Story of Us trilogy 01: TouchStone for Play (33 page)

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. “Where?”

“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.