Grey
Page 114
Ana sighs as Damien Rice begins.
Put her out of her misery, Grey.
And I don’t know if it’s my good mood, our talk last night, or the fact that I’m about to go soaring—but I want to tell her who put the song on the iPod. “It was Leila.”
“Leila?”
“An ex, who put the song on my iPod.”
“One of the fifteen?” She turns her full attention to me, hungry for information.
“Yes.”
“What happened to her?”
“We finished.”
“Why?”
“She wanted more.”
“And you didn’t?”
I glance at her and shake my head. “I’ve never wanted more, until I met you.” She rewards me with her bashful smile.
Yes, Ana. It’s not just you who wants more.
“What happened to the other fourteen?” she asks.
“You want a list? Divorced, beheaded, died?”
“You’re not Henry the Eighth,” she scolds me.
“Okay. In no particular order, I’ve only had long-term relationships with four women, apart from Elena.”
“Elena?”
“Mrs. Robinson to you.”
She pauses for a moment, and I know she’s scrutinizing me. I keep my eyes on the road.
“What happened to the four?” she asks.
“So inquisitive, so eager for information, Miss Steele,” I tease.
“Oh, Mr. When Is Your Period Due?”
“Anastasia, a man needs to know these things.”
“Does he?”
“I do.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want you to get pregnant.”
“Neither do I. Well, not for a few years yet,” she says a little wistfully.
Of course, that would be with someone else…the thought is disquieting…She’s mine.
“So the other four, what happened?” she persists.
“One met someone else. The other three wanted—more. I wasn’t in the market for more then.” Why did I open this can of worms?
“And the others?”
“Just didn’t work out.”
She nods and stares out the window as Aaron Neville sings “Tell It Like It Is.”
“Where are we headed?” she asks again.
We’re close now. “An airfield.”
“We’re not going back to Seattle, are we?” She sounds panicked.
“No, Anastasia.” I chuckle at her reaction. “We’re going to indulge in my second favorite pastime.”
“Second?”
“Yep. I told you my favorite this morning.” Her expression tells me she’s completely perplexed. “Indulging in you, Miss Steele. That’s got to be top of my list. Any way I can get you.”
She looks down at her lap, her lips twitching. “Well, that’s quite high up on my list of diverting, kinky priorities, too,” she says.
“I’m pleased to hear it.”
“So, airfield?”
I beam at her. “Soaring. We’re going to chase the dawn, Anastasia.” I take a left into the airfield and drive up to the Brunswick Soaring Association hangar, where I stop the car.
“You up for this?” I ask.
“You’re flying?”
“Yes.”
Her face glows with excitement. “Yes, please!” I love how fearless and enthusiastic she is with any new experience. Leaning over, I kiss her quickly. “Another first, Miss Steele.”
Outside it’s cool but not cold, and the sky is lighter now, pearl and bright at the horizon. I walk around the car and open Ana’s door. With her hand in mine we make our way to the front of the hangar.
Taylor is waiting there with a young bearded man in shorts and sandals.
“Mr. Grey, this is your tow pilot, Mr. Mark Benson,” says Taylor. I release Ana so I can shake hands with Benson, who has a wild glint in his eye.
“You’ve got a great morning for it, Mr. Grey,” Benson says. “The wind is at ten knots from the northeast, which means the convergence along the shore should keep you up for a wee while.”
Benson is British, with a firm handshake.
“Sounds great,” I answer, and watch Ana as she shares a private joke with Taylor. “Anastasia. Come.”
“See you later,” she says to Taylor.
Ignoring her familiarity with my staff, I introduce her to Benson.
“Mr. Benson, this is my girlfriend, Anastasia Steele.”
“Pleased to meet you,” she says, and Benson gives her a bright smile as they shake hands.
“Likewise,” he says. “If you’d like to follow me.”
“Lead the way.” I take Ana’s hand as we fall into step beside Benson.
“I have a Blaník L23 set up and ready. She’s old school. But she handles well.”
“Great. I learned to fly in a Blaník. An L13,” I tell Benson.
“Can’t go wrong with a Blaník. I’m a big fan.” He gives me a thumbs-up. “Though I prefer the L23 for the aerobatics.”
I nod in agreement.
“You’re hooked up to my Piper Pawnee,” he continues. “I’ll take her up to three thousand feet, then set you guys free. That should give you some flying time.”
“I hope so. The cloud cover looks promising.”
“It’s a bit early in the day for much lift. But you never know. Dave, my mate, will spot the wing. He’s in the jakes.”
“Okay.” I think “jakes” means restroom. “You’ve been flying long?”
“Since my days in the RAF. But I’ve been flying these tail-draggers for five years now. We’re on CTAF 122.3, so you know.”
“Got it.”
The L23 looks to be in fine shape, and I make a note of her FAA registration: November. Papa. Three. Alpha.
“First we need to strap on your parachute.” Benson reaches into the cockpit and pulls out a parachute for Ana.
“I’ll do that,” I offer, taking the bundle from Benson before he has a chance to put it or his hands on Ana.
“I’ll fetch some ballast,” Benson says with a cheery smile, and he heads toward the plane.
“You like strapping me into things,” Ana says with a raised brow.
“Miss Steele, you have no idea. Here, step into the straps.” I hold open the leg fastenings for her. Leaning over, she puts her hand on my shoulder. I stiffen instinctively, expecting the darkness to wake and choke me, but it doesn’t. It’s weird. I don’t know how I’m going to react where her touch is concerned. She lets go once the loops are around her thighs, and I hoist the shoulder straps up over her arms and fasten the parachute.
Put her out of her misery, Grey.
And I don’t know if it’s my good mood, our talk last night, or the fact that I’m about to go soaring—but I want to tell her who put the song on the iPod. “It was Leila.”
“Leila?”
“An ex, who put the song on my iPod.”
“One of the fifteen?” She turns her full attention to me, hungry for information.
“Yes.”
“What happened to her?”
“We finished.”
“Why?”
“She wanted more.”
“And you didn’t?”
I glance at her and shake my head. “I’ve never wanted more, until I met you.” She rewards me with her bashful smile.
Yes, Ana. It’s not just you who wants more.
“What happened to the other fourteen?” she asks.
“You want a list? Divorced, beheaded, died?”
“You’re not Henry the Eighth,” she scolds me.
“Okay. In no particular order, I’ve only had long-term relationships with four women, apart from Elena.”
“Elena?”
“Mrs. Robinson to you.”
She pauses for a moment, and I know she’s scrutinizing me. I keep my eyes on the road.
“What happened to the four?” she asks.
“So inquisitive, so eager for information, Miss Steele,” I tease.
“Oh, Mr. When Is Your Period Due?”
“Anastasia, a man needs to know these things.”
“Does he?”
“I do.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want you to get pregnant.”
“Neither do I. Well, not for a few years yet,” she says a little wistfully.
Of course, that would be with someone else…the thought is disquieting…She’s mine.
“So the other four, what happened?” she persists.
“One met someone else. The other three wanted—more. I wasn’t in the market for more then.” Why did I open this can of worms?
“And the others?”
“Just didn’t work out.”
She nods and stares out the window as Aaron Neville sings “Tell It Like It Is.”
“Where are we headed?” she asks again.
We’re close now. “An airfield.”
“We’re not going back to Seattle, are we?” She sounds panicked.
“No, Anastasia.” I chuckle at her reaction. “We’re going to indulge in my second favorite pastime.”
“Second?”
“Yep. I told you my favorite this morning.” Her expression tells me she’s completely perplexed. “Indulging in you, Miss Steele. That’s got to be top of my list. Any way I can get you.”
She looks down at her lap, her lips twitching. “Well, that’s quite high up on my list of diverting, kinky priorities, too,” she says.
“I’m pleased to hear it.”
“So, airfield?”
I beam at her. “Soaring. We’re going to chase the dawn, Anastasia.” I take a left into the airfield and drive up to the Brunswick Soaring Association hangar, where I stop the car.
“You up for this?” I ask.
“You’re flying?”
“Yes.”
Her face glows with excitement. “Yes, please!” I love how fearless and enthusiastic she is with any new experience. Leaning over, I kiss her quickly. “Another first, Miss Steele.”
Outside it’s cool but not cold, and the sky is lighter now, pearl and bright at the horizon. I walk around the car and open Ana’s door. With her hand in mine we make our way to the front of the hangar.
Taylor is waiting there with a young bearded man in shorts and sandals.
“Mr. Grey, this is your tow pilot, Mr. Mark Benson,” says Taylor. I release Ana so I can shake hands with Benson, who has a wild glint in his eye.
“You’ve got a great morning for it, Mr. Grey,” Benson says. “The wind is at ten knots from the northeast, which means the convergence along the shore should keep you up for a wee while.”
Benson is British, with a firm handshake.
“Sounds great,” I answer, and watch Ana as she shares a private joke with Taylor. “Anastasia. Come.”
“See you later,” she says to Taylor.
Ignoring her familiarity with my staff, I introduce her to Benson.
“Mr. Benson, this is my girlfriend, Anastasia Steele.”
“Pleased to meet you,” she says, and Benson gives her a bright smile as they shake hands.
“Likewise,” he says. “If you’d like to follow me.”
“Lead the way.” I take Ana’s hand as we fall into step beside Benson.
“I have a Blaník L23 set up and ready. She’s old school. But she handles well.”
“Great. I learned to fly in a Blaník. An L13,” I tell Benson.
“Can’t go wrong with a Blaník. I’m a big fan.” He gives me a thumbs-up. “Though I prefer the L23 for the aerobatics.”
I nod in agreement.
“You’re hooked up to my Piper Pawnee,” he continues. “I’ll take her up to three thousand feet, then set you guys free. That should give you some flying time.”
“I hope so. The cloud cover looks promising.”
“It’s a bit early in the day for much lift. But you never know. Dave, my mate, will spot the wing. He’s in the jakes.”
“Okay.” I think “jakes” means restroom. “You’ve been flying long?”
“Since my days in the RAF. But I’ve been flying these tail-draggers for five years now. We’re on CTAF 122.3, so you know.”
“Got it.”
The L23 looks to be in fine shape, and I make a note of her FAA registration: November. Papa. Three. Alpha.
“First we need to strap on your parachute.” Benson reaches into the cockpit and pulls out a parachute for Ana.
“I’ll do that,” I offer, taking the bundle from Benson before he has a chance to put it or his hands on Ana.
“I’ll fetch some ballast,” Benson says with a cheery smile, and he heads toward the plane.
“You like strapping me into things,” Ana says with a raised brow.
“Miss Steele, you have no idea. Here, step into the straps.” I hold open the leg fastenings for her. Leaning over, she puts her hand on my shoulder. I stiffen instinctively, expecting the darkness to wake and choke me, but it doesn’t. It’s weird. I don’t know how I’m going to react where her touch is concerned. She lets go once the loops are around her thighs, and I hoist the shoulder straps up over her arms and fasten the parachute.
