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. It’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 clambers in behind me.
He shuts the door with a slam. I’m glad that 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 gray 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, his eyes are scorching. “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, my insides clenching at the thrilling, unexpected touch of his lips.
“I like this harness,” he whispers.
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 pop 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 pre-flight checks.” Christian’s disembodied voice is in my ears through the headphones. I turn and grin at him.
“Do you know what you are doing?” I ask. He turns and smiles at me.
“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.
“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. Here we go,” he adds to me, and the helicopter rises slowly and smoothly into the air.
Portland disappears in front us as we head into US 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 fish bowl. 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 and grins at me.
“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 jawed – 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 interrupts 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.”
I have less than an hour before the big reveal. All the muscles clench deep in my belly.
