Page 25 of Come Fly with Me

I don’t know what it is about her, but I’ve never wanted anyone like I want Taylor Patterson. She’s like a drug, addictive and all-consuming and I haven’t even had a taste yet. I know when I do, though, I’m not going to be able to stop at just one taste.

“You up for it?” I whisper, a part of me not just talking about the bridge climb. She nods, not saying anything. Grabbing her hand, I smile. “Then let’s do it,” I say with a wink.

After I grab the tickets I’d booked for us last night, the guide takes us through the safety talk and all the dos and don’ts for the trip up and back. We’re given a jumpsuit to put on and then all of us are tethered together, a second cable hanging from our waist that will connect each of us to the bridge.

As soon as we’re all locked in, the guide starts to take us up, all of us walking in single file, with Taylor in front of me.

“You’re not afraid of heights, are you?” I ask teasingly.

She shoots me a glance over her shoulder. “I am a pilot, remember?” she replies. “Thirty-eight thousand feet and all?”

I chuckle. “Yeah, but that’s different.”

“How?”

I shrug. “Enclosed space, in control,” I say, grinning at her. “Out here,” I add, indicating out to the city as we start to get higher. “It’s a whole different ball game.”

Taylor shakes her head as she turns away. “I’m not afraid,” she says.

“Okay,” I say, taking a couple of quick steps so I’m right behind her now. “So what are you afraid of?”

I watch as her hand tightens on the railing, her knuckles white as though it’s my question that scares her the most.

“Sharks,” she eventually says, turning to the side so she’s not quite looking at me.

I laugh. “Well, clearly not that afraid that you won’t get in the ocean,” I say. “What else?”

The guide stops our group, preventing Taylor from answering as she tells us some random facts about the bridge that I’m only half listening to. Instead, I study Taylor and the way she focuses intently on the guide and all the things she’s pointing out, almost as though she’s deliberately trying to ignore me.

I don’t care, taking advantage of the moment by openly staring at her. She’s already tanned from just the two trips we’ve made to the beach, a smattering of freckles across her perfect little nose. Her long blond hair that I’m dying to wrap around my fist is pulled back into a low ponytail, strands of it already coming loose in the wind.

I step closer, so I’m standing right behind her, only an inch of space separating us as I slide my hand along the rail so my fingers are resting against hers. I see them tighten again, but she doesn’t move away, and I grin.

When we start moving, I stick close, reaching forward and pinching her side as I say, “You didn’t answer my question.”

She glances back at me again, eyes meeting mine quickly before she looks away. “I’m not really afraid of much,” she says.

I laugh. “Bullshit, everyone’s afraid of something.”

“What are you afraid of?”

“Uh uh,” I say, shaking my head, grinning. “I asked you first.” She glances back, rolling her eyes at me before looking away. I chuckle because she’s totally adorable when she’s annoyed. “Come on,” I say, sliding a hand onto her hip. “There must be something?”

She keeps walking, her eyes facing forward as the climb starts to get a little steeper. Finally, she glances to the side, her eyes on the city as she murmurs, “Dangerous men.”

I look up at her, silently begging her to turn around so I can see what she means by that comment. But she doesn’t, instead saying, “And you, what are you afraid of?” before turning back to the front.

I don’t answer right away, my eyes instead traveling from the back of her head all the way down her body to her arse. I watch, mesmerized as she climbs the steps in front of me.

“Jake?” she prompts, glancing back at me.

I lift my eyes to hers, meeting her stare. “Getting my heart broken,” I eventually say.

It takes almost two hours, but we finally get to the top just as the sun is starting to set. The view is spectacular, three-hundred-and-sixty-degree panoramic views of Sydney and the Harbour.

I watch as Taylor turns to stare out at the city I grew up in, both hands on the rail, and her face now bathed in dusky sunlight. I can’t resist stepping closer, standing behind her as I bracket her against the railing, an arm on either side of her.

“What do you think?” I whisper, my mouth at her ear.

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