As he steps from the car I’m enraptured by the sight of male perfection. He looks too good: black jeans, grey sweater and a zip-up, designer jacket that accentuates his broad shoulders. Forgetting every rational thought in my head, I run down the path to greet him, spurred on by his easy, heart stopping smile; the one he saves for me. With the speed of an Olympic sprinter I reach him and wrap my arms around his neck.
His hands are gripping my waist and he’s lifting and spinning me around. “That’s what I call a welcome,” he grins affectionately, obviously taken aback by my impulsive behaviour.
“I’ve missed you,” I admit much too readily. Feeling his soft lips against mine, I dissolve into him.
He holds my face in his hands. “Hello. You’re a sight for sore eyes Beth. I’ve missed you too. Are you ready?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be.” I’m nodding my head and shrugging my shoulders, unashamedly excited.
“Then let’s go.” He turns towards the car.
“What about my cases?”
“Lester will collect them. Give him your passport.” I look up and he’s already on his way over to my apartment.
“Can’t you get them?” I ask.
“I can, but I won’t because if I take one step inside with you, we’ll miss the flight.” He’s tipping his head to one side, coupling it with a suggestive smile. Is it any wonder I’m feeling light-headed. When am I going to stop feeling this way; we’re fully dressed, it’s before midday and already I’m imagining this gorgeous man doing all kinds of naughty things to me. Be still my beating heart.
I follow Lester inside, collect my handbag and coat and thank him for his help. “Here’s my passport and the tickets. I’ll lock the door behind you.”
“Thank you Miss Parker.”
Without so much as flicker, he slips the documents into his inside pocket, lifts up both cases and secures them in the boot. We’re all set.
It’s much warmer in the car and I can hear music playing. It’s not classical or jazz, it’s commercial radio. I can’t hide my surprise.
“You have the radio on?”
“Yes, it’s a local radio station. I’m carrying out market research and, you never know when that perfect song might come along.” He winks and turns away.
I laugh quietly. “Are you a convert Mr. Stone?” I wait for a humorous reply.
“A guy’s got to believe in something, it might as well be the regenerative power of music. It works for you.”
I present a flat smile, and I’m treated to a whisper of a kiss on my right hand. “You look lovely.”
“Thanks. You don’t look too shabby yourself.”
I bump into his shoulder and he bumps me back. I smile aimlessly at the world outside as it passes by, happy to enjoy the connection. When I turn to face him, I catch him looking at me. So fierce is his scorching stare I cannot look away: I feel naked, stripped of any pretence, ensnared. My pulse starts to race. He knows what he’s doing. Silent seduction, it’s what he does best. Can he see the depth of my love for him, I wonder? Am I that transparent?
“Stop it!” I admonish. “I know what you’re doing with your fuck-me eyes. Just don’t”
He throws his head back in raucous laughter and treats me to the sexiest grin. “Oh Beth, you’re adorable. I can’t wait to be inside you.”
Why does he say things like that?
I feel his left arm around my shoulders and a wet kiss beneath my ear. Now he has me squirming in my seat, but I have a rebuttal. It’s my turn to fight back
“I’ve a good mind to sit on your lap and wriggle around until you come in your pants.”
He’s calling my bluff, opening his jacket and outstretching his arms along the length of the headrest. “Be my guest.”
Oh I want him so badly when he’s like this, carefree and playful. As hard as I try, I can’t stop smiling. “No. I don’t want to crease these trousers. You paid a lot of money for them.” It’s the only answer I can think of and, regardless of what I say, I know I’ll be out-manoeuvred.
“Then I’ll buy you another pair in Rome.”
I knew it. He’s like a chess player, always one step ahead. With a soft voice I make my final move. I whisper in his ear, “The only time I want you to crease these expensive trousers, is when you take them off, lay me across your knee and spank me. After all, you did promise.”
He lowers his arms and sits quietly, licking his lips and loosening the collar on his sweater. “I’ll wait.”
I hold back on a triumphant smile. Is this what winning feels like? No wonder Ayden regards it as his mission statement.
To my surprise, we are whisked through security and passport control via a side entrance. Ayden takes my hand and rushes me along a glass panelled corridor.
“Where are we going?” I ask between breathless gasps.
“To catch our flight, it leaves in thirty minutes.”
“What about the luggage?” I turn, looking for Lester but we’re moving too fast and I trip.
“For Christ’s sake, try and stay on your feet.”
“I am. You try slowing down, if you were planning on sprinting to the plane you should have told me. I’d have worn trainers.” I’m becoming breathless, and he’s laughing at me.
“The luggage has been taken care of. Don’t worry, your Jimmy Choo’s are in good hands.”
A professional looking brunette in her early thirties, dressed in a black suit and sensible shoes approaches us. She recognises Ayden. “Mr. Stone, Miss Parker good morning. Can I take your passports please?”
Ayden dismisses her, he is much too self-possessed. We keep moving. “They’re with my chauffeur,” he calls out.
She looks down the corridor, offers a polite smile but it’s wasted on us. It’s obvious Ayden knows where he’s going. He has neither the time or inclination for polite conversation.
“Why are we going this way?”
“I don’t stand in line for anything Beth, we’re not flying commercial. We’re taking the company jet.” He notices my surprise. “It’s the only way to fly.”
“Of course it is,” I muse, finding his hand around my waist.
“Jump in.”
He points to a black limousine parked outside the exterior door. The cold air hits me. I shudder before quickly settling myself on the black leather seat next to him.
“The Challenger, Mr. Stone?” asks the immaculately dressed chauffeur.
“Yes, it should be fuelled and ready for take-off.”
With that we wind our way across the airfield, coming to rest beside a sleek and glossy private jet in white and navy blue. Etched on the side of it is Challenger 300 and underneath that: A.S. Media International. I step out of the limousine, wrapping my coat around my shoulders. It’s cold and it’s noisy but so exciting.
“Let’s get on board,” Ayden calls out above the vibrating sound of the turbines, stretching out his hand for me to ascend first.
I take the six steps up and I’m on board, turning my head from left to right. Wow! “Oh Ayden, it’s spectacular.” I turn and kiss him. “This is a wonderful surprise. Will you show me round?”
“Sure, welcome aboard.” He begins the tour. “This is the galley.” He rejects it and moves on. “This is the seating area, as you can see there are four leather seats, and that’s our lunch.”
I nod in approval at the antipasto selection of cold meats, cheese, olives and champagne.
“Obviously we have TV, WiFi and an iPod station etcetera.” He leads me to the back of the aircraft. “Back here there are two more chairs and a couch which, incidentally, opens out into a bed.”
There’s that knockout fusion of a sexy smile and arched brows: a winning combination. It’s a well-considered body blow that leaves me tingling all over.
“Very convenient.”
“Yes it is.” He turns about. “So that’s it. I’ll leave you to discover the wash room and the shower for yourself. Take a seat.”
I look around. “Wh
ere?”
“Anywhere,” he smiles. “We’re the only passengers, take your pick.”
I settle myself into a forward facing, white, leather chair. “I’ll sit here although I’d much prefer your lap,” I tease, feeling way too giddy for a woman of my age.
He lifts his chin feigning arrogance. “Oh don’t worry, you’ll be spending a lot of time on my lap in the next couple of days.”
I hope so …
He positions himself opposite me. “I think it’s time for us to make a toast.” He pours out two tall glasses of champagne. “Cheers.”
I watch the bubbles as they dance and pop excitedly in the glass. I know how they feel. “Cheers, let’s drink to memorable days and unforgettable nights.”
He smiles broadly, “Why not?”
There’s the sound of someone boarding the aircraft. Ayden turns and the smile fades.
“Mr. Stone, here are your passports. Can we store the luggage for you?”
He moves aside and a male, uniformed employee passes me with our cases then proceeds to arrange them in the storage area.
“Thank you.” I smile and get a polite one in return.
“Have a good flight.” The brunette leaves, giving me an envious smile.
“Do you want to keep these?” Ayden asks, handing me the passports.
“I can do.” I take hold of our passports and walk to the rear of the plane to secure them in my handbag. Leaving him to chat with the pilot, I take a peek at his passport photograph.
His passport is eight years old, he was 24 when this picture was taken. He looks stunning and so young, so ardent. I reflect on what I was doing at 19. Not much. There he was building an empire and there I was working my way through an English Degree at Cambridge. My mother had been dead for eight years and my father was still finding it hard to come to terms with the loss of the only woman he had ever loved. Little did I know, before my 20th birthday, I would be an orphan.
It’s amazing how a photograph can bring back so many memories. My passport photograph tells a very different story. It’s only five years old: what a sombre individual I was.
One look at Ayden and I’m brought back to the present with a jolt. From the doorway I watch him conversing with the co-pilot. He’s charming, captivating and so handsome.
Realising I’ve been gone too long, he calls out. “Everything ok?”
With the documents and my life history safely stowed I jump out, making a dramatic entrance. “I’m still here, I haven’t bailed out.”
He moves over to me and kisses my forehead. “Buckle up. The pilots says we have clearance for take-off.”
“Great.” I sidle over to my seat of choice. Little does he know, but I’m a nervous flier. I try to pacify myself by looking out of the window but without any direction from me, my thumb nail finds its way to my mouth.
“Are you alright?” He asks. “Or are you trying to see just how quickly you can get me hard with your little girl antics?”
“No, I’m not. I don’t like take-offs and landings.” I take my thumb nail from my teeth and force a smile.
“Now she tells me.” He leans forward in his chair. “Do you want to hold my hand?” He stretches out his hand and I do the same but the seat belts are too tight and it’s uncomfortable.
“Shit! I can’t sit like this. Come on.”
He unbuckles his belt, then mine and leads me to the couch. Leaning over, he secures my belt, sits beside me and buckles himself in too. He grabs my left hand and sandwiches it between his. “Better?”
“Much. Thank you.”
I kiss his right cheek and mentally prepare myself for take-off. I’m quaking with fear, but there’s no place I would rather be than, holding the hand of the man I love, on our way to one of the most beautiful cities in the world.
Buon viaggio.
After a smooth take-off, we’re soaring through the clouds up to a flight ceiling of 45,000 feet. The food is great and the company is even greater. Ayden is the perfect host, treating me to humorous anecdotes and tales of Far Eastern adventures. It’s refreshing to see him so relaxed.
I told him after his trip to L.A. I may love him more, and I was right. I do. But feeling this way and showing him are two very different things. I know I push him too hard, I tease and bend him to my will, disarm him for my own pleasure, taking no account of his feelings. When I look at him now, so refined, so special and yet so vulnerable, I’m reminded of his fragility. Less than a fortnight ago I made him a promise to take care of him in whatever way I could. Like him, I always keep my promises.
Forty minutes in, he suggests we retire to the couch and I’m pleased to oblige. He disappears into the storage area and returns with an ‘I have a secret’ smile which heightens my excitement.
“I wanted to say thank you for your help with the speech and I wasn’t sure how. This is for you.” He hands me a navy blue box about the size of a large egg.
“A simple thank you would have sufficed. What is it?”
“Open it and see.” He looks very pleased with himself.
I peel the lid open and look up to him and gasp. Inside is a platinum bracelet with a kiss charm to match my necklace. It isn’t until I lift out the bracelet I notice the extra special addition; a skilfully cut, midnight blue stone in the shape of a heart. It’s exquisite.
“Oh Ayden, you didn’t have to buy me this,” I gush. “It’s beautiful.”
I reach up to him and caress his face with my hand, he leans into it and a warm glow finds its way to my heart, radiates out and envelopes him like a cloak. “Will you put it on for me?” He fastens it around my wrist and I hold it up to the light and shake my hand. “I’ll treasure it.”
He moves towards the single chairs and strokes my hair on the way. “I have to check a couple of things, can you amuse yourself for a while.”
“Of course. I’ve got my kindle.” I reach into my bag and lift it out.
“You can put music on if you want, something off our iPods.” He winks, knowing we have exactly the same music stored on them.
“I’ll see what I can find.” I run through my albums and put Colbie Collait on shuffle. I make a conscious decision to make myself useful and venture over to the galley area. There’s a coffee percolator and a stocked fridge. Surely the pilot and co-pilot would appreciate a coffee and a snack? I knock on the cockpit door and pop my head inside.
My God, it’s like mission control in here: nobs, dials, levers, button and, best of all, clear blue sky. They’re surprised to see me. It would appear neither Ayden, or any of his passengers have ever ventured into their private space.
“I’m making coffee, can I get you anything?” They look at each other with puzzled expressions.
The pilot speaks for them both. “That would be very nice Miss Parker. Thank you. No sugars please.”
“Yes captain.” I smile, glad to be of service.
The coffee is brewing nicely, giving me time to organise some biscuits. I glance over to Ayden; he’s out of his seat and pacing. I can’t quite catch what he’s saying but the volume and the inflections tell me he’s not offering words of praise. I decide against asking and prepare his coffee just the way he likes it: strong and black. I pour the steaming brew into two more cups, and deliver it to our deserving pilots.
“Thank you Miss Parker. You might want to buckle up, we’re going to try and fly above it, but it’s likely we’ll run into some turbulence.”
“Ok. I’ll let Mr. Stone know.” I force a grateful smile.
The door clicks shut behind me and I rest my back against it. I may need to throw back another travel sickness tablet. I take one look at Ayden and I’m disinclined to break the news, he’s so preoccupied with something. So much so his hand is resting on his neck for far too long. I want to help but I’m afraid to intervene. I’ll wait. If he needs my help, he’ll ask for it.
I place down his coffee cup but he doesn’t notice. This trip is turning out to be a real eye-opener. I’m being given an ins
ight into his working practice and, seeing him in action reminds me there’s more than meets the eye when it comes to this wonderful man. I think I’ve been blinded by physical perfection: the come-to-bed eyes, coming to get you smile and what he can do with those hands … Maybe this is a voyage of discovery after all?
I listen to him putting the world to rights, he’s authoritative and in total command. I can’t take my eyes off him. He throws his phone down onto the chair and picks up the coffee cup, still deep in thought. I’ve become invisible, I’m not even acknowledged as the waitress.
“Did you make this?” I believe he is addressing me.
“Yes, there’s more if you want another cup but be quick because the Captain says we’re about to fly into some turbulence.” I smile and return to my edition of Gabriel’s Inferno, things are hotting up …
“Did he tell you that?”
I nod.
“When?”
“When I took in their coffee and you were on the phone.”
“You served them coffee?” He’s astonished and shaking his head in disbelief.
“Yes, so drink yours and buckle up.” To stress the point I click my own into place, watching him seat himself opposite me. “Have you sorted out your problem?”
He turns his head clockwise in a wide circle in an attempt to ease the tension settling in his neck. “More or less. But it’s nothing for you to worry about.”
I take that as a thanks but no thanks to any offer of help. “Great. I’m sure you have everything under control.”
Before I can continue, the sudden loss of altitude hits my stomach and every rational thought evaporates. The engines struggle to maintain altitude and the clear air turbulence has us bobbing and swaying like we’re on an out of control rollercoaster: it’s terrifying.
I scream, “Shit!”
When I look at Ayden, he isn’t exactly scared but he isn’t smiling either. He’s a seasoned flyer and has experienced this before, but not with me.
Story of Us trilogy 01: TouchStone for Play Page 28
