“Pasta alla vongole, last Friday,” I whisper.
He closes his eyes as fury, and possibly regret, sweeps across his face. “I see,” he says, his voice expressionless. “You look like you’ve lost at least five pounds, possibly more since then. Please eat, Anastasia,” he scolds.
I stare down at the knotted fingers in my lap. Why does he always make me feel like an errant child?
He shifts and turns toward me. “How are you?” he asks, his voice still soft.
Well, I’m shit, really … I swallow. “If I told you I was fine, I’d be lying.”
He inhales sharply. “Me, too,” he murmurs and reaches over and clasps my hand. “I miss you,” he adds.
Oh no. Skin against skin.
“Christian, I—”
“Ana, please. We need to talk.”
I’m going to cry. No. “Christian, I … please … I’ve cried so much,” I whisper, trying to keep my emotions in check
“Oh, baby, no.” He tugs my hand, and before I know it I’m on his lap. He has his arms around me, and his nose is in my hair. “I’ve missed you so much, Anastasia,” he breathes.
I want to struggle out of his hold, to maintain some distance, but his arms are wrapped around me. He’s pressing me to his chest. I melt. Oh, this is where I want to be.
I rest my head against him, and he kisses my hair repeatedly. This is home. He smells of linen, fabric softener, body wash, and my favorite smell—Christian. For a moment, I allow myself the illusion that all will be well, and it soothes my ravaged soul.
A few minutes later Taylor pulls to a stop at the curb, even though we’re still in the city.
“Come”—Christian shifts me off his lap—“we’re here.”
What?
“Helipad—on the top of this building.” Christian glances toward the building by way of explanation.
Of course. Charlie Tango. Taylor opens the door and I slide out. He gives me a warm, avuncular smile that makes me feel safe. I smile back.
“I should give you back your handkerchief.”
“Keep it, Miss Steele, with my best wishes.”
I blush as Christian comes around the car and takes my hand. He looks quizzically at Taylor, who stares impassively back at him, revealing nothing.
“Nine?” Christian says to him.
“Yes, sir.”
Christian nods as he turns and leads me through the double doors into the grandiose foyer. I revel in the feel of his hand and his long, skilled fingers curled around mine. The familiar pull is there—I’m drawn, Icarus to his sun. I’ve been burned already, and yet here I am again.
Reaching the elevators, he presses the “call” button. I peek up at him, and he’s wearing his enigmatic half smile. As the doors open, he releases my hand and ushers me in.
The doors close and I risk a second peek. He glances down at me, and it’s there in the air between us, that electricity. It’s palpable. I can almost taste it, pulsing between us, drawing us together.
“Oh my,” I gasp as I bask briefly in the intensity of this visceral, primal attraction.
“I feel it, too,” he says, his eyes clouded and intense.
Desire pools dark and deadly in my groin. He clasps my hand and grazes my knuckles with his thumb, and all my muscles clench tightly, deliciously, deep inside me.
How can he still do this to me?
“Please don’t bite your lip, Anastasia,” he whispers.
I gaze up at him, releasing my lip. I want him. Here, now, in the elevator. How could I not?
“You know what it does to me,” he murmurs.
Oh, I still affect him. My inner goddess stirs from her five-day sulk.
Abruptly the doors open, breaking the spell, and we’re on the roof. It’s windy, and despite my black jacket, I’m cold. Christian puts his arm around me, pulling me into his side, and we hurry across to where Charlie Tango stands in the center of the helipad, with its rotor blades slowly spinning.
A tall, blond, square-jawed man in a dark suit leaps out and, ducking low, runs toward us. Shaking hands with Christian, he shouts above the noise of the rotors.
“Ready to go, sir. She’s all yours!”
“All checks done?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You’ll collect her around eight thirty?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Taylor’s waiting for you out front.”
“Thank you, Mr. Grey. Safe flight to Portland. Ma’am.” He salutes me. Without releasing me, Christian nods, ducks down, and leads me to the helicopter door.
Once inside he buckles me firmly into my harness, cinching the straps tight. He gives me a knowing look and his secret smile.
“This should keep you in your place,” he murmurs. “I must say I like this harness on you. Don’t touch anything.”
I flush a deep crimson, and he runs his index finger down my cheek before handing me the headphones. I’d like to touch you, too, but you won’t let me. I scowl. Besides, he’s pulled the straps so tight I can barely move.
He sits in his seat and buckles himself in, then starts running through all his preflight checks. He’s just so competent. It’s very alluring. He puts on his headphones and flips a switch and the rotors speed up, deafening me.
Turning, he gazes at me. “Ready, baby?” His voice echoes through the headphones.
“Yes.”
He grins his boyish grin. Wow—I’ve not seen it for so long.
“Sea-Tac tower, this is Charlie Tango Golf—Golf Echo Hotel, cleared for takeoff to Portland via PDX. Please confirm, over.”
The disembodied voice of the air traffic controller answers, issuing instructions.
“Roger, tower, Charlie Tango set, over and out.” Christian flips two switches, grasps the stick, and the helicopter rises slowly and smoothly into the evening sky.
Seattle and my stomach drop away from us, and there’s so much to see.
“We’ve chased the dawn, Anastasia, now the dusk,” his voice comes through on the headphones. I turn and gape at him in surprise.
What does this mean? How is it that he can say the most romantic things? He smiles, and I can’t help my shy smile.
“As well as the evening sun, there’s more to see this time,” he says.
The last time we flew to Seattle it was dark, but this evening the view is spectacular, literally out of this world. We’re up among the tallest buildings, going higher and higher.
“Escala’s over there.” He points toward the building. “Boeing there, and you can just see the Space Needle.”
I crane my head. “I’ve never been.”
“I’ll take you—we can eat there.”
“Christian, we broke up.”
“I know. I can still take you there and feed you.” He glares at me.
I shake my head and decide not to antagonize him. “It’s very beautiful up here, thank you.”
“Impressive, isn’t it?”
“Impressive that you can do this.”
“Flattery from you, Miss Steele? But I’m a man of many talents.”
“I’m fully aware of that, Mr. Grey.”
He turns and smirks at me, and for the first time in five days, I relax a little. Perhaps this won’t be so bad.