July 1940
Middle Wallop, England
Dappled sunlight filtered through the leaves of the giant oak tree and flickered over Scarlett as she lay below on a thick plaid blanket, thoroughly enjoying her first day off in almost a week. Not that she minded keeping busy. There was a certain rush to being at work that she found utterly addictive.
But there was something to be said for a miraculously cooler day, a stiff breeze, and a good book.
“I’ve just finished,” Constance said, waving a folded piece of paper from her seat at the picnic table.
“Not interested,” Scarlett responded, turning the page so she could sink further into the misadventures of Emma. Her choice in literature was yet another thing for her mother to pick apart, another example of failing to meet their impossible expectations.
“You’re not interested in what Mummy has to say?” “Not if it has anything to do with Lord Ladder Climber.”
“Do you want me to read it to you?” Constance leaned toward her sister, bracing her hand on the bench so she didn’t tumble off.
“Not particularly.”
Constance sighed heavily, then turned on the bench. “Okay then.” Scarlett could practically taste her sister’s disappointment in the air.
“Why don’t you tell me about the other one, instead, poppet?” She glanced over the cover of her book to see Constance’s eyes light up.
“Edward says that he loved our time together, and that he’s hopeful he can coordinate his leave with ours again soon.”
Scarlett propped herself up on her elbows. “You could always meet him at Ashby. I know you both love it up there.” She loved the small estate, too,
but her affection was nothing compared to how Constance felt about the place where she’d fallen in love with Edward.
“We do.” Constance sighed, running her fingers over the envelope. “But it’s not worth the time to travel. It’s easier to meet him in London.” She looked off into the distance, as if she could see Edward’s brigade group from there. Then her eyes popped wide, and her gaze darted back to Scarlett’s. “You look beautiful,” she blurted. “Try to relax.”
“I’m sorry?” Scarlett’s brow furrowed, then deepened as her sister scrambled to collect what few things she’d brought out to the table.
“Your hair, your dress, it’s all perfect!” Clutching her things to her chest, Constance swung her legs over the bench. “I’ll be…somewhere else!”
“You’ll what?”
“I think she’s trying to give us a little privacy.”
Scarlett’s gaze whipped toward the deep voice she’d been dreaming about for the past week and found Jameson Stanton approaching the edge of her blanket.
Her heart sprung to a gallop. She’d checked the casualty list daily, but seeing him in person was a relief after Brighton had been bombed last night.
He was dressed for flying, minus the gloves and yellow survival vest, and that crisp breeze she was so fond of played in his hair. She pushed herself to a sitting position and fought the urge to smooth the lines of her dress.
It was a simple, blue-checked shirtwaist dress, belted around her middle, with a modest neckline and sleeves that nearly reached her elbow, but compared to the sturdy, serviceable uniform she’d had on when they met last, she felt all but naked. At least she was wearing shoes.
“Lieutenant,” she managed to say in greeting.
“Let me help you up.” He held out his hand. “Or I can join you,” he offered with a slow smile she felt in every line of her body.
Just the thought sent heat streaking up her cheeks. It was one thing to declare that she was a modern woman to her mother, but quite another to
act.
“That won’t be necessary.” Her hand shook as she took his. He pulled her to her feet in one smooth motion, and she caught herself with a palm to his muscular chest. There was nothing soft or yielding under her fingertips.
“Thank you,” she said, quickly stepping back and breaking their connection. “To what do I owe this honor?” She felt exposed, overwhelmed. Everything about him was too much. His eyes were too green, his smile too charming, his gaze too forthright. She fetched her book, holding it to her chest like it might offer a shred of protection.
“I was hoping you might have that dinner with me.”
He didn’t take a step, but the air between them was charged with enough current that she felt as though they were both moving closer, and if she wasn’t careful, they would collide.
“Tonight?” she squeaked.
…
“Tonight,” he said, doing his best to keep his eyes on her face and not the curves of her body. Scarlett in uniform was breathtaking, but finding her lounging under a tree in that dress? She blew him right out of the sky. Her hair was pinned but loose, just as shiny and dark as it had been last week but without the service hat to cover it. Her eyes were wide and even bluer than he’d remembered as she blinked up at him. “Right now, actually.” He smiled, simply because he couldn’t help it. She seemed to have that effect on him. He’d been smiling all week, planning this dinner, hoping that Mary
—Donaldson’s current girl—hadn’t been wrong, and Scarlett would be free. Her soft lips parted in surprise. “You’d like to go to dinner right now?” “Right now,” he assured her with a grin, his focus dropping to the book
she held in a death grip. “Emma can come along, too, if you like.” “I…” Her gaze darted to the left, toward the women’s housing. “She’s free!” Constance yelled back from the porch.
Scarlett’s eyes narrowed, and Jameson pressed his lips between his teeth
to keep from laughing.
“She’s about to be otherwise engaged in the act of murdering her sister!” Scarlett fired back.
“Do you need help burying the body?” Jameson asked, smirking when Scarlett’s gaze snapped toward him. “If you’re intent on murdering your sister, that is. I’d rather take you to dinner, of course, but if you insist, I’m quite capable of digging if that’s what it takes to spend time with you.”
A slow, reluctant smile spread across Scarlett’s face, and his stomach pitched like he was mid-dive.
“You want to go to dinner dressed like that?” She motioned to his flight suit.
“It’s all part of the plan.”
Her head tilted in curiosity. “Okay, my evening is yours, Lieutenant.” He barely kept from raising his arms in victory. Barely.
…
“You’re out of your mind,” Scarlett said as Jameson buckled her into the front seat of the biplane. His hands moved quickly, tightening the harness that had her dress bunched awkwardly around her, though he’d put her blanket over her thighs and knees. As proficiently as he moved his hands about her waist, she had the feeling he’d been around more than a few girls without that barrier.
“You’re the one who got in,” he argued, strapping the helmet under her chin.
“Because the idea was so preposterous that I was certain you were kidding!” This had to be a joke. At any moment, he’d pull her from the cockpit and tease her about her reaction.
“I never joke about flying. Okay, I have the radio set to the training frequency, so I’ll be able to hear you and likewise. Everything good?”
“You’re actually serious about this, aren’t you?” Her eyebrows lifted. He paused with his thumb on her chin and lost all pretense of humor.
“Last chance to back out. If you want to get down, I’ll unbuckle you.” “And if I don’t?” she challenged, arching an eyebrow.
“Then I’ll take you flying.” His gaze dropped to her lips, and her cheeks heated.
Her heart clamored at the possibility. “I thought you were taking me to dinner?”
“That requires flying.” His thumb grazed the skin just beneath her lip, sending a pleasant shiver down her spine.
“And what happens if we get caught?” she asked, knowing that Royal Air Force didn’t loan their planes so pilots could take their girls out—not that she was his girl.
He shrugged with a devilish smirk that sent her heart skipping. “Then I guess they’ll send me back to the U.S.”
She scoffed. “And that would be so bad? Being sent home?”
His focus drifted for a breath of a second, and his expression slipped. “It is when I’m not sure they’d let me back in.”
“Why wouldn’t they?” Her spirit of adventure flagged as her stomach sank.
“The whole treason thing.” He motioned to the RAF patch on his shoulder. “And yes, being sent home would be a punishment. I’m here because I want to be, not because I have to be. Question is, are you?” His voice softened.
“I am exactly where I want to be.” She’d forgotten that the Yanks who flew with them risked their own citizenship.
What a luxury it would be to choose war, yet Jameson did.
“Then let’s get going before someone sees.” He gave her a heart- stopping grin, then disappeared into the seat behind her.
Moments later, the engine turned over, the propeller began to spin, and every bone in her body vibrated as they pulled out from their spot in the line of planes, headed for the runway. Thank God the engine was loud enough to block the sound of her pounding heart.
Next to joining the WAAF against her parents’ wishes, this was the most
illicit thing she’d ever done. It might be the most illicit thing you’ll ever do. She held the thought close to her chest, where her hands currently gripped the harness. They turned to the right.
“You ready?” he asked through her radio.
She nodded, pressing her lips into a nervous line. She was really going to do this, fly off into the unknown with an American pilot she’d met last week. If that wasn’t the definition of reckless, she wasn’t sure what was.
The hum of the engine pitched higher as the plane hurtled down the bumpy runway, gaining speed just like her heart rate, and though she could see the fields rush by on either side of her, she couldn’t determine where the pavement ended. This was exhilarating, terrifying madness. The wind pricked her eyes and she blinked furiously, pulling the goggles down as the ground fell away.
Everything but her stomach leaped into the sky. That, she was certain, had remained on the ground. It settled as they gained altitude and she forced her breathing to steady and her muscles to ease, to relax long enough to take it all in.
It consumed her senses. The roar of the engine was dulled but not muted by her helmet, and the wind chilled her skin, but it was the view that took her breath away. The sun still clung to the sky, but she knew it would sink below the horizon soon. It was as if everything beneath them had become miniature…or they were giants. Either way, it was astonishing. She tried to carve every sensation into her memory so she could write it all down later, so she’d never be in danger of forgetting it, but just as she’d finished thinking of every word she would use to describe the landscape beneath, they were landing.
“Hold on for me,” Jameson said through the radio, and her heart raced. He handled the airplane like it was part of him, like flying through the air was as simple as raising his hand.
The ground rushed up beneath them, and he landed, jostling her on the bumpy terrain. The field wasn’t one she was familiar with, but it had seen its fair share of airplanes, if the tracks through the grass were any
indication.
The plane rumbled as the engine died. Jameson appeared on her left, wearing a flush of wind on his cheeks and shoving his fingers through his hair.
“Can I help you out of that?” he asked, motioning to her harness.
“If I say no, will you feed me in the plane?” she teased, her lips curving upward.
“Yes.” The answer was instant.
She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry at the intensity in his eyes. “Please do. Help me, that is.” She tugged at her helmet first.
“Allow me.” His fingers brushed hers aside gently, and she tilted her chin to give him better access. He undid the helmet with a few quick motions, and she pulled it off as he started on the harness.
“My hair is all over the place,” she mused with a laugh, her hands rising to her abused curls. Her mother would have died of shock.
“You’re gorgeous.”
An ache unfurled in her chest, and their eyes locked as the last clasp of her harness came free. He meant it.
That ache sharpened. Oh God, what was this? Longing saturated the air, filling her lungs with every breath.
“Hungry?” he asked, breaking the silence but not the tension. “Starved,” she replied.
…
His chest tightened at the look in her eyes, but he turned away and held out his hand, letting her adjust her harness-wrinkled dress with what privacy he could give her. He helped her out of the cockpit when she was ready, then jumped the last few feet off the back of the wing and offered his hands.
“I’ll catch you,” he promised.
“You’d better.” She smiled as she made her way down the wing, keeping one hand on the fuselage. Then she walked right into his arms, bracing her
hands on the tops of his shoulders.
He gripped the curves of her hips as he slowly lowered her to the grass. He managed to keep his eyes on hers and not the dips and hollows of her frame, but his pulse kicked up at the feel of how perfect she felt under his hands, soft and warm, trim but not frail. This moment alone was worth the flight, the hours of preparation.
“Thank you,” she said as he released her, a slight catch in her breath. Her hair was windswept and had been bullied in places by her helmet,
and those slight imperfections made her seem touchable. Attainable. Gone was the polished officer who’d caught his eye, and here was a woman who very well might catch his heart.
He blinked at that thought—he wasn’t really a love-at-first-sight kind of guy, but he believed in attraction, chemistry, and even that little thing known as fate, and this felt like all three.
“Where are we?” she asked as he led her along the beaten-down path. “Just a little north of the village.” He led her to the small clearing they’d
made with the truck yesterday.
She gasped, covering her hands with her mouth, and he smiled. There was a small table with three chairs, set for an early dinner. He’d even managed to scrounge up a real tablecloth. The look on her face right now? The pure delight in her eyes made it worth every single favor he now owed to a half dozen guys in the 609.
“How did you do this?” She wandered toward the table. “Magic.”
She tossed him a look over her shoulder, and he laughed.
“I might owe some of the guys a few favors. A lot of favors.” He tilted his head as she turned at the first chair. “I might not have a night off for a while.”
“And you did this all for me?” she asked as he pulled out her chair. “Well, I had a couple other girls on the list just in case you turned me
down,” he joked.
“I’d certainly hate to see it go to waste,” she deadpanned, pursing her
lips. “Perhaps Mary would have obliged you.”
He paused with his hand on the chair, gauging her tone. He’d been flying with the Brits for months now, but he never could guess if they were joking or not.
“Oh, your face is priceless.” She laughed, and the sound was just as beautiful as she was. “Now tell me, are we expecting company?” She motioned toward the third chair.
“I invited Glenn Miller,” he answered, pulling back the chair to reveal his most prized possession.
“You have a phonograph?” Her jaw dropped.
“I do.” He popped the lid and started the little portable up, filling the quiet with The Glenn Miller Orchestra.
She studied him with a look on her face that he was hesitant to call wonder, but he sure liked it. So much for playing it smooth, because his heart took off like a thousand horses as he sat in the chair across from her.
He’d never been so nervous about a date in his life. He’d also never had to repeatedly ask for one.
“Now, don’t get excited; it’s a picnic dinner.” He reached for the basket at the center of the table.
“Really? Couldn’t you have put a little more effort into this evening?” Her lips pursed, but he was on to her tell, so he just grinned and served them both.
It was all cold cuts, cheese, and one very expensive bottle of wine that he definitely hadn’t had a ration card for.
“This really is lovely,” she whispered.
“You make it lovely. The rest is just a little preparation,” he countered as they began to eat.
…
She’d been to parties, and even out on a few dates before the war, but nothing that came close to this. The sheer effort he’d gone to was
incredible. It had given her a second’s pause when he’d teased about having a lineup waiting, but she refused to dwell on it and spoil the night.
There was no use looking for a parachute, since she’d already jumped. “So how many favors do you owe for the phonograph?” she asked.
Portables were hard to come by, not to mention ungodly expensive, and she knew what RAF officers made.
“I have to come back alive.” He said it so matter-of-factly that she almost missed it.
“I’m sorry?”
“My mother gave it to me when I left last year.” His voice dropped slightly. “She said she’d had a little tucked aside for when I got married, but then I announced rather suddenly—she was quite clear about that point— that I was off on what my father called a ‘fool’s errand.’”
Her heart plummeted at the shadow she saw flicker across his eyes. “He didn’t approve?”
“He didn’t approve when Uncle Vernon taught me how to fly. He absolutely loathed my decision to use those skills here. He thought I was looking for a fight.” He shrugged.
“Were you?” The breeze rustled across the tops of the grass, pulling another strand of her hair free, and she quickly tucked it behind her ear.
“Partially,” Jameson admitted with a conciliatory flash of a smile. “But I figure this war is going to spread if we don’t stop it, and I’ll be damned if I was just going to sit there in Colorado and do nothing while it crept up onto our front porch.”
His hand tensed on his fork, and she leaned across the small expanse of the table to rest her fingers over his. The contact sent a slight buzzing sensation down her body.
“I, for one, am thankful you decided to come,” she said. That singular choice told her more about the content of his character than a thousand pretty words ever could have.
“I’m just glad you decided to come tonight,” he said softly.
“Me too.” Their gazes held, and his hand slipped away from hers with a
caress.
“Tell me something about you. Anything.”
Her forehead puckered, trying to think of something that would keep his interest now that she’d decided she wanted it. “I think one day, I would like to be a novelist.”
“Then you should be,” he said simply, as if it were just that easy.
Perhaps to an American, it was. She envied him that.
“One can hope.” Her voice softened. “My family is in disagreement, and there’s an ongoing argument about who should get to decide my future.”
“What does that mean?”
“Simply put, my father has a title and he doesn’t want to let it go. He refuses to see that the world is changing.”
“A title?” Two lines formed between his eyebrows. “Like a job title? Or one you inherit?”
“Inherit. I want nothing to do with it, but he has other plans. I’m hoping I can change them before the war is over.” That didn’t seem to work. He still looked worried. “It’s not like there’s much of anything left anyway. My parents have spent just about everything. It’s minor—the title—and really doesn’t matter, I promise. Can we change the subject?”
“Sure.” He set his silverware on the plate, then changed the record to Billie Holiday and offered his hand as “The Very Thought of You” began to play. “Dance with me, Scarlett.”
“All right.” She couldn’t resist. He was magnetic, sinfully gorgeous, and ridiculously charming.
His arms surrounded her as they swayed to the beat in the dying sunlight, and she melted when he pulled her in close. Her head rested perfectly in the hollow of his shoulder, and the rough canvas of his coveralls only served to remind her that this was very real.
How easy it would be to lose herself in this man for a while, to forget all that raged around them and would eventually come for them, to claim something—someone—for herself.
“Do you have someone waiting at home?” she questioned, hating the
way her voice pitched toward the end.
“No one at home. No one here. Just my little record player.” His chuckling voice rumbled against her ear. “And I do love music, but it’s hardly a monogamous relationship.”
“So you don’t fly every girl to sunset dinners?” She tilted her head back slightly.
He lifted his hand, taking her chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Never. I knew I was a lucky bastard if I even got one shot with you, so I figured it had better be a good one.”
Her gaze dropped to his lips. “It was. It is.”
“Good.” He nodded slowly. “Now I have everything set up for the next officer I find on the side of the road.”
She scoffed, then pushed off his chest with a laugh, but he kept hold of her wrist and reeled her back in, bringing his mouth dangerously close to hers.
Yes. She wanted to kiss him, to know how he tasted, to feel his lips moving with hers.
“Are you ready?” His hand splayed on her lower back, pulling her closer.
“Ready?” she asked, rising on her toes.
“Well, you seem a little inexperienced,” he whispered, dipping lower.
“I am.” It came out as breathless as she felt. She’d only been kissed once, so she could hardly call that experience.
“It’s okay; we’ll go slow,” he promised as his hand rose to cup her cheek. “I don’t want you to be frightened when I turn the controls over.”
She ignored whatever Americanism that was and arched her neck, but the man stepped back. He. Backed. Away? She stood there like a fish with her mouth open as he grinned.
“Let’s go, trainee, let’s make this little flight legitimate.” He held out his hand.
She blinked rapidly. “Trainee?” Was she getting her vernacular confused?
He drew her against him, caressing her neck and tunneling his hands through her hair as he lowered his lips to what had to be only centimeters above her own.
“You have no idea how badly I want to kiss you right now, Scarlett.” And there went her knees.
Good, then they were on the same page.
“But if we don’t leave right this second, we’ll lose the horizon, and that will make it three times harder to keep the airplane level while you’re flying it.”
She gasped, and he brushed his lips over hers, taunting her with the promise of a kiss before leaving her wanting.
“Wait. Flying it?” she exclaimed.
“Well, yeah, what do you think training flights are for?” He took her hand and tugged her gently. “Come on, you’re going to love it. It’s addictive.”
“And deadly.”
He turned, then lifted her in his arms so he could place her on the wing.
Everywhere their bodies connected hummed.
“I won’t let anything happen to you,” he promised. “You just have to trust me.”
She nodded slowly. “Okay. I can do that.”
