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E L James - Grey. Soni Sonia. He tries to forget her, but instead is swept up in a storm of emotion he cannot comprehend and cannot resist. Will being with Ana dispel the horrors of his childhood that haunt Christian every night? Or will his dark sexual desires, his compulsion to control, and the self-loathing that fills his soul drive this girl away and destroy the fragile stgapon she offers him? E L James Grey Nott twenty-five years working in TV, E L Housewives looking sex Busselton decided to pursue her w dream, and set out to write stories that readers would fall in love with.

The result was the sensuous romance Fifty Shades of Grey and its two sequels, Fifty Shades Darker and Fifty Shades Freed, a trilogy that went on to sell more than million copies worldwide in 52 languages.

She continues to write novels while acting as producer on the upcoming movie versions of Fifty Shades Darker and Fifty Shades Freed.

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You rock my world every day. Anne Messitte for her guidance, good humor, and belief in me. For her generosity with her time and for her unstinting effort to untangle my prose, I am forever indebted. Tony Chirico and Russell Perreault for always Horny single mothers Bendby out for me, and the fabulous production editorial and design team who saw this book across the finish line: Niall Leonard 2 his love, support, and guidance, and for being the only man who can really, really baxket me laugh.

Thank you for everything.

The Lost Girls for their precious friendship and the therapy. The Bunker Babes for their constant wit, wisdom, support, and friendship. The FP ladies for help ppnytail my Americanisms. Brian Brunetti for his guidance in flying a helicopter.

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Professor Dawn Carusi for help in navigating the U. Professor Chris Collins for an education in soil science. Raina Sluder for her insights into behavioral health. And last but by no means least, my children. I love you more than words can ever say. You bring such joy to my womwn and to those around you.

You are beautiful, funny, bright, compassionate young men, and I could not be more proud of you. They go fast across the floor.

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So fast. One is red. One is green. One is yellow. I like the green one. Mommy likes them, too. I like when Mommy plays with the cars and me.

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The red is her best. Today she sits on the couch staring at the wall. The green car flies into the rug. The red car follows. Then the yellow. I do it again. I aim the green car at her feet.

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But the green car goes under the couch. My hand is too big for the gap. I want my green car. But Mommy stays on the couch staring at the wall. My car.

I pull her hand and she lies back and closes her eyes. Not now, Maggot. Not now, she says.

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My green car stays under the couch. I can see it. My green car is fuzzy. Covered in gray fur and dirt.

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I want it back. I can never reach it. My green car is lost. And I can never play with it again. I open my eyes and my dream fades in the early-morning light.

What the hell was that about? I grasp at the fragments as they recede, but fail to catch any of them. Dismissing it, like I do most mornings, I climb out of bed and find some newly laundered sweats in my walk-in closet.

I head Wife want hot sex Penitas to my gym, switch on the TV for the morning business news, and step onto the treadmill. My thoughts stray to the day. Maybe I should call Elena? We can do dinner later this week. I stop the treadmill, breathless, and head down uuse the shower to start another monotonous day. I scowl at him as he turns and leaves. His parting words rub salt into sarbud wounds because, despite my heroic attempts during our workout today, my personal trainer has kicked my ass.

Bastille is the only one who can beat me, and now he wants another pound of flesh on the golf course.

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I detest golf, but so much business is done on the fairways, I have to endure his lessons there, too…and though Pinytail hate to admit it, playing against Bastille does improve my game. As I stare out the window at the Seattle skyline, ot familiar ennui seeps unwelcome into my consciousness. My mood is as flat and gray as the weather. My days are blending together with no distinction, and I need some kind of diversion. But I do.

I frown. The sobering truth is that the only thing to capture my interest recently has been my decision fot send two freighters of cargo to Sudan. This reminds me—Ros is supposed to come back to me with numbers and logistics. What the hell is keeping her? I check my schedule and reach for Hot sluts in Newcastle Under Lyme phone. Why the hell did I agree to this? I loathe interviews—inane domonate from ill-informed, envious people intent on probing my private life.

The phone buzzes.

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At least I can keep this interview short. I was expecting Katherine Kavanagh. I know her father, Eamon, the owner of Kavanagh Media. This interview is a favor to him—one that I mean to cash in on later when it suits me. And I have to admit I was vaguely curious about his daughter, interested to see if the apple has fallen far from the tree. A commotion at the door brings me to my feet as a whirl of long chestnut hair, pale limbs, and brown boots dives headfirst into my office.

Repressing my natural annoyance at such clumsiness, I hurry over to the girl who has landed on her hands and knees on the floor.

Clasping slim shoulders, I help her to her feet. Blonf, embarrassed eyes meet mine and halt me in my tracks.

The thought is unnerving, so I pomytail it immediately. She has a small, sweet face that is blushing now, an innocent pale rose. I wonder briefly if all her skin is like that—flawless—and what it would look like pink and warmed from the bite of a cane.

I stop my wayward thoughts, alarmed at their direction.

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What the hell are you thinking, Grey? This girl is much too young.

She gapes at me, and I resist rolling my eyes.