November 1940
Kirton-in-Lindsey, England
The pub was jammed full of uniforms from bar to door. It had taken Jameson a week to secure a house nearby but, for a rather healthy chunk of his pay, as of yesterday, they now had a place of their very own. At least for as long as the 71st stayed in Kirton.
As of this afternoon, Scarlett was his wife.
Wife. It wasn’t that she wasn’t aware of just how reckless they’d been to marry so quickly—it was simply that she didn’t care. That beautiful man with the bright smile and undeniable charm was now her husband.
Her breath hitched as their eyes locked across the crowded room. Husband. She glanced at the clock and wondered exactly how much longer they’d have to stay at their wedding breakfast, because the only hunger she had was for him.
And they were finally married.
“I’m so very happy for you,” Constance said, squeezing her sister’s hand lightly under the table.
“Thank you.” Scarlett’s smile was a mile wide, just as it had been since they’d come to Kirton. “It’s a far cry from what we pictured as girls, but now I couldn’t imagine having it any other way.” The wedding that afternoon had been small, attended only by their closest friends and a few of the pilots from the 71st, but had been perfectly lovely. Constance had procured a small bouquet, and though Scarlett’s dress wasn’t the family heirloom she had always assumed she would wear, the way Jameson looked at her told her she looked beautiful, nonetheless.
“Me either,” Constance agreed. “But I could say that about everything in our life. Nothing is how I pictured it two years ago.”
“It isn’t, but maybe in some small ways it’s better.” Scarlett understood
her sister all too well, and though she longed for the days before the war, before the bombings, and the rationing, and the commonplace death, she couldn’t regret any of her decisions that brought her to Jameson.
Somehow, she’d found a miracle in the middle of the maelstrom, and it may have taken her a moment to realize what she had, but now that she did, she would fight with everything she had to keep it—to keep him.
“I am sorry Mother and Father didn’t come,” Constance whispered. “I held out hope until the very last moment.”
Scarlett’s smile slipped, but not much. She’d known that her letter would go unanswered. “Oh Constance, ever the romantic. It should have been you to elope, not me.” Scarlett stared across the pub, marveling that Jameson was hers. How ironic that the more practical of the two of them had been the one to run off and be married. She could barely believe it herself, yet here she was celebrating her wedding—in a pub, of all places.
True, it was nothing like she pictured as a child, yet it was all the better for it. And besides, who was she to deny fate, when it had taken a million and one separate events to bring her to Jameson?
“Maybe I am an idealist.” Constance shrugged. “I just can’t believe they wouldn’t want to see you happy. I’d always thought their threats were just that, idle threats.”
“Don’t be angry with them,” Scarlett said gently. “They’re fighting for the only way of life they know. They’re not unlike a wounded animal when you think about it. And I refuse to be sad today. It is their loss.”
“It really is,” Constance agreed. “I’ve never seen you look so happy, so beautiful. Love looks good on you.”
“Will you be all right?” Scarlett turned slightly in her chair, facing her sister. “Our home is only a few minutes from the airfield, but—”
“Stop.” Constance lifted her eyebrows. “I will be perfectly fine.”
“I know. I just can’t remember the last time we were separated for any length of time.” Perhaps a few days here or there, but not much else.
“We’ll still see each other at work.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Scarlett said softly. Now that she was
married, she’d follow Jameson when the 71st inevitably left Kirton. Training the new pilots couldn’t last forever.
“Well, we’ll handle that when the time comes. For now, the only thing that’s changing is where you sleep…” She tilted her head. “Oh, and where you eat, and spend your free time, and of course who you’ll be sleeping with.” Her eyes danced.
Scarlett rolled her eyes but felt her cheeks heat as Jameson came toward them in his dress uniform. She spun her new ring around her finger with her thumb, assuring herself that this wasn’t a dream. They’d made it happen.
…
“That was the last of them,” Jameson said with a smile, his gaze skimming down the long line of Scarlett’s neck to the simple, classy dress she’d chosen. He would have married her in her uniform or even her bathrobe— he didn’t care. He’d take this woman any way he could get her. “I swear I’ve been holding the same pint for the last hour and a half, hoping no one will notice.” He put the glass on the table.
“You could have had more than one. I think it’s expected.” Scarlett’s own glass was still full.
“I wanted to have a clear head.” His lips tugged upward. He wasn’t about to be drunk the first time he got his hands on her. Hell, he’d nearly carried her over his shoulder to their new house last night, but waiting was better. The anticipation of it was killing him in the sweetest way imaginable.
“Did you?” Lord, that smile of hers nearly took him out at the knees. “What do you say I take you home, Mrs. Stanton?” He held out his hand
for hers.
“Mrs. Stanton,” Scarlett replied with a spark of joy in her eyes as her fingers brushed his.
“You sure as hell are.” Just hearing her say it sent his heart skyrocketing.
They made their farewells, and it was only a matter of minutes before Jameson parked one of the squadron cars in front of what was now their home.
He swept her off her feet, lifting her into his arms at the edge of the sidewalk. “You’re mine.”
“And you’re mine,” she replied, lacing her fingers behind his neck.
He kissed her softly, brushing his lips over hers as he walked them up the sidewalk, only lifting his head when they came to the steps.
“My trunk—” she started.
“I’ll get it later,” he promised. “I want you to see the house.” She’d been on watch when he’d found it yesterday. His stomach dipped. “It’s not what you’re used to.” He’d learned enough about her family to know this little place of theirs would probably fit in one of the Wrights’ dining rooms.
She kissed him in reply. “Unless you’re asking me to share it with eleven other women, it’s far better than anything I’ve had over the last year.”
“God, I love you.”
“Good, because you’re stuck with me now.”
He laughed, then somehow managed to unlock the door and push it open without dropping her as he carried her over the threshold. “Welcome home, Mrs. Stanton,” he said as he set her feet on the floor.
Mrs. Stanton. He was never going to tire of saying it.
Scarlett’s gaze made a quick sweep of the interior. The house opened into a modest living room that, thankfully, had come furnished. A staircase divided the space, with the dining room to the right, including a small table and chairs, and the kitchen lay just beyond it to the back of the house.
“It’s lovely,” Scarlett said as she took it all in. “Quite perfect, really.” She ran her hand over the dining room table as she walked, and Jameson followed her into the kitchen.
She paled, her smile vanishing as her gaze jumped from the oven to the small table, and over the counters. Horror emanated from every line of her face.
“What’s wrong?” His stomach pitched. Was it missing something? Shit.
He should have waited for something better.
She turned to face him, then met his gaze with wide eyes. “This might not be the most opportune time to tell you, but I can’t cook.”
He blinked. “You can’t cook,” he repeated slowly, just to be sure he’d heard her right.
She shook her head. “Not a thing. I’m sure I could figure out how to turn the stove on, but not much else.”
“Okay. But the kitchen is acceptable?” He tried to equate the angst in her eyes to her confession and came up short.
“Of course!” She nodded. “It’s lovely. I’m just not sure what to do with it. I never learned to cook at home, and it’s been the officers’ mess since then.” She tugged her lower lip between her teeth.
The relief was so sharp and sweet that he couldn’t help but laugh as he wrapped his arms around her. “Oh, Scarlett, my Scarlett.” He kissed the top of her head and breathed in her scent. “I’m not saying I can put on a five- course meal, but if I can fry up eggs and bacon over a campfire, I think I’ll be able to keep us fed while we figure it out.”
“If we could even get real eggs,” she muttered as her arms wrapped around his waist.
“Very true.” As a pilot, a diet of eggs and bacon bettered his chances of surviving a water landing and were shoved at him with such regularity that he’d nearly forgotten how rare they were.
“I’ve learned to press my own clothing over the last year, and do some wash, but not much else in the domestic sense of things,” she said into his chest. “I’m afraid you may have gotten a bad deal by marrying me.”
He tilted her chin and kissed her gently. “I got more than I could have dreamed of by marrying you. We’ll figure everything else out together.”
Together. Her chest ached with how much she loved him. “Show me the rest of the house.”
He took her hand and led her up the small staircase to the second floor. “The bathroom,” he said as he motioned through the open doorway to the
functional space, then opened the door to the right of it. “The landlord called this a box room, but I’m not really sure what he meant, since it’s more of a rectangle.”
Scarlett laughed, taking in the smaller, vacant bedroom. “It’s just a second, smaller bedroom.” The space would only accommodate a single bed and dresser…or a crib. “It’s for a child…” Her voice trailed off.
Jameson’s eyes locked with hers, flaring slightly. “Do you want that?
Children?”
Her heart stuttered. “I hadn’t…” She cleared her throat and tried again. “If you’re asking if I want children now, the answer is no. There are too many uncertainties at the moment, and they would be coming into a world where we couldn’t guarantee their safety.” Children had been evacuated from nearly every military target—including London—and just the thought of losing a child to a bombing raid was more than she could bear.
“I agree.” His thumb caressed the back of her hand reassuringly, but worry lined the space between his eyebrows.
She lifted her hand to his cheek. “But if you’re asking if I want your children someday, then my answer is emphatically yes.” There would be nothing better than a green-eyed little girl, or a boy with his smile when this was all said and done.
“After the war.” He tilted his head and kissed the center of her palm, sending a tingling jolt of pleasure down her arm.
“After the war,” she whispered, adding it to the ever-growing list of things to be accomplished at a later date she wasn’t sure would ever come.
“But you know there’s always a chance, right?” The muscle in his jaw flexed.
“I do.” Her fingers trailed down his neck. “It’s a risk I’m willing to take if it means I get to touch you.” She followed the line of his collar past his knotted tie and down to the first button of his jacket.
His eyes darkened as he palmed her waist, tugging her closer. “I’ve been waiting my entire life to touch you.”
“There’s one more room to show me,” she murmured. The bedroom.
Their bedroom.
Her heart thundered, and her body heated against his. She may have been a virgin, but the stories she’d heard from the girls she’d served with over the last year were enough to more than educate her about what was going to happen tonight.
She felt as though she’d been waiting her entire life for this moment, this night, this man. He was her reward for waiting, for ignoring every other flyer with a proposition and a cocky smile. Perhaps she’d argued that it was her morality that kept her from crossing that line, but staring up at Jameson, she knew she’d simply been waiting for him.
“There is.” His gaze dropped to her lips. “I want you to know that this only goes as far as you want. I may be dying to get my hands on you, but not until you’re comfortable. I don’t want you scared, and the only trembling I want to feel beneath my fingertips will be from your desire, not your fear—”
Fear was the furthest thing from what she felt as she rose on her toes and kissed him, stopping his words with her mouth. They had waited long enough. “I’m not scared. I know you would never hurt me. I want you,” she finished in a whisper, lacing her fingers behind his neck.
He kissed her deeply, stroking and sliding his tongue against hers in a thorough, lazy exploration of her mouth that left her clutching at him for more. He took her mouth like he had all night and no other goal, as if this kiss was the culmination and not the preamble.
Every time she tried to quicken the pace, he slowed the kiss down, holding her tight against him with steady, sure hands.
“Jameson.” She flicked the first of his buttons open.
“Impatient?” He grinned against her mouth, lifting his hand to cradle the back of her head, threading his fingers through her hair.
“Very.” She opened the next button.
“I’m trying to take it slow for you,” he said between sipping kisses that left her arching up for the deeper ones as she tugged at the belt of his dress uniform.
“Stop.” She put her lips to his neck.
He groaned and kissed her hard, locking his arm around her waist and lifting her against him, all pretense of teasing a distant memory. This kiss was openly carnal, blatantly possessive, and everything she’d been craving since she’d faced him in front of the chaplain.
They kissed their way down the short hallway and into their bedroom, where he set her down with a long slide along his body.
“If there’s anything you want to change—” He motioned to the room.
She gave it a glance. Serviceable furniture, light blue curtains that matched the clean bedding spread over a large bed. “It’s perfect.” She barely finished the words before she was kissing him again.
He got the message and stripped off his jacket. It landed somewhere, but she didn’t bother to look. Her hands were already busy with his tie, making swift work of the fabric the way she did daily with her own uniform.
The fingers in her hair gripped lightly, tugging her head back and exposing her neck to his mouth. Heat rushed through her, building hotter with every caress of his lips. By the time he reached the neckline of her dress—just above her collarbone—her breath was no longer steady.
She started to undo his shirt as he found the trail of buttons down her back, never lifting his mouth from hers as he undid them one by one. Then he turned her gently and kissed a path down her spine, caressing every inch of skin he exposed. He reached the base of her spine, then guided her to face him again.
She found him on his knees, his shirt unbuttoned to his waist, looking up at her with eyes glazed with the same desire coursing through her veins. Her nerves almost got the best of her, but she pushed them aside as she slipped one arm from her dress, then the other, holding the fabric just above her breasts for the length of several heartbeats before she found the courage to drop it.
The dress slid off in a flutter of satin, leaving her standing in nothing but the underwear and silk stockings she’d saved two months of pay to acquire. The look on his face made it more than worth the sacrifice.
“You…” His gaze was hot enough to warm her skin as he took her in. “You are so exquisitely beautiful, Scarlett.” He looked stunned, astonished really, and…hungry.
She smiled, and he gripped her hips and tugged her forward, kissing the sensitive skin of her stomach. After a year of wearing issued garments that made her just another identical cog in a large piece of machinery, she felt completely and utterly feminine. She speared her fingers through his hair to hold her steady as his mouth journeyed up her body.
He stood, then shed both his collared shirt and the soft cotton one underneath.
Her mouth watered at the sight of his bare torso, the soft skin that stretched over ropes of hard muscle. His stomach tensed when she traced the lines that ran down either side with her fingertips, memorizing the planes and hollows.
She brought her eyes to meet his questioning gaze—as if this man had anything to worry about. He was just as carved as any of the statues she’d seen, but so very warm under her hands.
“Well?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
“You’ll do,” she deadpanned, fighting the purse of her lips.
He huffed a laugh, then kissed every thought from her head. They were a flurry of questing hands as their remaining clothes fell to the floor with every step toward the bed. She gasped as he palmed her breast, then melted when he swept his thumb over the stiff peak.
“Perfect,” he murmured against her lips, then lowered her to their bed. She devoured him with her eyes as he rose above her, his hair falling forward to brush along his eyebrow. Every single part of him was flawless. He was so much bigger than she was and infinitely stronger, but she’d never felt more cherished.
“I love you, Jameson.” She brushed those locks back just to watch them fall again. Out of every sensation bombarding her body, from the feel of his strong thighs inside of her much smaller ones, to the wisp of cool air across her exposed breasts, the swell of love—of unfettered joy—in her chest
flared the brightest.
“I love you, too,” he promised. “More than my own life.”
She arched up and kissed him, inhaling sharply as their bodies came in full contact. He brushed his lips over the patch of skin just beneath her ear, then moved down her body, slowly, methodically exploring her curves with lips and hands.
He sucked the peak of her breast into his mouth. Her fingers tightened in his hair as his tongue unraveled her. Everywhere he touched seemed to catch fire—the curve of her waist, the swell of her hips, the tops of her thighs. He turned her into a living flame, stoked a hunger she hadn’t known she was capable of. His hands felt so good, her entire body began to ache with it.
He brought his mouth to hers again, and she poured everything she felt into the kiss when words failed her. Her hands stroked down the broad lines of his back, and he deepened the kiss, groaning into her mouth before yanking his away, his breath coming in the same quick pants her own did.
“I forget my name when you touch me,” he said, bracing his weight on an elbow as his other hand traveled down her belly.
“It’s the same for me.” There was a slight tremble in her fingers as she lifted them to the back of his neck.
“Good.” He kept his eyes locked with hers as he reached between her thighs, gently cupping her. “You okay?”
Her breath hitched and she nodded, her hips rolling against him, seeking pressure, friction, anything that would relieve the ache.
The muscles of his shoulders went tight for a breath, and then his fingers were there, sliding through her, stroking from her entrance to where that ache centered. The first touch sent a jolt of pleasure so intense, she felt it all the way to her fingertips. The second was even better.
“Jameson!” she cried out, her nails digging into his skin as he returned to that spot again and again, swirling and teasing, overwhelming her senses.
“You’re incredible.” He kissed her once. “Are you ready for more?” “Yes.” If everything he did felt like this, she’d always want more.
His fingers slipped to her entrance as his thumb kept her on edge, building the tension inside her to a breaking point. Then he slid one digit inside her. Her muscles locked around him as she whimpered, her hips rocking slightly with need.
“Okay?” he asked, the lines on his face taut with worry and restraint. “More.” She kissed him.
He groaned and a second finger joined the first, stretching her. The pleasure more than made up for the slight burn as her body accommodated him. Then those fingers moved within her, stroking and gliding as his thumb moved faster, driving her higher, until she felt so tight she knew she’d snap or shatter if he stopped.
“I…I…” Her thighs locked as that tension within her rose like a wave. “Yes, right there. God, you’re so beautiful, Scarlett.” His voice
somehow grounded her even as she lost complete control over her body.
He changed the pressure, curled his fingers, and the wave crested and fractured her into a million shimmering pieces. She flew, calling his name, the pleasure so blindingly sweet that the world around them faded as it washed over her again and again, until her muscles liquified and she went limp beneath him.
Her entire body hummed with satisfaction as he withdrew his hand and shifted so the head of him pressed at her entrance.
“That…” She struggled to find an adequate description. “That was extraordinary.”
“We’re just getting started.” He grinned, but the strain was evident in the rigid set of his jaw.
Right. She lifted her knees so he could settle deeper into the cradle of her thighs.
He gripped her hip but held completely still above her, watching her intently.
“I’m okay,” she assured him. She was better than okay.
He relaxed slightly, then kissed her breathless, using his hand to build that fire again, flicking over her nipple, teasing her waist, finding the
hypersensitive spot between her thighs. That same spiraling need built within her again as she kissed him back, stroking his shoulders and chest.
When she rolled against him, he sucked in a breath through his teeth. “Tell me if I hurt you,” he demanded, resting his forehead on hers.
“I can take it,” she promised, her fingers sliding down his ribs and past his waist to his hips and the firm curve of his backside where she held firm, pulling him tighter against her. “Make love to me.”
“Scarlett,” he growled, his muscles clenching beneath her fingers. “I love you, Jameson.”
“God, I love you.” His hips flexed, and he pushed inside her, taking her inch by inch in rolling thrusts until he filled her completely, then moved once more, stretching her to a point near pain to hold him completely.
Their breathing was ragged as he stilled, giving her body time to adjust. “Are you okay?” His voice was rougher than gravel.
“I’m great,” she promised, her smile shaky as the burn lessened and her muscles relaxed.
“You feel like heaven, but better. Hotter,” he said through gritted teeth. She moved slightly, testing the feel of him inside her.
“God. Scarlett. Don’t do that.” His brow furrowed like he was in pain. “Give yourself a moment.”
“I’m fine.” She smiled up at him and did it again.
He groaned, withdrawing slowly and sliding back in. The burn was still there, but it was nothing compared to the indescribable pleasure of him moving inside her.
“Again,” she demanded.
A wicked smile lifted his lips as he did exactly as she ordered, making both of them moan this time. Then he set a rhythm, taking her with slow, deep thrusts that drove that tension within her a little higher each time. Every stroke felt better than the last.
They moved together like one soul stretched between two bodies, seamless as they shared the same space, the same air, the same heart.
“Jameson.” She felt that wave building again, and she tightened, her
hips rising to meet his as he thrust faster, harder.
“Yes,” he said against her lips, working his hand between them and pushing her right over that edge, hurling her into a kaleidoscope of bliss and color as she came apart in his arms again.
She was still swimming in the throes of her climax as she felt him drive into her with abandon, keeping her with him as he tensed above her, shouting her name as he found his release.
They were a tangle of sweaty limbs and complete euphoria as he rolled to his side, taking her with him as they struggled to steady their breathing. He traced lazy circles on her back as her heartbeat calmed.
She felt spent and utterly, completely sated as her lips curved upward. “If I’d known you were capable of that, we wouldn’t have waited.”
He laughed, the sound rumbling through his chest into hers. “I’m glad we did. This has been the best day of my life, Mrs. Stanton.”
“Mine too.” Her heart leaped at her new name. She was well and truly his. “I just wish we had time for a honeymoon.” As it was, they were both on duty in the morning.
“Every night of our lives will be our honeymoon.” He caressed her cheek. “I’m going to spend the rest of my life making you deliciously, wonderfully happy.”
“You already do.” She glanced at her fingers as they trailed over the defined muscles of his arm. “When can we do that again?” The craving for him had only grown.
“Are you sore?” Concern filled his eyes. “No.” Tender a bit, but not sore.
“Then right now.” He kissed her and started all over again.
