Fifty Shades Darker

Holy cow. 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 do 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 at him. 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—Tango 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 to 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 but smile shyly back at him.

«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.»

What? «Christian, we broke up.»

«I know. I can still take you there and feed you.» He glares at me.

I shake my head and flush before taking a less confrontational approach. «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.

«How’s the new job?»

«Good, thank you. Interesting.»

«What’s your boss like?»

«Oh, he’s okay.» How can I tell Christian that Jack makes me uncomfortable? Christian turns and gazes at me.

«What’s wrong?» he asks.

«Aside from the obvious, nothing.»

«The obvious?»

«Oh, Christian, you really are very obtuse sometimes.»

«Obtuse? Me? I’m not sure I appreciate your tone, Miss Steele.»

«Well, don’t then.»

His lips twitch into a smile. «I have missed your smart mouth.»

I gasp and I want to shout, I’ve missed you—all of you—not just your mouth! But I keep quiet and gaze out the glass fishbowl that is Charlie Tango’s windshield as we continue south. The dusk is to our right, the sun low on the horizon—large, blazing fiery orange—and I am Icarus again, flying far too close.

The dusk has followed us from Seattle, and the sky is awash with opal, pinks, and aquamarines woven seamlessly together as only Mother Nature knows how. It’s a clear, crisp evening, and the lights of Portland twinkle and wink, welcoming us as Christian sets the helicopter down on the helipad. We are on top of the strange brown brick building in Portland we left less than three weeks ago.