Chapter 25 #2
The hum of the helicopter’s rotors vibrates through my chest, and I swear my heart is trying to keep up with it.
I grab the seatbelt like it’s a lifeline, but my fingers tighten more around Ben’s hand when I realize he’s sliding his over mine.
My stomach does a little flip. I don’t know whether it’s from fear, anticipation, or him.
“Relax,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing over my knuckles. “You’re safe with me.”
I want to argue, but I can’t. His calm presence makes the fear inside me shrink, just a little. The pilot taps the intercom.
“Ready for lift-off? We’ll climb to about fifteen hundred feet, then head toward the dam. There are amazing views ahead.”
Then before I know it, we’re surging into the sky.
The helicopter lifts off, jerking me against Ben’s side.
I press a little closer, my cheek brushing the warmth of his arm.
Below, the desert stretches endlessly, awash in yellows and burned sienna.
The Colorado River threads through the canyon like a silver snake.
Ben leans closer, his breath warm on my ear. “Hold on tight,” he says, and there’s a teasing edge to his voice that makes my stomach do another somersault. I almost laugh, but it comes out as a breathless exhale.
I gasp when I see the Hoover Dam from above.
It’s enormous. I’d never imagined actually seeing it firsthand, so I’m not entirely sure what I expected it to look like.
Its concrete walls gleam in the sunlight.
The river below twists and glimmers like liquid glass.
I can see the tiny powerhouses at the base and the winding roads clinging to the periphery.
The pilot’s voice comes through the headset, but I hardly hear him. “It was completed in 1936. It’s supposed to be a symbol of human ingenuity.”
I nod absently, my eyes fixed on the dam, my hand entwined with Ben’s. He squeezes my fingers gently. “Imagine building something this massive in the middle of a desert during the Depression,” he murmurs. “It’s insane.”
I turn slightly to glance at him. The sunlight catches his jaw. His dark inky hair falls across his forehead, and my chest tightens. How is it he’s as mesmerizing as the view below? “I can’t even imagine the effort, the planning… the people who built this,” I whisper.
The helicopter dips, giving me a sweeping view down the length of the dam.
Water thunders from the spillways, mist sparkling like diamonds.
My laugh escapes me, small and breathless, and Ben leans closer again, brushing his arm along mine.
I can feel the heat radiating from him, feel the subtle press of his thigh against mine.
“See?” he questions, his voice close enough that I feel it tickle my skin. “Even that which seems impossible, seems so until it’s done.”
I shiver. “Is that a famous quote?”
“Well, Nelson Mandela said something similar.” His words, the closeness, the hum of the rotors…this moment feels electric.
My fingers curl around his, holding on a little tighter. “It’s… perfect,” I breathe, barely daring to look at him. But when I do, his eyes hold mine, and suddenly everything else, the canyon, the dam, the river, it all disappears.
The helicopter banks, and for a moment, I feel dizzy, not from the height, but from Ben. From the way he’s here like no man ever has been.
We fly in silence, letting the wind and the hum fill the space, but my chest hammers with anticipation, every nerve alive with the promise of more. Then he tilts his head toward me, eyes dark and playful. “Ready for the next turn?”
I laugh, my voice caught somewhere between thrill and something dangerous.
I squeeze his hand, holding it like a lifeline, and lean into him a little.
The helicopter dips again, and he throws an arm around me.
My heart races, not from the drop, but from the warmth of his body against mine, both his nearness, and this undeniable pull between us I don’t want to fight anymore.
And in this moment, high above the Hoover Dam, everything feels possible, just as he said.
I realize I’ve never wanted anything, or anyone, like this before.
The helicopter skids to a stop, rotors whirring down to a low hum. My heart hasn’t slowed. If anything, it’s pounding harder. I blink against the bright Nevada sun, still dazed from what just transpired.
Ben unbuckles his harness and slides the visor off, his hair slightly mussed and equally as delicious. It’s taking real effort not to reach up and run my fingers through it. He’s looking at me in that way. The way that makes me want to melt on the spot.
“Come on,” he says, holding out his hand. “Let’s stretch our legs a bit.”
I take it, and the warmth of his palm is like an anchor for my trembling limbs. As we step onto the small landing platform, the desert air hits my face. I expect the exhilaration to fade, but instead, it intensifies. Every brush of his hand, every glance, makes my chest swell.
We walk a few steps away from the helicopter to a quiet patch where the canyon stretches behind us. The sound of the rotor is gone, replaced by the soft rush of the river below and the occasional cry of a distant bird. For a moment, there’s just us, suspended in that space between thrill and calm.
Ben stops and turns to me, just close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from him. His hand finds mine again, thumb brushing over my knuckles, and I swear my knees get a little weaker.
“You were amazing up there,” he murmurs. His voice is low, intimate, and I can’t seem to look away from his dazzling, deep blue eyes. They’re brighter than the sky above us. “I was trying to focus on the view, but all I really wanted to look at was you.”
Something catches in my throat. “Ben.” My breath hitches, and I realize I’ve been holding it. “I wasn’t just looking at the dam either,” I admit, my voice barely more than a whisper.
He tilts his head, a slow, deliberate movement, and I can feel the tension stretching between us, taut and electric. His other hand rises, brushing a strand of hair from my face, and I lean into it without thinking, because I want this.
God, do I want this.
“Grace…” he says, and the softness in his voice makes something inside me unravel.
Before I can second-guess myself, he leans in.
My heart leaps as his lips meet mine, first gentle, and then with more certainty.
It’s as if the world around us has narrowed to him and me.
I taste the sun on his lips, feel the press of his chest against mine, and all the fear, all the hesitation, evaporates into this one perfect moment.
When we finally part long enough to breathe, our foreheads rest together. I can feel the thrum of his heartbeat under my fingertips, matching my own. Jeez. Is this how Elizabeth Bennet felt? Because I feel like I’m the main character in a romance novel right now.
“That was…” I start, unable to adequately put words to what I’m feeling. So instead, I release a sigh.
Ben silences me with a soft laugh, brushing his nose against mine. “Exactly,” he says. “Perfect.”
And in the desert hush, with the Hoover Dam stretching behind us like a monument to impossible things, I realize that this unpredictable moment is one I’ll never forget.
My forehead is still resting against his when I finally open my eyes.
The world feels quiet in a way that, again, makes me feel like I’m on the set of a movie.
The canyon stretches out behind him, massive and awe-inspiring, but somehow, he’s the only thing I can see.
My hands are still on his chest. I don’t even recall when they got there. But he hasn’t moved them away.
Ben exhales softly, the sound warm against my lips. “You okay?” he murmurs.
I nod, even though my heart is trying to climb out of my ribs. “I think I forgot how to breathe for a second.”
A corner of his mouth lifts. “I was hoping it wasn’t just me.”
My laugh comes out shaky. And then his hand, the one still holding mine, slides up my arm, until his thumb brushes the sensitive spot just below my ear. The sensation makes me shiver.
His gaze searches my face, like he’s asking a question he doesn’t quite trust himself to say out loud. “Grace…” he starts, then stops. His thumb traces a slow circle against my skin. “You really okay?”
My throat tightens. “Yes.” Is all of this to distract me from earlier? Or does he feel this too?
He hesitates, and for once he doesn’t look cocky or teasing. He looks reverent. “I hate that you’ve had to go through so much. And I know eventually we need to talk. About a lot of things. But… I’m glad you’re here. With me.”
“I am too,” I whisper. “I’m glad I’m here with you.”
Something shifts in his expression. I can’t tell what it is.
Relief, desire? And then he leans in again.
This kiss isn’t tentative. It’s slow. Intentional.
His hand slides to my waist, steadying me as if he knows my knees might betray me, and my fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt because I need something to hold onto.
His lips move against mine with a quiet certainty that makes my breath stutter. He doesn’t rush it. He doesn’t take more than I’m giving. He just stays patient, and devastatingly gentle.
I melt. There’s really no other way to describe it.
When he finally pulls back, his forehead still rests against mine, his voice barely above the hush of the canyon air.
“Gracie?”
“Yes?”
His thumb brushes my jaw. “I think I’ve been waiting my whole life for you,” he murmurs.
I swallow hard, afraid to believe this could be real. I’ve been let down so many times by men. But I want this chance. To have it all with a man like this. Who only gives instead of takes. My heart answers before my fear can. “Me too.”