“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.