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  “Ready?”

  “Ready,” I say into the tiny microphone hooked to the communication device he’s put over my head.

  “And away we go,” he says, lifting the stick and pushing down on the pedal.

  We ascend slowly and suddenly I can see across Central Park to the Upper East Side.

  The helicopter moves and seconds later we’re over the top of Times Square. I have no words for the majestic view of the city below, a view few will ever have the chance to see in their lifetime, but I do thanks to him.

  “Okay over there?” he asks.

  I’m too awestruck to answer.

  “Barbara?”

  “Yeah. It’s so beautiful.”

  “Just like you.”

  It takes me a second to process. I move my gaze from below to the man sitting next to me. He winks, before returning his gaze forward.

  We continue along over the East Village before passing directly over the Brooklyn Bridge.

  “Look familiar?”

  “That’s where we had lunch.”

  “And they call it the best view in the city,” he says.

  “I guess they’ve never been up here, with you.”

  “The guest list for that reads one.”

  “You’ve never taken anyone up here before?”

  “Not yet. I borrowed the helicopter. First time flying in New York.”

  “How do you just borrow a helicopter? Oh wait…depends on who you know, right?”

  “Exactly. We’re coming up on where the Hudson and the East River meet.”

  “Where is the theater in relation to here?”

  “Back up the Hudson. Remember Sully?”

  “Captain Chesley ‘Sully’ Sullenberger?”

  “That’s the one. He landed that plane in the Hudson right by your theater.”

  “You’re not planning on doing the same tonight are you?”

  “Not hardly…we don’t have a plane.”

  “Very funny,” I say, laughing at his deadpan delivery.

  “Recognize where we’re headed?”

  “I think so,” I say.

  The way the lights from the city reflect off the river is absolutely breathtaking.

  “There’s Ellis Island, and you know what comes next.”

  “That same thing that was in your pants?”

  “Just a hair bigger this time,” he says, causing me to laugh again.

  We come up on the Statue of Liberty, and he somehow makes the helicopter hover, giving us a consistent, still view of Lady Liberty. She stands for so much, and she’s so awe inspiring to look at eye to eye.

  “You sure no military jets are going to come out here and attack us for being this close?”

  “Positive. I notified them in advance.”

  If anyone else said it, it would be a funny joke. With him it’s totally believable. Anything is possible when I’m with him.

  “Do you like baseball?”

  “I went to a Cubs game once, when I was in Chicago. It was really fun.”

  “Ever been to Yankee Stadium…the new one?”

  “Not yet.”

  “How about we go then?”

  “Sounds good,” I say. I’m having the time of my life now as we circle the statue a couple times, giving me the complete view before we head back up the river. It’s as if anything I ever wanted to see in New York, from a bird’s eye view, is possible tonight.

  The next half an hour we fly over Yankee Stadium, Rikers Island, Flushing Meadows, Madison Square Garden, and just about every other sight you can take in from the sky.

  “Next time we’ll head out to The Hamptons.”

  “Okay,” I say, realizing I’ve just been offered and agreed to another date.

  I look down and see a helipad below.

  “Are we landing there?”

  “Right on the big H,” he says.

  “This is a different building,” I say.

  “My building,” he says.

  He owns a building in the city?

  He gently sets the helicopter down, just as carefully as he guided it across the city. A few minutes later the blades stop spinning and we get out.

  “Like to come inside for the tour?”

  “Sure,” I say. I look at him and give him a devilish smile. “For the tour.”

  CHAPTER 8

  Brian

  I could see by the way she reacted to our flight over the city that I’d given her an experience like she’d never had in her life. I’d set the bar high, and I couldn’t wait to set it even higher. And not just for her, but for me. Having her by my side up there made me feel like a zillion bucks, but let’s face it…moments with her were absolutely priceless.

  I hold the door open and we descend a flight of stairs and enter my penthouse.

  “It’s huge,” she says.

  “The entire floor,” I say.

  “You live on the entire floor?”

  “I don’t spend much time here, but it’s available when I need it, or when friends of mine need it. That happens way more often.”

  “You’re a good friend to have,” she says.

  “I hope the best. I strive to be a great host, and a loyal and supportive person to those closest to me.”

  “Well, I must say, you’ve been quite the host tonight.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Can I give you the tour?”

  “Yes, please.”

  I grab a couple bottled waters and show her around my place.

  “Once your run at the theater is completed we’ll have to try out a few of these to celebrate,” I say, pointing into my wine storage area.

  “It’s all glass. Is that temperature okay for the wine?”

  “It’s refrigerated inside.”

  “But there’s no condensation on the glass.”

  “It’s a special kind of glass, designed to avoid that.”

  “It’s doing its job very well.”

  “As are you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The reviews from tonight are already heading to the printer. They’re rave reviews again.”

  “How do you know? The papers won’t be out for another few hours at the earliest.”

  “But they’re printing them now. I have an account where I can see them when the go to press.”

  “Are you real?”

  “What do you mean? Of course I am.”

  “How do you have access to such things?”

  “I use that service to spot new artists, amongst other things. I need to stay in the loop in regards to these types of things…to a lot of things actually.”

  “Why do you need to spot new artists?”

  “To see them. To sign them…sometimes. To enjoy life really.”

  “Is that your intention with me?”

  “To enjoy life with you?”

  “To sign me?”

  “No. You’re already under contract, and I wouldn’t dare try and come between that. My intentions with you are strictly personal, although I’ll help you professionally anyway I can.”

  She takes a drink of water. “I’m sorry, it’s just that this business is cut throat and sometimes. I never know who I can trust.”

  “Do you trust me?”

  “I do trust you,” she says.

  A moment passes where not a word is said between us. I look at her and I know now’s the time. I can’t wait any longer. My heart is beating out of my chest and my erection is as painful as I’ve ever had. I can see through her thin top that her chest is also heaving slightly. She’s just as ready as I am.

  “Would you like to see the master bedroom?”

  She nods her head slowly. “Yes,” she says quietly.

  I hold out my hand, which she looks at for a moment before smiling and placing hers in mine. Her skin is warm. I can feel her rapid pulse in her fingertips.

  I lead her into the bedroom, ready for the moment I’ve been waiting for for a very, very long time.


  It’s time to make her mine.

  CHAPTER 9

  Barbara

  Brian’s bedroom is at least twice the size of my entire apartment. There’s one gigantic bed that’s easily bigger than a California king. I’ve never seen one so big, or one that looked so comfortable.

  The bed frame is a deep shade of stained oak. It’s masculine and very, very inviting.

  There is a single abstract painting on the wall, which I recognize immediately.

  “Is that a Jackson Pollock?”

  “You know Jackson?”

  “I know of his work, yes. My knowledge of art is very, very limited, but I like his paintings.”

  “What do you like about them?”

  “That they can be interpreted so many different ways, or not interpreted at all.”

  “Yes, you can simply enjoy them, while you can also spend hours looking at them, trying to figure them out.”

  “They’re a mystery,” I say.

  “But like every good mystery, there needs to be someone there with the key to solve it.”

  “And you hold the key?” I say, as I feel his arms wrap around my waist from behind, as I gaze at the painting.

  “It’s you that holds the key.”

  “How can I hold the key?”

  “You’re the girl I longed for. The girl I couldn’t find for so many years.”

  “You were really looking for me?”

  “Yes, but you were like a ghost. No one had any information.”

  “I guess that would be my parents doing.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “They were very protective of me. They registered me under a fictitious name at that ballet school where we first met. At the time I thought it was crazy, but after watching enough police procedural shows over the course of my life I’m starting to think it might have been a good idea.”

  “I like your parents already.”

  “Liked. They’re no longer with us.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

  “It’s okay. I choose to remember all the positive things, and the time we had together.”

  “That’s a nice way to remember those who are important to you.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Do you have anyone now? A shoulder to lean on when times get tough?”

  “Well, as crazy as it may sound, I have a picture of myself as a child. I’m with my parents. I look at that picture when times are tough.”

  “That doesn’t sound crazy at all.”

  “Thanks.” It’s hard for me to put myself out there, to open up for another person, but I sense the moment is now. “But I think I’ve found someone else.”

  “Oh,” Brian says, as I feel his grip loosen around my waist.

  I turn to face him. “It’s not that kind of someone. It’s the kind of someone who I’m with right here, right now.”

  I see the reassured look return to his eyes. “You can lean on me. I want to be that someone. I want to be the one you run to. I want to be the one you trust. And I want you to be mine,” he says.

  His words melt my heart. It’s been tough doing it all alone. I could carry on, but I know there’s no need anymore. He’s got my back, and now he’ll have all of me.

  “I want to be yours.”

  His hands run up the sides of my body, and then around to my back. He pulls me in closer, our faces just inches apart. He’s looking at my eyes, but then his gaze shifts across my face. It’s like he’s memorizing how I look.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m remembering every last detail of the way you look tonight.”

  “Don’t look too close. I’m a wreck right now.”

  “You’re not a wreck, you’re perfect. The way your cheekbones elevate when you smile. The curve of you upper lip. The roundness of your eyes. The depth in the color of your irises. The length of your lashes. The cuteness of your ears.”

  “I have cute ears?”

  “The cutest.”

  “You look at me like I was looking at that painting. Studying it, yet enjoying it at the same time.”

  “Isn’t that the best way to look at you? For the work of art that you are.”

  “I’m far from a work of art. Dancing has taken a toll on my body.”

  “And that’s the art of it all. You’ve done things with that body of yours. You’ve lived with it. You’ve taken your gifts and put in the sweat and dedication and become what you are today, and that is what’s most beautiful. Scars, scratches, scrapes…they build character, courage, and tell the story of life.”

  “You really think so?”

  “I know so.”

  “You think scars are sexy?”

  “I think a life fully lived is sexy. And scars are often evidence of that.”

  “Even on a woman?”

  “Especially on you.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s not expected or appreciated by our society, for one. A woman who’s brave enough to step outside the mold and do things her own way is incredibly beautiful, and freeing to the women who will come after her.”

  “The women who will come after her?”

  “You know all those young girls who are looking up to their favorite performers? They’ll see the way you carry those stories of your life, how you wear them beautifully. And then they won’t be afraid to do the same. They’ll take chances they may not have taken. They’ll see that creek bed when they’re out with their brother, and when he jumps across they’ll know they can jump across too, because they’ve seen you do it. They’ve seen you fly through the air onstage. They’ve read how the world admires you and loves you, scars and all, and they’ll know it’s okay. They’ll know their strength comes from within and it’s most beautiful when it’s explored fully.”

  “I never thought of it that way,” I say. And I never realized this man was so deep and poetic in his thoughts.

  “Why would you? You were too busy living to stop and be conscious of living. It’s as if by stopping to contemplate it you would have stopped living, at least for that one moment.”

  “And what about this moment?”

  “This moment is ours, and I don’t want think anymore. I want to feel. I want to feel your lips against mine. Feel the softness of your skin as I run my fingertips over it, and then my own skin as our bodies move together as one. I want to watch your expression change as I make you feel things you’ve never felt before.”

  “You can tell?”

  “I can tell,” he says. His eyes have refocused onto mine, his look intense. He leans in those last few inches, and kisses me softly. I know this time there won’t be anything stopping us from going further.

  I feel my lips part and his kisses deepen, but my mind is still locked onto his last words. I want an answer before we do what I came here to do.

  “How can you tell?”

  “I’ll be able to see. I’ll watch you, and I’ll enjoy it.”

  “But how could you tell already? Is it written all over my face?”

  “Only as much as the same is written on mine.”

  I pull my face back and look at him oddly. “That doesn’t make sense.”

  “What doesn’t make sense?”

  “How can you, well, feel things you’ve never felt before when you already have a daughter?”

  “With you everything is different.”

  “But you’ve felt things before.”

  “Not like this.”

  “But how can you tell I’ve never experienced this before.”

  “Never experienced this before,” he repeats slowly under his breath. “Something’s bothering you. I can see it, but I’m somehow missing what it is.”