“He’s right.” Constance’s nose wrinkled. “But he hasn’t asked you yet, so perhaps he’ll find himself another title to buy while scrambling his pudgy arse up the social ladder.”
Scarlett laughed at the thought of him scrambling up anything without hoisting his pants back up to his belly, but the sound died as quickly as it came. “None of it seems to matter right now, does it? Planning for a time that may never arrive.” They’d have to live through this period first.
Constance shook her head, the sunlight glimmering off the shiny raven locks. “It doesn’t. But one day, it will matter very much.”
“Or maybe…it won’t,” she mused. “Maybe it will all be different.” Scarlett glanced at the uniform she’d worn for the last year. In that time, nearly everything about her life had changed. As hot and uncomfortable as she was, she wouldn’t have traded the material for anything.
“How?” Constance nudged her shoulder with a bright smile. “Come on. Entertain me with one of your stories.”
“Now?” She rolled her eyes, already knowing she’d give in. There wasn’t anything she’d deny Constance.
“What better time?” Constance gestured to the open, dusty road ahead of them. “We’ve got at least forty minutes on our hands.”
“You could tell me a story,” Scarlett teased.
“Yours are always so much better than mine.”
“That’s not true!” Before she could relent, a car slowed as it approached, giving Scarlett enough time to glance at the insignia before it pulled alongside them: 11 Group Fighter Command.
One of ours.
“Can I give you ladies a lift?” the driver asked.
American. Her head snapped toward the man, her brows arched high in surprise. She’d known there were a few Americans with the 609, but she’d never encountered one— Oh my God.
She tripped slightly, Constance catching her elbow before she could make an utter fool of herself.
Get a grip. You’d think you’d never seen a good-looking man. In her defense, he was a step beyond that description, and it wasn’t just his light brown hair or that single strand that fell across his forehead, begging to be brushed back. It wasn’t even that carved chin or the slight bump on his nose from what had to have been a previous break. What had her off-balance was the smile that curved his lips and the spark in his moss-green eyes as he tilted his head…as if he knew what his very appearance was doing to her pulse.
She sucked in a breath, but it was as if she’d swallowed lightning, the electricity turning her mouth dry then somersaulting in her stomach as her heart thundered. “We’re all right, thank you,” she managed to answer, whipping her gaze forward.
She wasn’t putting her sister into a car with a strange man, no matter what the insignia said…right? The last thing she needed was to lose her wits over something as fleeting as attraction. She’d seen it in just about every woman she served with—attraction, then affection, then grief. Even Mary had lost two sweethearts in the 609 over the past few months. No, thank you.
Constance elbowed her slightly but remained quiet.
“Come on, it’s another three miles to the station, and what…another half mile to the women’s barracks?” He leaned over the passenger seat, still keeping pace beside them. “You’re melting out there.”
A bead of sweat raced down Constance’s cheek as if to make his point, and Scarlett wavered.
“There’s two of you and only one of me. Hell, you can both sit in the back seat if that would make you more comfortable.” Even his voice was appealing, low and rough like the coarse sand at the beach.
Constance elbowed her again.
“Ow!” Scarlett scowled at her sister, then noted the circles beneath her eyes from her late night with Edward. She sighed, then offered what she hoped was a natural smile to the American. “Thank you. A ride to the women’s barracks would be lovely.”
He grinned, and her stomach flipped again. Oh, no. She was in trouble…at least for the next three and a half miles. After that, he could put some other girl in trouble for all she cared.
He pulled over properly, then stepped out of the car and came their way. He was tall, with broad shoulders that tapered nicely into the belted waist of an RAF uniform. God help her, those silver wings and rank said he was a pilot, and she knew more than enough about those boys to take a little heed. According to the other girls, they were reckless, passionate, transient, and often short-lived.
He lifted their luggage into the trunk. Scarlett blatantly ignored Constance’s sly smile as she glanced from the American back to Scarlett.
“Don’t even think about it,” Scarlett whispered.
“Why not? You are, and you should.” Constance smirked as the American shut the trunk.
“Ladies,” he said, keeping his eyes on Scarlett as he opened the door.
Constance slid into the back seat first.
“Thank you, Lieutenant.” Scarlett ducked her head and took the seat next to Constance.
“Stanton,” he said, leaning in to extend his hand. “I figure you should know my name. Jameson Stanton.”
Blinking, Scarlett offered her own. His grip was firm but gentle. “Assistant Section Officer Scarlett Wright, and my sister, Constance, who is also an Assistant Section Officer.”
“Excellent,” he said with a smile. “Nice to meet you both.” His gaze lifted to Constance, and he gave her a nod and a smile before releasing Scarlett’s hand.
She felt wildly off-center as he shut the door and took his place behind the wheel, his eyes meeting hers in the rearview mirror as he pulled out onto the road.
…
He wasn’t sure what to call that color of blue, but her eyes were stunning, and he was, well, stunned. They were the same shade as the water near some of the Florida beaches he’d seen on vacation. Bluer than the skies of his beloved Colorado. They were…going to get them into an accident if he didn’t watch the road. He cleared his throat and focused on driving.
“You didn’t seem surprised to hear that we’re sisters,” Constance remarked.
“Is anyone ever surprised to hear you’re sisters?” he joked. Constance was maybe an inch shorter than Scarlett and had the same piercing blue eyes, but hers lacked the fire that kept his gaze darting back in the rearview.
“Our father, I suppose,” Constance answered.
Jameson laughed.
“Guess which of us is older,” Constance suggested.
“Scarlett,” he answered without pausing to think it over.