Chapter Six #2
Under Kate’s tireless and frankly intrusive instruction, my legs and underarms are shaved to perfection, my eyebrows plucked, and I am buffed all over.
It has been a most unpleasant experience.
But she assures me that this is what men expect these days.
What else will he expect? I have to convince Kate that this is what I want to do.
For some strange reason, she doesn’t trust him, maybe because he’s so stiff and formal.
She says she can’t put her finger on it, but I have promised to text her when I arrive in Seattle.
I haven’t told her about the helicopter; she’d freak.
I also have the José issue. He’s left three messages and seven missed calls on my cell. He’s also called home twice. Kate has been very vague as to where I am. He’ll know she’s covering for me. Kate doesn’t do vague. But I have decided to let him stew. I’m still too angry with him.
Christian mentioned some kind of written paperwork, and I don’t know if he was joking or if I’m going to have to sign something.
It’s frustrating trying to guess. And on top of all the angst, I can barely contain my excitement or my nerves.
Tonight’s the night! After all this time, am I ready for this?
My inner goddess glares at me, tapping her small foot impatiently.
She’s been ready for this for years, and she’s ready for anything with Christian Grey, but I still don’t understand what he sees in me, mousey Ana Steele—it makes no sense.
He is punctual, of course, and waiting for me when I leave Clayton’s. He climbs out of the back of the Audi to open the door and smiles warmly at me.
“Good evening, Miss Steele,” he says.
“Mr. Grey.” I nod politely as I climb into the back seat of the car. Taylor is sitting in the driver’s seat.
“Hello, Taylor,” I say.
“Good evening, Miss Steele.” His voice is polite and professional.
Christian climbs in the other side and clasps my hand, giving it a gentle squeeze that echoes through my body.
“How was work?” he asks.
“Very long,” I reply, and my voice is husky, too low, and full of need.
“Yes, it’s been a long day for me, too.”
“What did you do?” I manage.
“I went hiking with Elliot.”
His thumb strokes my knuckles, back and forth, and my heart skips a beat as my breathing accelerates. How does he do this to me? He’s only touching a very small area of my body, and the hormones are flying.
The drive to the heliport is short. When we arrive, I wonder where the fabled helicopter might be.
We’re in a built-up area of the city, and even I know helicopters need space to take off and land.
Taylor parks, climbs out, and opens the door for me.
Christian is beside me in an instant and takes my hand again.
“Ready?” he asks.
I nod and want to say For anything, but I can’t articulate the words as I’m too nervous, too excited.
“Taylor.” He nods curtly at his driver, and we head into the building, straight to a set of elevators.
Elevator! The memory of our kiss this morning comes back to haunt me.
I have thought of nothing else all day, daydreaming at the register at Clayton’s.
Twice Mr. Clayton had to shout my name to bring me back to earth.
To say I’ve been distracted would be the understatement of the year.
Christian glances down at me, a slight smile on his lips. Ha! He’s thinking about it, too. “It’s only three floors,” he says dryly, his eyes dancing with amusement. He’s telepathic, surely. It’s spooky.
I try to keep my face impassive as we enter the elevator.
The doors close, and it’s there, the weird electrical attraction crackling between us, enslaving me.
I close my eyes in a vain attempt to ignore it.
He tightens his grip on my hand, and five seconds later the doors open onto the roof of the building.
And there it is, a white helicopter with the name GREY ENTERPRISES HOLDINGS, INC.
written in blue with the company logo on the side.
Surely this is misuse of company property.
He leads me to a small office where an old-timer sits behind the desk.
“Here’s your flight plan, Mr. Grey. All external checks are done. She’s ready and waiting, sir. You’re free to go.”
“Thank you, Joe.” Christian smiles warmly at him.
Oh. Someone deserving of the polite treatment from Christian. Perhaps he’s not an employee. I stare at the old guy in awe.
“Let’s go,” Christian says, and we make our way toward the helicopter. When we’re up close, it’s much bigger than I thought. I expected it to be a roadster version for two, but it has at least seven seats.
Christian opens the door and directs me to one of the seats at the very front. “Sit. Don’t touch anything,” he orders as he climbs in behind me.
He shuts the door with a slam. I’m glad the area is floodlit; otherwise, I’d find it difficult to see inside the small cockpit.
I sit down in my allotted seat, and he crouches beside me to strap me into the harness.
It’s a four-point harness with all the straps connecting to one central buckle.
He tightens both of the upper straps so I can hardly move.
He’s so close and intent on what he’s doing—if I could only lean forward, my nose would be in his hair.
He smells clean, fresh, heavenly, but I’m fastened securely into my seat and effectively immobile.
He glances up and smiles, like he’s enjoying his usual private joke, his eyes heated.
He’s so tantalizingly close. I hold my breath as he pulls at one of the upper straps.
“You’re secure. No escaping,” he whispers.
“Breathe, Anastasia,” he adds softly. Reaching up, he caresses my cheek, running his long fingers down to my chin, which he grasps between his thumb and forefinger.
He leans forward and plants a brief, chaste kiss on my lips, leaving me reeling and my insides clenching at the thrilling, unexpected touch. “I like this harness,” he adds.
What?
He sits down beside me and buckles himself into his seat, then begins a protracted procedure of checking gauges and flipping switches and buttons from the mind-boggling array of dials and lights and switches in front of me.
Little lights wink and flash from various dials, and the whole of the instrument panel lights up.
“Put your cans on,” he says, pointing to a set of headphones in front of me.
I pull them on, and the rotor blades start. They are deafening. He puts his headphones on and continues flipping various switches.
“I’m just going through all the preflight checks.” Christian’s disembodied voice is in my ears through the headphones.
I turn and grin at him. “Do you know what you’re doing?”
He smiles. “I’ve been a fully qualified pilot for four years, Anastasia. You’re safe with me.” He gives me a wolfish grin. “Well, while we’re flying,” he adds and winks at me.
Winking… Christian!
“Are you ready?”
I nod, wide-eyed.
“Okay, tower. PDX, this is Charlie Tango Golf–Golf Echo Hotel, cleared for take-off. Please confirm, over.”
“Charlie Tango—you are clear. PDX to call, proceed to one four thousand, heading zero one zero, over.”
“Roger, tower, Charlie Tango set, over and out.” Christian looks over at me and adds, “Here we go.” And the helicopter rises slowly and smoothly into the air.
Portland disappears in front of us as we head into U.S.
airspace, though my stomach remains firmly in Oregon.
Whoa! All the bright lights shrink until they are twinkling sweetly below us.
It’s like looking out from inside a fishbowl.
Once we’re higher, there really is nothing to see.
It’s pitch-black, not even the moon to shed any light on our journey. How can he see where we’re going?
“Eerie, isn’t it?” Christian’s voice is in my ears.
“How do you know you’re going the right way?”
“Here.” He points his long index finger at one of the gauges, and it shows an electronic compass. “This is an EC135 Eurocopter. One of the safest in its class. It’s equipped for night flight.” He glances at me and grins.
“There’s a helipad on top of the building I live in. That’s where we’re heading.”
Of course there’s a helipad where he lives. I am so out of my league here.
His face is softly illuminated by the lights on the instrument panel.
He’s concentrating hard, and he’s continually glancing at the various dials in front of him.
I drink in his features from beneath my lashes.
He has a beautiful profile. Straight nose, square jaw.
I’d like to run my tongue along his jaw.
He hasn’t shaved, and his stubble makes the prospect doubly tempting.
Hmm…I’d like to feel how rough it is beneath my tongue, my fingers, against my face.
“When you fly at night, you fly blind. You have to trust the instrumentation,” he says, interrupting my erotic reverie.
“How long will the flight be?” I manage breathlessly. I wasn’t thinking about sex at all. No, no way.
“Less than an hour—the wind is in our favor.”
Hmm, less than an hour to Seattle… That’s not bad going. No wonder we’re flying.
I have less than an hour before the big reveal. All the muscles clench deep in my belly. I have a serious case of butterflies. They are flourishing in my stomach. Holy shit, what has he got in store for me?
“You okay, Anastasia?”
“Yes.” My answer is short, clipped, squeezed out through my nerves.
I think he smiles, but it’s difficult to tell in the darkness.
Christian flicks yet another switch. “PDX, this is Charlie Tango now at one four thousand, over.” He exchanges information with air traffic control.
It all sounds very professional to me. I think we’re moving from Portland’s airspace to Seattle International Airport’s.
“Understood, Sea-Tac. Standing by, over and out.”
“Look, over there.” He points to a small pinpoint of light in the far distance. “That’s Seattle.”