August 1940
Middle Wallop, England
Heat blasted Jameson’s face as hanger two went up in flames. The explosion tossed them backward like they were nothing more than paper, but he managed to keep his arms around Scarlett. His back took the brunt of the impact, forcing the air from his lungs as Scarlett landed on top of him.
He rolled, trying to shelter her with his body as much as he could as bomb after bomb fell in the span of a few thunderous heartbeats. He’d seen at least two dozen pilots go down in the last few months, their deaths nothing more than another photo pinned on the wall.
Not Scarlett. Not Scarlett.
He cursed. The war had finally done the very thing he’d traveled all the way to Europe to stop—it had come for someone he cared about. He’d never wanted to shoot down an enemy aircraft more in his entire life.
His ears rang as he propped himself up on his elbows and searched the crystal-blue eyes beneath him as what he hoped was the last of the bombs fell in the not-so-far-off distance. “Are you okay?”
There was a good chance they’d try another pass, especially since both hangers one and three still stood.
She blinked and nodded. “You have to go!” Now he was the one nodding.
“Then go!” she urged.
He could do far more to protect her in the air than acting as her shield on the ground, so he scrambled to his feet, then pulled her to hers. A shape moved off to the left, and relief flooded his system as Howard rose to his knees, then stood.
The man still had his hat on.
“Get to hanger one!” Jameson shouted.
Howard nodded and took off at a run.
Jameson cradled Scarlett’s face in his hands. There was so much to say and no time to say it.
“Be careful, Jameson!” Scarlett demanded, the plea echoing in her eyes. He pressed his lips to her forehead in a fierce kiss, squeezing his eyes shut. Then he glanced over her head to make sure the car hadn’t been hit and breathed another ounce easier as he saw Constance behind the wheel,
Christine at her side.
“You be careful,” he ordered Scarlett, looking into her eyes one last time before tearing himself away and running for hanger one before he could question her safety.
…
Scarlett’s knees trembled as she watched Jameson sprint past the fire that used to be hanger two. Her fear for his safety outweighed the concern for her own but rivaled that for her sister. Oh God, Constance.
Scarlett turned and sprinted for the car, nearly losing her footing once or twice on the scattered debris.
Constance beckoned her forward, motioning wildly with her hands while glancing toward the sky. She was alive. Jameson was alive.
That was all she could rely on for right now.
Scarlett yanked the door open and threw herself into the back seat, shutting the door quickly behind her.
Constance didn’t need any instructions; she already had the car in reverse. “Tell me you’re okay!” she shouted over her shoulder as she whipped the car around, then threw it into drive.
“I’m fine. You two?” Scarlett asked as her hands began to shake. She gripped her knees, then hissed. Her palms came away bloody.
“We’re steady as can be!” Christine answered with a trembling smile. “Good,” Scarlett answered. Seeing that the bottom of her skirt already
bore bloodstains, Scarlett muttered a curse and wiped her hands clean on
the fabric of her uniform. “Drive faster, Constance. Jameson’s going to be on the board.”
…
Scarlett wasn’t tired after one watch, so she took a second, replacing another filter officer who hadn’t come in. Constance refused to leave her side, but her exhaustion was palpable, so Scarlett set her up on a cot in the break room so she could rest. In four hours, they’d both be on again.
Then she headed back to the board.
Their board was covered in markers tracking the raids currently assaulting RAF airfields all over Britain, including the one that had taken place at their own. The hectic, quick movements of the plotters happened in silence while the control officers overhead in the galley made movement decisions, relayed orders, and talked to pilots directly.
For hours, she listened to the voice in her headset, plotting the markers.
Code number. Estimated size of raid. Height.
Coordinates.
Arrow.
Every five minutes, the locations were updated and a new arrow marked the direction of the raid, changing with the color designation on the clock.
Red. Blue. Yellow. Red. Blue. Yellow. Red. Blue. Yellow.
She kept her mind on task, knowing if she let herself wander, she couldn’t fulfill her duty. Without her and the women around her, the control officers couldn’t relay coordinates to the pilots in the air.
Without her, Jameson was flying blind. She’d tried to watch for the 609 yellow flags on top of the raid markers, signaling which raids they’d engaged, but there was no time for any section of the board but her own.
On hour four, she should have taken a break, but her replacement hadn’t arrived. She tried to not think of possible reasons why.
On hour eight, that break would have been over. Four hours on, four hours off—that was the rule.
On hour nine, Constance took over the section to her right.
At hour ten, Constance pushed a marker into Scarlett’s section, as she’d done countless times before as flights moved across the map. But this time she took the scant seconds to make eye contact with her sister.
The marker had a 609 flag.
Jameson.
Scarlett’s heart lurched. She hadn’t spoken to him since the hangar. She’d hoped like hell that he’d flown and returned and might have been resting, but the pit in her stomach told her he was with his squadron, engaged against an estimated thirty German aircraft.
Every five minutes, she returned to that marker, moving it across the coastline and swapping out the arrow for the next color. Every five minutes, she allowed herself one fervent prayer that he would make it through the night.
Even if he chose not to believe her about Henry. Even if she never saw him again.
She needed to know that he was all right.
Thank God she hadn’t been assigned with the control officer, where she could hear the voices of the pilots come through the radio. It would have driven her mad to hear the losses reported.
By hour twelve, her arms trembled with exhaustion. The 609 flag had disappeared from her section as the board slowed. No doubt it would fill again by nightfall. The raids came in waves, each one taking a little more than they could afford to lose.
Two more Radio Direction Finding stations had been lost. She’d lost count of how many RAF bases they’d bombed.
How many more hits could the airfields sustain? How many more fighters could they lose? How many more pilots—
“You ready?” Constance asked as they passed through the doorway of the operations room.
“Yes,” she answered, her voice thick with lack of use. “Your poor knees.” Constance’s brows knit.
Scarlett glanced down at the clean skirt her Section Officer had insisted she change into, since hers had been ruined by rips and blood, and glimpsed her scabbed-over knees. “It’s nothing.”
“Let’s get you into a bath.” Constance offered her a shaky smile and linked their elbows. “Christine, would you mind driving?”
“Not at all.”
“Assistant Section Officer Wright?” a high, feminine voice called across the small lobby.
Both women turned to see their section officer stride forward. “Scarlett,” she clarified, beckoning her with a hand.
Scarlett gave her sister a pat on the shoulder, then met Section Officer Gibson in the middle of the small lobby. “Ma’am?”
“I wanted to commend you for keeping your wits about you tonight. There aren’t many girls who could perform for twelve straight hours, and even fewer who could do so after…experiencing a raid.” Her lips were tight, but the older woman’s eyes were soft.
“Just doing my job, ma’am,” Scarlett answered. There were men doing far more than she was in far worse circumstances. Doing her best was the least she owed them.
“Indeed.” She dismissed her with a nod, but there was a hint of a smile before she turned to walk away.
She joined Constance at the door, and then the pair walked into the morning sunlight. Scarlett blinked, the light stinging her eyes despite her hat. Eight in the morning had never felt quite so brutal.
Her breath caught, and she gasped at the tall figure standing in the middle of the pavement in service uniform.
“Jameson,” she whispered, her knees nearly giving out in relief.
…
He covered the distance between them, eating her alive with his eyes. She was okay. He’d flown two missions last night, breaking only to refuel and eat before launching again, and he’d worried about her the entire time.
“The thing about you working Special Duties is there’s no one who will confirm that you made it to work.” His voice came out sandpaper rough, and he didn’t care.
“Right. They wouldn’t.” Her gaze raked over him, as if she needed the same reassurance he did—they were both alive.
Her sister glanced between them. “I’ll wait for you in the car.”
“I’ll take her home,” Jameson offered, unable to look away from Scarlett. “That is, if you’d like me to.”
Scarlett nodded, and Constance slipped away.
Only feet separated them, and he knew his next words would either narrow or widen that gap, so he chose them carefully. He took her hand and led her from the sidewalk, through the short grass, until they were hidden from view and shaded by the heavy limbs of a giant oak tree.
There was worry in those blue eyes as she looked up at him. Worry, and relief, and the same longing he felt every time he looked at her.
Maybe the right words weren’t words.
He cradled her head in his hands and kissed her.
…
Finally. She felt as though she’d been waiting a lifetime for this man, this kiss, this moment, and it was finally here. There was no hesitation on her part, no gasp of surprise as he stroked his lips across hers, kissing her softly. She slid her hands up his chest, resting them just above his heart. Then she kissed him back, rising on her toes to press her mouth to his. It was as
though he’d set a match to a pile of tinder—she went up in flames.
He deepened the kiss, gliding his tongue across her lower lip before
drawing it between his. Yes. She wanted more of that. When she opened to him, his tongue swept inside, stroking hers as he learned the curves of her mouth.
He was good at this.
Heat licked its way down her spine, igniting her skin and singeing her common sense into a hasty retreat. Her hands fisted in his uniform, and she threw herself into the kiss, yanking him closer even as she felt them moving backward. Her back hit the tree, and she barely blinked. He tasted like apples and something deeper, darker. More. She wanted more.
She wanted to kiss Jameson every day for the rest of her life.
She felt his groan throughout her body when she explored his mouth the way he had hers, finally drawing his lower lip between her teeth lightly.
“Scarlett.” He swore against her lips, then took her mouth over and over, moving his hand to her waist to pull her closer.
Nothing was close enough. She wanted to feel his every breath, every heartbeat, wanted to live inside that kiss where there were no bombs, no raids, nothing that would pry him from her arms.
She lifted her hands to his neck and arched against him as his lips slid to the curve of her jaw. Pure, insistent need unfurled in her belly, and her fingernails bit into his skin as she gasped at the sensation. He worked his lips down her neck in hot, open-mouthed kisses, and she tilted to give him better access.
He reached the collar of her uniform and, with a groan, brought his mouth back to hers. The kiss spiraled, taking her with it. She’d never felt so consumed by another person in her life, never willingly given this much of herself. In the midst of letting go, she stumbled onto the truth she’d been too hesitant, too cautious to admit until now: Jameson was the only one she would ever want like this.
He gripped her hips with strong hands, then slowed the kiss until it was nothing more than soft brushes of his lips against hers.
“Jameson,” she whispered as he rested his forehead on hers.
“When I saw those explosions coming for us, I didn’t know how to
protect you.” His grip tightened.
“You can’t,” she said softly. “There’s nothing either of us can do to keep the other alive.” Her fingers caressed the nape of his neck.
“I know, and it’s killing me.”
Her stomach tightened. “I’m not marrying him. I need you to know that. I spent all night watching the waves of the raids, and the thought of losing you—of you up there, thinking God knows what…” She shook her head. “I’m not marrying him.”
“I know.” He kissed her again, light and soft. “I should have let you explain. The shock just about ripped me apart.”
“There will be more,” she warned him. “If my parents went this far, they’ll go further. There will be more rumors, more articles, more pressure. As long as you know the truth of it, I can handle them.”
He nodded and swallowed, a pained look crossing his face before he brought his gaze back to hers. The intensity she found there stole her breath. “I’m in love with you, Scarlett Wright. I’ve done everything I can to fight it, to take it slower, to give you what time and space you need. But this war isn’t going to give us that time, and after last night, I’m not hiding it anymore. I’m in love with you.”
A sweet ache began to throb in her chest. “I’m in love with you, too.” What was the point of avoiding it, of not giving in, when neither of them knew if they’d be alive tomorrow?
The smile that lit his face was echoed on hers, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she allowed herself to feel that happiness radiate, to sink into every fiber of her being. But now that they’d admitted it, what were they going to do with it?
“There’s talk of the Americans getting their own squadron,” she whispered. Another squadron meant a transfer.
“I’ve heard.” A muscle ticked in his jaw.
“What are we going to do?” Her voice broke on the last word.
“We’re going to face it all head-on. Your parents, the war, the whole Royal Air Force,” he said with a flash of a smile. “We’ll do it together. You
are mine, Scarlett Wright, and I am yours, and from this second on, we don’t keep secrets.”
She nodded, then kissed him sweetly. “Okay. Now take me home before we do something that gets us both court-martialed.”
He grinned. “Yes, ma’am.”
She knew that what was coming for them might very well crush this new, fierce feeling that filled her chest, but for this moment, they were safe, they were together, and they were in love.
