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“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 con-
necting 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, Anasta-
sia,” he adds softly. Reaching up, he caresses my cheek, ru
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.
What?
He sits down beside me and buckles himself into his seat, then begins a protracted pro-
cedure 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 contin-
ues 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.
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. 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 re-
mains 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 inter-
rupts 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 informa-
tion with air traffic control. It all sounds very professional to me. I think we’re moving
from Portland’s air space to Seattle International Airport’s.
“Understood Sea-Tac, standing by over and out.”
“Look, over there.” He points to a small pin-point of light in the far distance. “That’s
Seattle.”
“Do you always impress women this way? Come and fly in my helicopter?” I ask,
genuinely interested.
“I’ve never bought a girl up here, Anastasia. It’s another first for me.” His voice is
quiet, serious.
Oh, that was an unexpected answer. Another first? Oh the sleeping thing, perhaps?
“Are you impressed?”
“I’m awed, Christian.”
He smiles.
“Awed?” And for a brief moment, he’s his age again.
I nod.
“You’re just so… competent.”
“Why, thank you, Miss Steele,” he says politely. I think he’s pleased, but I’m not sure.
We ride into the dark night in silence for a while. The bright spot that is Seattle is
slowly getting bigger.
“Sea-Tac tower to Charlie Tango. Flight plan to Escala in place. Please proceed. And
standby. Over.”
“This is Charlie Tango, understood Sea-Tac. Standing by, over and out.”
“You obviously enjoy this,” I murmur.
“What?” He glances at me. He looks quizzical in the half-light of the instruments.
“Flying,” I reply.
“It requires control and concentration… how could I not love it? Though, my favorite
is soaring.”
“Soaring?”
“Yes. Gliding to the layperson. Gliders and helicopters – I fly them both.”
“Oh.” Expensive hobbies.I remember him telling me during the interview. I like read-
ing and occasionally going to the movies. I am out of my depth here.
“Charlie Tango come in please, over.” The disembodied voice of air traffic control
interrupts my reverie. Christian answers, sounding in control and confident.
Seattle is getting closer. We are on the very outskirts now. Wow! It looks absolutely
stu
“Looks good, doesn’t it?” Christian murmurs.
I nod enthusiastically. It looks otherworldly – unreal – and I feel like I’m on a giant
film set, José’s favorite film maybe, ‘Bladeru
haunts me. I’m begi