November 1940
Kirton-in-Lindsey
It was different being surrounded by other Americans now that Jameson was in the 71st Eagle Squadron. Almost like being back home, except they weren’t anywhere near it.
“They’re all so young,” Howard muttered as they watched the new recruits at their first beer call. It was an English tradition he’d been all too glad to keep, seeing as it wasn’t just about the camaraderie. This was where they had it out when disputes needed to be settled.
“Most of them are the same age we are,” Andy countered, leaning back against the walls of their newly acquired rest room. They’d been lucky enough to fall in on a collection of armchairs to mix in with the harsh wicker ones that sat scattered around the space, but the three of them stood apart in more than the physical sense.
“Not really,” Jameson said. “Not in the way that matters.” The three of them had seen combat. War was no longer something romantic, something to glorify. These new kids were just that, kids. They’d all been freshly delivered via Canada, having smuggled themselves out of the States in hopes of joining The Eagles.
Overnight, those—like Jameson—who had considered themselves rookies throughout the Battle of Britain were now the veterans. The new Americans were all pilots, but most of them were commercial. They’d flown supplies or even people. They’d dusted crops. They’d showboated in front of crowds.
They’d never shot another man out of the sky.
There were a few who had, and they’d already lost one back to 64 squadron. Not that Jameson blamed him. They’d been plucked from daily missions and tossed into training now for six weeks, and the frustration over
their uselessness was mounting. They were needed in the sky.
This was bullshit.
“Maybe Art was right to leave,” Howard grumbled before draining half his beer.
“You read my mind.” Jameson looked down at his full glass. It wasn’t as satisfying as it had been when they’d done this after a mission. It felt…fake, like they were playing at being fighter pilots.
At least the unit had been moved to Kirton-in-Lindsey last week. That was one step closer to being operational. Unfortunately, they’d transferred the Buffaloes with them.
The American aircraft didn’t perform well at high altitude, and that was the least of its problems. The engine overheated regularly, the cockpit controls weren’t dependable, and it lacked the armament they’d come to depend on. Sure, the new men liked the open, airy cockpit, but they’d never flown a Spitfire.
Jameson missed his Spitfire almost as much as he missed Scarlett.
God, he missed Scarlett. It had been nearly two months since he’d seen her, and he was slowly going out of his mind. If not for the unit move, he would have made the trip to Middle Wallop already—he was that desperate to look into those blue eyes. She’d spent her October leave with her parents, which was understandable, but according to her letter, it hadn’t gone well. He hated the pressure that loving him put her under. It wasn’t fair that she was forced to choose between her family and Jameson, but he’d be lying if he didn’t admit his happiness at being the one chosen.
Without flying combat missions, he had more downtime, which meant she was never far from his mind. His letters increased from twice a week to three times, and sometimes even four. He wrote the letters as though he were talking to her, as though she were there with him, hearing how much he missed her. How much he longed for her. He told her stories from his childhood and did his best to paint a picture of life in his tiny hometown.
Even now he smiled, just thinking about taking her to Poplar Grove. His mother would love her. Scarlett always said exactly what she meant. She
never minced words or played games. She wasn’t coy or flirtatious, either. She guarded her emotions the same way she protected her sister—someone was only given access once they’d proven their worth.
Sometimes he felt like he was still proving his.
“Hey, Stanton!” One of the men called over with a distinctly Boston accent. “Is it true you’ve got an English sweetie?”
“It is.” Jameson’s grip tightened on his glass.
“Well, where do you find one?” He lifted his eyebrows, and some of the new guys laughed.
“Don’t let him get to you,” Howard said under his breath.
“I picked her up on the side of the road,” Jameson answered in a deadpan.
“She have any friends?” the rookie prodded. “We could all use a little friendly company, if you get my meaning.”
“Okay, now you can let it get to you.” Howard whacked Jameson’s shoulder.
“How is Christine, anyway?” Jameson asked with a slight tilt to his lips. “Far away. Very far away.”
“She does have friends,” Jameson said loudly, so this jerk could hear him. “None of them would be interested in meeting you, but she does have them.”
“Oh!” The men howled.
The man flushed. “Well, her standards couldn’t be too high if she’s with you, Stanton.”
Right, these guys are still in the whip-it-out-and-measure stage. Andy rolled his eyes, and Howard finished off his beer.
“She is definitely out of my league, boys.” Jameson nodded thoughtfully. “But she’d chew you up and spit you out before you even got close, Boston.”
Howard lurched, spraying beer through his lips onto the floor in front of them. Every head turned toward him as he wiped the remains of his drink from his chin and pointed toward the door on the far end of the room.
“She’s also here.”
Jameson’s head whipped toward the entry, and his heart stopped. Scarlett stood in the doorway, her jacket folded over an arm.
She looked like heaven.
Her glossy black hair was pinned back, barely brushing the collar of her uniform. Her cheeks were pink, her lips curved in a barely contained smile, and damn, he could see the blue of her eyes from here. She was here. At his base. In his rest room. She was here.
He was halfway across the room before he’d even thought to move, abandoning his beer on the nearest table as he went. A few short strides and he was home, sucking in his breath at the warmth of her skin as one of his hands cupped the back of her neck and the other palmed her waist.
“You’re here,” he whispered, awestruck as she smiled up at him. This wasn’t a dream. She was real.
“I’m here,” she answered just as softly.
His gaze dropped to her mouth, and his grip tightened at the hunger that threatened to consume him. He needed her kiss more than he needed his next breath, but he wasn’t about to do it here. Not in front of the jackass who’d implied he needed company.
“For how long?” he asked, his stomach pitching at the knowledge that it was most likely only a few hours. He would have met her halfway if she’d told him. He wanted as much time as he could get with her.
“About that…” Her grin turned playful. “Do you have a minute?”
“I have a lifetime.” Which he’d offered her…and she’d refused, but he was trying incredibly hard not to think about that part.
“Brilliant.” She smiled and stepped out of his arms, taking his hand in hers. Then she looked back across the room. “Boston, is it?” she asked.
“Uh. Yeah.” He stood, rubbing the back of his neck as he flushed red. “Ah. Well, let’s all hope that the WAAF isn’t ever integrated into His
Majesty’s forces. It would be a shame for me to officially outrank you, Pilot Officer.” She offered him a polite smile, which Jameson knew well enough to recognize as her go-to-hell face, and he failed to stifle his laugh. Her
smile shifted to a genuine one when she spotted Howard. “Lovely to see you, Howie.”
“You too, Scarlett.”
Jameson led her down the hall, then opened the door to the empty briefing room. He tugged her inside, shut and locked the door, then tossed her coat on the nearest desk and proceeded to kiss her senseless.
…
Scarlett didn’t melt; she came alive under his touch. She wound her arms around his neck and arched, seeking as much contact as she could get as his tongue twined with hers. He groaned into her mouth and kissed her deeper, wiping out the agonizing weeks of separation with every stroke of his tongue and scrape of his teeth.
Only with Jameson did Scarlett allow herself to simply feel. The need, the longing, the pain, the overwhelming ache of love in her heart—she surrendered to it all. Every other part of her life was managed and controlled. Jameson shredded the rules she’d been raised under and brought her into a world of emotion just as vibrant and colorful as he was.
Urgent need beat at her. More. Closer. Deeper.
As if he sensed the hunger within her, or felt it himself, he grasped her backside and lifted her against him so they were eye level. Her fingers speared into his hair as he walked to the briefing table and sat her at the edge of it, all without breaking the kiss.
She’d never been more thankful for wearing a skirt, which made it easy for him to fit himself between her thighs, bringing them flush. She gasped at the contact, and he tilted her head, taking her mouth as though he needed to lay claim again, as though she might disappear at any moment.
“I missed you,” he said against her mouth.
“I missed you, too.” Her voice came out breathless as her heart pounded. Even if they’d only shared this moment, everything she’d done to get here would have been worth it.
His lips trailed down her neck, lightly sucking just above her collar. She inhaled sharply when he flicked his tongue against her. Mercy, that felt good. Shivers of pleasure darted down her spine, pooling low in her belly as she caught fire. He burned away the November chill that had clung to her skin since she’d arrived this morning. She could never be cold in Jameson’s arms.
He flicked open the buttons of her uniform and slid his hands inside to caress her waist over the soft, white shirt. His thumbs stroked her ribs, teasing the inches just below her breasts, and she rocked against him, urging him on.
He kissed her again and pulled her closer.
She gasped, feeling the hardness of him through the layers of fabric that covered their bodies. He wanted her. Instead of shying away, she blatantly rolled her hips against his.
Anything could have happened to him in the last seven weeks—or to her. She had him now and she was done denying herself, done fighting the reckless speed or the intensity of their connection. She’d take him in whatever ways he wanted to give himself.
“How long do I have you for?” he asked, his breath tantalizing the shell of her ear just before his lips did.
“How long would you like me?” Her grip tightened on his neck. “Forever.” His hands flexed on her waist as he skimmed his teeth along
the delicate flesh of her earlobe.
Lord, he made it hard to think when he did that.
“Good, because I’ve been reposted here,” she managed.
Jameson froze, then slowly drew back, his eyes wide with disbelief. “Are you displeased?” she asked, her chest clenching at the possibility.
Had she been a fool? What if the letters hadn’t meant anything to him? What if he’d already moved on but hadn’t had the heart to tell her? Every girl back at Middle Wallop had made it clear they’d be happy to take her place, and she knew it had to be the same here.
“You’re here…as in here, here?” His eyes searched hers.
“Yes.” She nodded. “Constance and I asked to be reposted, and it was granted just a few days ago. I didn’t want to get your hopes up in case it was denied, and when it wasn’t, I figured I’d be here before a letter would even reach you. Are you disappointed?” She repeated the question, her voice hitching at the end.
“God, no!” He smiled, and the tension in her chest evaporated. “I’m… surprised, but it’s a great surprise!” He kissed her soundly. “I love you, Scarlett.”
“And I love you. Thank goodness, because I can’t just go and ask to be reposted back to Middle Wallop.” She tried to keep a straight face, but she simply couldn’t. Had she ever been this happy in her life? She didn’t think so.
“I don’t know how long the 71st will be here,” he admitted, stroking his thumbs over her cheeks. “Squadrons move all the time, and there’s already talk that we’ll be reposted elsewhere.” Just the thought of it made his stomach curdle. Her reposting here was a temporary bandage on a hemorrhaging wound, but he was so damned grateful for whatever time they’d have.
“I know.” She turned in to his hand and kissed his palm. “I’m prepared for that.”
“I’m not. These months have been unbearable without you.” He leaned his forehead against hers. “I didn’t know how much I loved you until I had to wake up, day after day, knowing there was no chance I’d see you smile or hear you laugh, or hell, hear you shout at me.” He’d been incomplete, always thinking of her no matter what he’d been doing.
He’d been so distracted, he was surprised he hadn’t pranged an aircraft, not that he couldn’t fly one of those Buffaloes with his eyes closed.
“It’s been awful,” she admitted, dropping her gaze to his lips, then down the lines of his uniform. “I missed your arms around me, and the way my heart leaps whenever I see you.” She brushed her fingers over his lips. “I missed your kisses, and even the way you tease.”
“Someone has to make you laugh.” He nipped at the pad of her thumb.
“You do that quite well.” Her smile faltered. “I don’t want to spend another month like that, let alone two.”
His face tightened. “How are we going to avoid it in another few months when they decide the 71st is needed somewhere else?”
“Well, I’ve had a thought about that.” Her eyes narrowed in speculation. “But it would require you telling me your thoughts again.” She pressed her lips between her teeth.
He blinked. “My thoughts? I asked you to m—” His jaw dropped. “Scarlett, are you saying…” His eyes frantically searched hers.
“I’m not saying anything until you ask.” Her chest tightened, praying he hadn’t changed his mind, that she hadn’t gambled her entire happiness and dragged her sister across England to be refused.
His eyes flared. “Wait right here.” He stepped back, holding his pointer finger in the air. “Don’t move a muscle.” Then he ran from the room.
Scarlett swallowed and set her knees together, rearranging her skirt. Surely he hadn’t meant those muscles. God knew anyone could have waltzed in.
The mechanical ticks of the clock were her only company in the silence, and she did what she could to steady her heart.
Jameson slid back into the room, his hand gripping the doorframe to make the turn. Then he recovered his balance and shut the door behind him before approaching her.
“Better now?” she asked.
He nodded, nervously jamming his fingers through his hair before dropping to one knee before her and holding a ring between his thumb and forefinger.
She sucked in a breath.
“I know I’m not what you pictured when you thought of marriage. I don’t have a title, or even a country right now.” He grimaced. “But what I do have is yours, Scarlett. My heart, my name, my very being—it’s all yours. And I promise I will spend every day of my life earning the privilege of your love if you let me. Will you do me the honor of being my wife?”
His brows knit slightly, but there was so much hope in his eyes that it was nearly painful for her to see it, to know she’d made him question what her answer would be.
“I will,” she said, her lips trembling as she smiled. “I will!” she repeated with an excited nod. She now knew what her life looked like without him in it, and she never wanted to feel that loss again. Her job, her family, this war
—they’d deal with whatever came together.
“Thank you, God.” He stood and swept her into his arms. “Scarlett, my Scarlett,” he said against her cheek.
She held on tight, letting herself absorb this moment. Somehow, they’d make it last.
He set her down and slipped the ring onto her left finger. It was beautiful, with a solitaire diamond set in gold filigree, and it fit her finger perfectly. “Jameson, it’s gorgeous. Thank you.”
“I’m so glad you like it. I picked it up when we were at Church-Fenton, hoping I could get you to change your mind.” He kissed her softly, then took her hand. “We can still catch the commander if we’re quick.”
“What?” she asked as Jameson gathered her coat, then guided her into the hallway.
“We have to get the commander’s permission. Chaplain’s, too.” His eyes were bright with excitement.
“Well, there’s plenty of time for that.” She laughed.
“Oh no. I’m not risking that you’ll change your mind again. Wait here for just a second.” He dipped into another room, leaving her in the hallway, struggling not to sputter. Within a moment he was back with his own jacket and hat.
“We are not getting married tonight,” she said quickly. That would be complete and utter madness.
“Why not?” His face fell.
She cupped his cheek with her hand. “Because I’d like to unpack the dress I bought. It’s not much, but I’d like to wear it.”
“Oh. Right.” He nodded, considering her words. “Of course you would.
And your family?”
Heat rose in her cheeks. “Constance is now the only family I have.” “Not for long.” He pulled her gently against him. “You’ll have me, my
mom and dad, and my uncle, too.”
“And that’s all I need. Besides, we’ll need to find accommodations. I’m certainly not spending my wedding night with the 71st sleeping beside us.” She gave him a pointed look.
He blanched. “Hell no. We can see the commander and the Chaplain tomorrow, if that works for you.”
She nodded. “I’ll unpack my dress but not much more.” A hum of anticipation vibrated through her whole body.
“I’ll find us a place of our own.” He touched his forehead to hers. “And then we’ll get married,” she whispered.
“Then we’ll get married.”
