Sexy Love (Sexy Series Book 4) (9 page)

“Wow, there is so much involved,” I say, awed, sitting forwards in my seat, my elbow resting on my knee and fingertips running across my bottom lip, a position I often take when I concentrate. “And the snow? Does that cause a problem? If it snows on a car, you have to scrape that shit off, I can’t imagine you out on a ladder de-icing your windshield on the runway.”

He chuckles. “Yes, snow causes issues, and aircraft have to be de-iced. If an aircraft has even a layer of frost the roughness of a fine sheet of sandpaper, it can cause the lift, produced by an aircraft’s wing, to be degraded by thirty per cent. This has previously caused aircraft to run out of available runway or run off the end of runways on take-off.”

“Oh my God, don’t frighten me now.”

He laughs again. “Oh don’t be frightened, we know what we’re doing. Any frost or snow that settles on an aircraft must be removed by a spray application of de-ice, followed by anti ice fluid. Depending on the precipitation and temperature, the treatment has a certain hold over time limit.”

“Okay, so it’s definitely gone by the time I fly?”

“If your crew and ramp staff knows what they’re doing, which they will - yes. It will be gone and you’ll take-off just fine. You’ll have to just fly with me in future so you know that you’re safe.”

I giggle. “Smooth, Sebastian. Honestly, though, everybody knows there’s an awful lot to it, but when you hear some of the ins and outs right from the pilot’s mouth like that, it really makes you realise just how in depth it all really is. That’s why you have one of those certificate things and I don’t.”

He laughs again and takes my free hand in his across the table, squeezing it affectionately.  I don’t flinch. “Airline Transport Pilot or ATP Certificate, and I’m sure, if you had wanted to go down that route, you’d have been more than capable.”

“Oh I’m not so sure about that, Sebastian, but thank you. What made you want to be a pilot? I mean, my path was well and truly set out for me – I had always wanted to go into the family business and navigated my education accordingly, but I always think how wonderful it would be to have had the world at your feet, to be able to choose any profession you so wish. Of course I had that choice, but I never even considered it. Was there one specific thing that made you want to become a pilot and own the private jet business? Was it something you’d always wanted as a child or did you decide later on?”

Sebastian raises his eyebrows and exhales loudly, sitting back in his chair and releasing my hand. He looks away and rests his hand on his belly before looking back at me seriously. It takes him a while to respond which initially, I find a little strange. “Yeah, I just always liked the idea. Let’s stop talking about me, anyway. That’s boring.”

“Oh on the contrary, Sebastian, I find listening to you talk about work absolutely fascinating.”

“Makes a change to me talking about your fine ass body, huh?”

I smile and roll my eyes. “Yes, it does. This Sebastian is much more intriguing.”

“Tell me something,” he asks, “why do you always call me Sebastian when everybody else calls me Seb?”

“I do occasionally call you Seb, but um… I suppose Sebastian is just what I know you as. Back in the early days before we were… friendly… I felt Seb was too casual. I didn’t think we had the type of relationship for nicknames, even if you would
insist
on calling me ‘Lexie’ when I repeatedly asked you not to.” I raise my eyebrow and offer him a stern, teacher-like expression, and he laughs – that handsome, masculine smile of his bearing those perfectly aligned, pearly white teeth.

“What can I say? ‘Sexy Lexie’ just flows off the tongue when I look at you. Does it bother you now?”

I think about it for a moment. This would be the perfect opportunity to have him stop for good. But does it actually bother me anymore? I don’t think so. “Would you stop if I told you it
did
bother me?”

“Hmm…” he says, his eyes squinting as he rubs his bristly chin with his man-fingers. “If you’d be more attracted to me, I’d cut it out.”

He just knows how to make laughter erupt from my soul, and I can’t seem to control it anymore. I never used to find him as amusing as I do these days, and I feel I could have been missing out all of those years that I avoided him.

“You can keep calling me Lexie if it makes you happy, Sebastian.”

“Okay, but you need to at least
try
to call me Seb. We are friends now, after all, aren’t we?”

I smile and look down, feeling somewhat shy. How does he do this to me? I’m not shy, and if I ever am, I never let it show. “We are.”

“Good. I’m glad. Anyway, this bottle is empty – I think we should move on, do you?”

“Yes, sounds good. Where would you like to go?” I ask, desperately hoping that he doesn’t want to go to a bustling bar and on to a club or anything, I’m really not in the mood for that. What I am in the mood for is some chill-out music, maybe a smaller glass of wine and more stimulating conversation. I know that I don’t want the evening to end, which is actually quite nice.

“Um… somewhere similar to this? Maybe somewhere quiet? I’d suggest the ‘W’ lounge but it’ll probably be quite busy now.”

“Yes, I imagine it will. I know; why don’t we go back to my place? I have wine, music and chairs… that’s all we need isn’t it?”

He smiles, cheerfully. “That would be perfect.”

“No funny business though, okay?” I say, wagging my finger and he grins.

“No funny business. Unless you change your mind.”

I giggle. “I won’t.”

We get the check and debate momentarily about who’s paying. I am obviously paying because I am covering the food and wine that Tilly and Bea had, as well as my own, but apparently Sebastian is paying because he just is.

Eventually we agree to pay half each, even though neither of us is happy with the arrangement. I’m actually quite annoyed that I didn’t win that particular battle. I tend to win a lot of battles and it perturbs me when I don’t. That was my check, fair and square.

We get a cab from Gorge and direct it to my apartment building as we both sit together in the back seat. It isn’t as awkward as it would feel if I hadn’t had anything to drink, but it still feels a little strange to be doing something that could be perceived by some as ‘couply’; leaving a restaurant together; sitting in the back of a cab together; going home to my apartment together… it’s not something I do with anyone on a frequent basis, but I suppose as long as I know what it’s all about, there’s nothing to worry about. The driver can think what he likes. I think.

CHAPTER NINE

MONDAY 17
TH
MARCH CONT.

Opening the door, I ceremoniously inhale that welcoming, tranquil scent of home. I love work so much, and I spend so much of my time either at the office or doing something related to it, that my home becomes my place of silence, my place of stillness and serenity. No phones ringing, no constant hum of office machinery, no interruptions or stress or authority. At home, I am Alexia. I’m not ‘Alexia Berkeley, C.M.O.’. There’s a huge difference. I often have difficulty letting go of ‘C.M.O. Alexia’, but when I’m home, alone; it’s done.

I do have a home office, but I try not to use it too much. I don’t want my home to become somewhere I work, and as I live so close to the office, I’d rather make the short journey and do what needs to be done, there. This is the place I retire to, I relax here and I don’t want to start thinking of it as another office.

I put my purse in its home, on the lower shelf of the side table in the hallway, and smile as I hold my arm out to offer Sebastian a seating area to recline in.

“Would you like to sit down while I get a couple of glasses of wine?” I ask, strolling into the seating area by the piano at one end of the living room. I don’t want to sit on the couches by the T.V.; after all, I had the designer put this area in for exactly this type of situation.

I have another such area on the other side of the kitchen, too… in fact, come to think of it; I have an awful lot of seating areas in my home. For someone who doesn’t do an awful lot of entertaining, I certainly like to cater to the butts of many guests. My designer obviously likes spending my money on chairs.

“Do you play?” Sebastian asks, wandering over to the piano.

“Only a little, do you?”

“No,” he says quietly, shaking his head.

“Did you learn any instruments as a child?” I ask, feeling curious.

“Er,” he clears his throat, “no, I didn’t. My parents weren’t musical people.”

“Well, few people can play. I think you’re far better suited to flying.” He smiles only slightly, his eyes fixed on the shiny keys. “Shall I, er…” I point over my shoulder towards the kitchen.

“Thank you, I’d love one. I’ll come with you.”

He follows me back through the doorway and right, into the kitchen area. The main living areas of my apartment have no doors; only archways leading into different areas, but the positioning of the walls makes the large space feel separated, which I love. I think the only rooms with doors are the bedrooms, bathrooms, closets and the study.

I reach into a cupboard for two wine glasses, and then bend to select a cold bottle of white from the wine cooler under the counter. I’m normally very against those refrigerators with glass doors – the idea of showing off everything you’re going to be eating seems just vulgar to me. Why should my guests know if I plan on stuffing my face with junk food? I am a very organised person, but sometimes maybe I do just want to throw something back in there without stacking in an orderly manner.

But I digress, I am against glass refrigerator doors, but on a wine cooler, I think they’re mandatory. They never get in a mess, so long as you only use them for wine and champagne, and if you do decide to deface the thing with a bottle of soda… well, shame on you.

“I like your place, Lexie, it’s a lot less…” he frowns as he tries to find the right word and I smirk, knowing what he’s going to say. “It’s a lot less…”

“A lot less...” I repeat, giggling.

“Um… a lot less, efficient? Less efficient than I thought it might be, if you can understand what I mean.”

“That doesn’t make sense, Sebastian, but I see what you’re saying. My home is organised in a less meticulous manner than you had imagined?”

“No, no, it is definitely organised and perfectly put together… nothing is out of place, that I’ve seen thus far, but I had imagined you to have pristine whites… stainless steel, glass, fully tiled floors…”

“Okay… so it’s homelier?”

“Yes. Yes, it really is homely. It reminds me of your place in Aspen a little, warm and welcoming.”

“Well, the place in Aspen is mine, you know. Didn’t you think that might be my style?”

“I didn’t actually. I thought you liked the décor in Aspen because it’s in keeping with the warm, cosy feel of a lodge in a ski resort, but I had imagined your home to be very different. It doesn’t look like a ski lodge, of course, but it’s extremely warm.”

“Well, thank you.”

My kitchen is white, but it has a shaker feel to it, with rich marble counter tops and thick, white, wooden cupboard doors. The soft rug sits perfectly atop the cream marble flooring, bringing that extra hint of ‘home’ into the room. My wine cooler is probably the only thing with a more modern look to it. Even my stainless steel appliances have been built into cupboards so they match the theme of the room.

The main area of the living room, the only other room he has seen, has two large and somewhat, worn-looking chesterfield couches surrounding the thick, oversized trunk coffee table, along with two burgundy, velvet armchairs. These sit in front of the large fireplace, with T.V. above it. The flooring is a well-treated solid oak and the biscuit coloured walls bring it all together to create a real feeling of comfort.

The seating over by the piano area consists of two large, striped black and cream armchairs and a Moroccan themed, ebony, crushed velvet couch with overly tall, flat arms and back. The dark, carved wood matches that of the coffee table centralising the frame. I think the designer introduced the raven furniture to complement the gleaming piano, the stripy chairs coordinating with the ebony-ivory piano keys. Burgundy cushions carry the intimate colours from the rest of the room.

I see and love my apartment on a daily basis, but only discussing it with Sebastian has made me realise how much work has gone in to bringing all of my styles together. I really must call the interior designer to thank her one more time.

Having poured the wine, I hand a glass to Sebastian and we toast again, this time to ‘beautiful interiors’.

“So, will you give me the grand tour? I’d love to see the rest of the place,” Sebastian says, enthusiastically.

I grin. “Is this your way of getting into my bedroom?”

He chuckles with me. “I’ll be honest, Lexie, the thought really does appeal to me, but I am genuinely interested in seeing the rest of your apartment. Did I tell you I’m looking for a new place?”

“No? What makes you want to move?”

“It’s just time for a change for me. I’m not saying I want to move into your building or anything, but I like to get ideas about what I’m looking for, so I can tell my realtor. I like what you’ve got here.”

“Yes, it works well. It’s not huge or palatial or anything, but it’s only me here; I don’t need anything enormous.” He wiggles his eyebrows with a smirk and I instantly realise the sexual reference. I roll my eyes and sigh. “Is it ever off your brain?”

“Sex? Sure it is. Sex with you? Never.”

I shake my head and smile. “Come on, I’ll show you around.”

~~~~~~~

Sebastian seems to like my apartment a lot. He was especially enthusiastic about my bedroom, but I’m not sure that had anything to do with the layout or décor… I think the fact that there’s a bed and that I get naked in there was what really sparked interest.

I’m finding his jovial behaviour quite entertaining now, where I would have found it loathsome before. I’m making some headway trying to get over his inanity… or maybe he’s making headway at trying to tone it down… either way, it’s working.

“So you don’t have a gym here? Where do you work out?” he asks as we walk down the hall, back towards the living room.

“I don’t have a private gym, I thought about having one instead of the study room, but I like working out in a public gym. Makes me work harder. We have one in the building for residents.”

“Cool, is it good?”

“Yeah, it’s fantastic, it’s equipped for all kinds of training.”

“Could I see it?”

“Sure,” I say, nodding happily, “let me get my keys and we’ll go.”

I grab my keys from my purse and lead the way out of the door, still clutching my icy cold glass of wine. I’m pleased that he wants to see the gym; it’s one of my favourite places.

Working out started as just one of those things I should really be doing to maintain fitness levels, but once I started training properly with Luke and began to come here more frequently, I became a little addicted. If I don’t work out at least four or five times a week, I feel horrible. It’s almost a heavy feeling, a feeling of failure and that I’m missing out on something.

“So how long have you lived here?”

“I moved in just after the building was built, so about seven years.”

“Oh right… so did you recently renovate? It looks like you just moved in.”

“Yes, about a year or so ago.”

“Oh, well it looks fantastic.”
“Thank you, when you get your new place, I’ll let you have my designer’s details.”

“Thank you, that would be fantastic.”

As we reach it, I open the gym door and switch on the entryway light as Sebastian steps through ahead of me. It’s late and most of the few residents that use this gym are morning people, so the place is empty.

“Wow, this is fantastic,” he says, looking around at the airy space and professional equipment in the very dim light.

It is a good-looking gym, considering it’s that of an apartment complex and not a complete fitness centre. The exposed piping above, painted a copper-brown along with the ceiling, gives the room a spacious, art deco-style. The clean, hardwood floor gives it a less clinical feel than a lot of gyms.

“So what do you use in here?” he asks, strolling slowly towards the equipment, sipping his wine, one hand in his pocket.

“I use most of the equipment, really, but mostly… weights, free floor space, monkey bars, treadmill…”

“You do weights?”

“Yes, I like weights.”

“Impressive. Most girls I know wouldn’t know how to use weights.”

“Really? You’re not creating much of a stereotype there, are you Sebastian?” I ask, sarcastically. “I suppose we girls
are
weaklings with no idea of how to use the big man-equipment…”

“Okay, okay, that was unfair of me.”

“It was ignorant of you. There really isn’t a whole lot you need to know about weights, as I’m sure you know. Most girls I know - know how to use them.”

“Sure, okay…” he says, nodding, obviously trying to back track, “all I’m saying, is that many times at the gym, I’ve seen girls spending hours trying to decide which disc weight best suits them, not even registering that they’ll double that weight when they use one disc on each end of the bar, or that they need to add the weight of the bar itself into that, then I watch as they struggle to put the spring clamps on, their hands not even strong enough to do that. Then, when they’ve finally got the bar together with the help of some guy who’s hitting on them, they poorly attempt to lift, no bending of the knees, no gloves… it all ends badly and they go home with a sore back and no work out.”

“Good God, man. First of all, I can only believe you’ve seen that once in your life. Second of all, where was her trainer? If she had a trainer, they’d at least have
shown
her how to do it; and thirdly, why the hell didn’t you help the poor woman? Everybody has to start somewhere. And you’re an ass for sitting by and watching, without helping.”

“Oh, now, come on, the only way I was going to help that girl, was to go over there and tell her she shouldn’t be going anywhere near those weights, and there’s no way she’d have wanted to hear that. Then, I’d get accused of hitting on her, because that’s what the ‘helpful’ gym guys do.”

“That’s
so
not true. And yes, maybe you should have told her not to use them, what if she’d seriously hurt herself?”

“Lexie, Lexie,” he chides, slowly, his arrogant smirk inviting me to hit him in the face. Chauvinistic ass. “Calm down, I’m just saying, some girls just don’t know what they’re doing in the gym.”

“Right, just like most guys! Usually a macho, bigoted donkey like you!”
What a complete jackass
.

He holds his hands in front of him, one still clutching the delicate stem of the wine glass. “Okay, okay. I’m sorry. Yes, I guess you’re right. Some guys don’t know what they’re doing either.”

“Too right. Maybe you’ll think before you speak next time.”

He grins. “I most certainly will, I’ll think about you getting all hot and bothered and go for it.”

I shoot daggers his way, warning him.

“I know, I know, I’m kidding. So, anyway… monkey bars?”

“Uh huh, what about them? They’re over here…” I walk towards the other end of the room, towards the French doors leading to the outside entrance. I point to the recess in the wall where the monkey bar frame is built.

“What do you use them for?” he asks, inspecting it.

“The usual; chin-ups, upper body stuff mostly.”

“I’d like to see that.”

“Here we go again… surprised a mere female has any upper body strength at all?”