…and not necessarily in that order. She is thoroughly absorbed by her task, and it gives me an opportunity to study her. She looks up and freezes. What a pleasant surprise. Ah, a good response. I need to stock up on a few things. Her lips are still parted in surprise, and I have to resist the urge to tip her chin up and close her mouth. What can I help you with, Mr. Game on, Miss Steele. Oh, this is going to be fun.
Shall I show you? Lead the way. Louboutins…nothing but Louboutins. Hope blooms in my chest. I smirk. Letting her walk ahead gives me the space and time to admire her fantastic ass. Her long, thick ponytail keeps time like a metronome to the gentle sway of her hips. She really is the whole package: But the million-dollar question is, could she be a submissive? She probably knows nothing of the lifestyle—my lifestyle—but I very much want to introduce her to it.
You are getting way ahead of yourself on this deal, Grey. It makes me want to laugh. Women rarely make me laugh. Her face falls, and I feel like a shit. Is she laughing at me?
But how to start? Maybe with dinner, rather than the usual interview…now, that would be novel: We arrive at the cable ties, which are arranged in an assortment of lengths and colors. Absentmindedly, my fingers trace over the packets. I could just ask her out for dinner. Like on a date? Would she accept? I select the longer ties. They are more flexible, after all, as they can accommodate two ankles and two wrists at once. Engage her in some conversation. Unlike some people, I do my research.
Christ, this girl is shy. I follow her eagerly, like a puppy. She bends down and grasps two rolls, each a different width.
As she passes it to me, the tips of our fingers touch, briefly. It resonates in my groin. She pales. I groan inwardly, trying to chase away the image of her suspended from the ceiling in my playroom. A tremor runs through her fingers, but she measures out five yards like a pro. Pulling a utility knife from her right pocket, she cuts the rope in one swift gesture, coils it neatly, and ties it off with a slipknot. The usual. The classics. British literature, mainly.
All those romantic hearts-and-flowers types. What else would you recommend? I want to hoot with laughter. Oh, baby, DIY is not my thing. I nod, stifling my mirth. Her eyes flick down my body and I tense. I put her out of her misery. Heaven forbid I should ruin any clothing. Christ, she does things to me. She looks up and gives me a brief relieved smile. Miss Kavanagh. Publicity stills, eh? I can do that. It will allow me to spend time with the delectable Miss Steele.
Work from a hotel. A room at The Heathman, perhaps. I give her a brief nod. Yeah, I want to spend more time with you… Steady, Grey.
It has my cell number on it. The thought depresses me. His eyes are all over Miss Anastasia Steele. Who the hell is this prick? My blood runs cold. Get your fucking paws off her. They fall into a whispered conversation. Maybe this guy is her boyfriend. She seems embarrassed, shifting from foot to foot. I should go. Then she says something else to him and moves out of his reach, touching his arm, not his hand, shrugging him off.
Grey, this is Paul Clayton. His brother owns the place. This woman has really gotten under my skin. Of Grey Enterprises Holdings? In a heartbeat I watch him morph from territorial to obsequious. I watch him disappear. How can I ask her? Am I ready to take on a submissive who knows nothing? Closing my eyes, I imagine the interesting possibilities this presents…getting there is going to be half the fun. Will she even be up for this? Or do I have it all wrong?
Look at me, damn it! Finally she raises her head. She packs the items briskly. This is it. I have to go. Until tomorrow, perhaps. This is good.
I sling the bag over my shoulder and exit the store. Yes, against my better judgment, I want her. Now I have to wait…fucking wait…again. Utilizing willpower that would make Elena proud, I keep my eyes ahead as I take my cell out of my pocket and climb into the rental car.
My eyes flick to the rearview mirror, where I can see the shop door, but all I see is the quaint storefront. I press 1 on speed dial and Taylor answers before the phone has a chance to ring. And Charlie Tango?
So I have a few hours in Portland while I wait to see if this girl is interested in me. What to do? Time for a hike, I think.
Maybe I can walk this strange hunger out of my system. What the hell was I thinking? I watch the street from the window of my suite at The Heathman. I loathe waiting. I always have. The weather, now cloudy, held for my hike through Forest Park, but the walk has done nothing to cure my agitation. When have I ever chased a woman?
Grey, get a grip. At least Taylor has arrived and I have all my shit. The prospect of a night alone again is depressing. While I contemplate what to do my phone vibrates against the polished wood of the desk and an unknown but vaguely familiar number with a Washington area code flashes on the screen.
Is it her? I answer. Well, well. A breathy, nervous, soft-spoken Miss Steele. My evening is looking up. How nice to hear from you. Where would be convenient for you, sir? Just you, me, and the cable ties. Shall we say nine thirty tomorrow morning? Leaning back in my chair, I gaze at the darkening skyline and run both my hands through my hair.
How the hell am I going to close this deal? Last night I dreamed of her. I wonder what Flynn would make of that. The thought is disconcerting, so I ignore it and concentrate on pushing my body to its limits along the bank of the Willamette. As my feet pound the walkway, sunshine breaks through the clouds and it gives me hope. Maybe I should take her for coffee.
Like a date? Not a date. I laugh at the ridiculous thought. Just a chat—an interview of sorts. Sitting down to breakfast in my sweats, I decide to eat before I shower. I open it and Taylor stands on the threshold. They ready for me? One glance at the louche fucker in the mirror and I exit to follow Taylor to the elevator.
Room is crowded with people, lights, and camera boxes, but I spot her immediately. Her hair is loose: Are jeans and chucks her signature look? While not very convenient, they do flatter her shapely legs. Her eyes, disarming as ever, widen as I approach. She turns her delicious pink and waves in the direction of her friend, who is standing too close, waiting for my attention. With reluctance I release her and turn to the persistent Miss Kavanagh.
That thought makes me feel a little more benevolent toward her. How do you do? Anastasia said you were unwell last week. I wonder why these women are friends. They have nothing in common. Is it just me who makes her blush? The thought pleases me. Is this the boyfriend? Are they fucking?
He likes her. He likes her a lot. Well, game on, kid. Rodriguez, where would you like me? She likes to be in charge. The thought amuses me as I sit.
As the glare recedes I search out the lovely Miss Steele. Does she always shy away like this? Hmm…a natural submissive. I regard Miss Steele as she watches both of us. Our eyes meet; hers are honest and innocent, and for a moment I reconsider my plan. But then she bites her lip and my breath catches in my throat. Back down, Anastasia. Good girl. Katherine asks me to stand as Rodriguez continues to take snaps.
His antagonism makes me smile. Oh, man…you have no idea. Seize the day, Grey.
I mutter some platitude to those still in the room and usher her out the door, wanting to put some distance between her and Rodriguez. In the corridor she stands fiddling with her hair, then her fingers, as Taylor follows me out. Her long lashes flicker over her eyes. Thinking about all the ways I could make her stop is distracting. Now can you join me for coffee? She looks directly at me, eyes bright.
I have a date! Opening the door, I let her back into the room as Taylor conceals his puzzled look. I watch him with narrowed eyes as he disappears into the elevator while I lean against the wall and wait for Miss Steele.
What the hell am I going to say to her? Steady, Grey. Taylor is back within a couple of minutes, holding my jacket. How long is Anastasia going to be? I check my watch. She must be negotiating the car swap with Katherine. My thoughts darken. As I catch up with her my curiosity is piqued about her relationship with Katherine, specifically their compatibility.
Ana is clearly devoted. She came all the way to Seattle to interview me when Katherine was ill, and I find myself hoping that Miss Kavanagh treats her with the same loyalty and respect. At the elevators I press the call button and almost immediately the doors open. A couple in a passionate embrace spring apart, embarrassed to be caught. As we travel to the first floor the atmosphere is thick with unfulfilled desire.
I want her. Will she want what I have to offer? The thought is disheartening. In our wake we hear embarrassed giggling from the couple. Miss Steele seems that innocent, just like them, and as we walk onto the street I question my motives again. In the coffee shop I direct her to find a table and ask what she wants to drink.
She stutters through her order: English Breakfast tea—hot water, bag on the side. I have to wait in line while the two matronly women behind the counter exchange inane pleasantries with all their customers.
English Breakfast tea. Teabag on the side. And a blueberry muffin. Is she checking me out? A bubble of hope swells in my chest. She jumps and turns red as I set out her tea and my coffee. She sits mute and mortified. Does she really not want to be here? I watch her dunk the teabag in the teapot. She fishes it out almost immediately and places the used teabag on her saucer. My mouth is twitching with my amusement. Get a grip, Grey. At me. At me! Does she like me or not? Oh, sweetheart, he wants to be more than a friend.
The boy is smitten. Okay, so the lust is one-sided, and for a moment I wonder if she realizes how lovely she is. She eyes the blueberry muffin as I peel back the paper, and for a moment I imagine her on her knees beside me as I feed her, a morsel at a time.
The thought is diverting—and arousing. She shakes her head.
Why is she so jittery? Maybe because of me? I told you yesterday. I remember how uncomfortable she seemed when the kid at the store put his arm around her, staking his claim.
They really are beautiful, the color of the ocean at Cabo, the bluest of blue seas. I should take her there. Where did that come from?
She should. Does she like me? Which is it? I just wish I knew what you were blushing about. That will goad her into a response. Popping a small piece of the blueberry muffin into my mouth, I await her reply. Have I offended you? In all things. And I remember her leaving my office in the elevator—and how my name sounded coming out of her smart mouth.
Has she seen through me? Is she deliberately antagonizing me? I change the subject. I want to know about her. My stepdad lives in Montesano. Her lips soften with a fond smile when she mentions her stepdad. Her expression is clear and bright, and I know that Raymond Steele has been a good father to this girl.
Which is great, but not what I want at the moment. Oh, Miss Steele. Game on. You asked me if I was gay. She starts babbling about herself and a few details hit home.
Her mother is an incurable romantic. I suppose someone on her fourth marriage is embracing hope over experience. Is she like her mother? If she says she is—then I have no hope. I ask about her stepfather and she confirms my hunch.
Her face is luminous when she talks about him: She preferred to live with him when her mom married the third time. She straightens her shoulders. They live in Seattle. I give her the short answer that Elliot works in construction and Mia is at cooking school in Paris. She listens, rapt. Have you been? Of course. Miss Steele wants to travel. But why England?
I ask her. To add insult to injury, she looks at her watch. But should I? Giving her my most dazzling smile, guaranteed to disarm, I offer her my hand. Maybe this could work. I like them accessible. Her pupils dilate and I know I could fall into her gaze and never return.
She takes a deep breath. My fingers caress her cheek. Her skin is soft and smooth, and as I brush my thumb against her lower lip, my breath catches in my throat.
Her body is pressed against mine, and the feel of her breasts and her heat through my shirt is arousing. Closing my eyes, I inhale, committing her scent to memory. She wants me to kiss her. And I want to. Just once. Her lips are parted, ready, waiting. Her mouth felt welcoming beneath my thumb. I close my eyes to blot her out and fight the temptation, and when I open them again, my decision is made.
I want to hold her for a moment longer. I slide my hands to her shoulders to ensure she can stand. Her expression clouds with humiliation. I shudder to think what could have happened to you. She shakes her head, her back ramrod stiff, and wraps her arms around herself in a protective gesture. A moment later she bolts across the street and I have to hurry to keep up with her. When we reach the hotel, she turns and faces me once more, composed.
She disappears into the building, leaving in her wake a trace of regret, the memory of her beautiful blue eyes, and the scent of an apple orchard in the fall. My scream bounces off the bedroom walls and wakes me from my nightmare. Sitting up, I put my head in my hands as I try to calm my escalated heart rate and erratic breathing. I have two major meetings tomorrow…today…and I need a clear head and some sleep. And I have a round of fucking golf with Bastille.
I should cancel the golf; the thought of playing and losing darkens my already bleak mood. Clambering out of bed, I wander down the corridor and into the kitchen. There, I fill a glass with water and catch sight of myself, dressed only in pajama pants, reflected in the glass wall at the other side of the room. I turn away in disgust. You turned her down. She wanted you. And you turned her down.
It was for her own good. This has needled me for days now.
Her beautiful face appears in my mind without warning, taunting me. If my shrink was back from his vacation in England I could call him. His psychobabble shit would stop me feeling this lousy. Grey, she was just a pretty girl. Perhaps I need a distraction; a new sub, maybe. I contemplate calling Elena in the morning. She always finds suitable candidates for me. I want Ana. Her disappointment, her wounded indignation, and her contempt remain with me.
She walked away without a backward glance. Perhaps I raised her hopes by asking her out for coffee, only to disappoint her. Maybe I should find some way to apologize, then I can forget about this whole sorry episode and get the girl out of my head. Leaving the glass in the sink for my housekeeper to wash, I trudge back to bed. This is ridiculous. The program on the radio is a welcome distraction until the second news item.
Even the news reminds me of little Miss Bookworm. But then so do I, but for different reasons. Of course! This is it! This is what I can do. Both are bleak books, with tragic themes. Hardy had a dark, twisted soul. Like me. I shake off the thought and examine the books. And Tess does exact revenge on the man who wronged her. I like to possess things, things that will rise in value, like first editions.
Feeling calmer and more composed, and a little pleased with myself, I head back into my closet and change into my running gear. I read the book years ago and have a hazy recollection of the plot. Fiction was my sanctuary when I was a teenager. My mother always marveled that I read; Elliot not so much.
I craved the escape that fiction provided. The young receptionist greets me with a flirtatious wave. Every day…Like a cheesy tune on repeat. Ignoring her, I make my way to the elevator that will take me straight to my floor. Andrea is on hand to greet me. Ros wants to see you to discuss the Darfur project. Get me Welch on the line and find out when Flynn is back from vacation. Get Olivia to make it for me. I give her a smile. Three minutes later she has Welch on the line. Anastasia Steele.
Studying at WSU. I remember. Anything else? I need to find a quote. But our contacts on the ground are hesitant about the road journey to Darfur. Fucking red tape. You know the tax breaks in Detroit are huge. I sent you a summary. But God, does it have to be Detroit? It meets our criteria. That was quick.
What news? Andrea answers immediately. She trembles as she puts it on my desk. Tuna salad. She also places three different white cards, all different sizes, with corresponding envelopes on my desk. Now go. She scuttles out. I take one bite of tuna to assuage my hunger, then reach for my pen. A warning. I made the correct choice, walking away from her. Not all men are romantic heroes.
I buzz Andrea. Will that be all? Find me a set of replacements. First editions. Get Olivia on it. Why is she smiling? She never smiles. Dismissing the thought, I wonder if that will be the last I see of the books, and I have to acknowledge that deep down I hope not.
As I shave, the asshole in the mirror stares back at me with cool, gray eyes. She has my number. Jones looks up when I walk into the kitchen. Thank you. What the hell does my big brother want? I need to get out of Seattle this weekend. You would know if you had any. We could go this afternoon. Stay down there. Come home Sunday. In the chopper, or do you want to drive? I owe you. Elliot has always had a problem containing himself. As do the women he associates with: What would you like to do for food this weekend?
I may be back on Saturday. Poor fucker must be fried. Working and fucking: He sprawls out in the passenger seat and snores. As we cruise down I-5 my excitement mounts.
Have the books been delivered yet? Why did you send them in the first place? Because I want to see her again. Remember when Dad used to take us? My father is a polymath, a real renaissance man: But before I hit adolescence we had a bond.
He used to love taking us camping and doing all the outdoor pursuits I now enjoy: Puberty ruined all that for me. You know that. No strings. Anyway, enough of me. Beneath his somewhat casual exterior my brother is an eco-warrior.
His passion for sustainable living makes for some heated Sunday dinner conversations with the family, and his latest project is an eco-friendly development of low-cost housing north of Seattle. It will mean all the homes will reduce their water usage and their bills by twenty-five percent. Give your dick a rest and watch baseball. He tears down the trail with the same devil-may-fucking-care attitude he applies to most situations. But riding at this pace I have no chance to appreciate our surroundings.
Her warmth, her breasts pressed against me, her scent invading my senses. We check our phones in the elevator as we head up to the top floor. The thought depresses me: Or that often. The Mariners are in the lead and it looks like it might be a blowout.
Go Mariners! Elliot and I clink beer bottles. Elliot glances at me, so I get up off the sofa and out of his earshot. You sound strange. Who is she with?
The photographer? Where are you?