Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 145574 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 728(@200wpm)___ 582(@250wpm)___ 485(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145574 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 728(@200wpm)___ 582(@250wpm)___ 485(@300wpm)
“We’re both clerks in sector operations.” Constance lifted her eyebrows at Scarlett.
“We’ve been in for about a year now,” Scarlett added.
Two sisters. Both officers. Same position. Stationed together. Jameson was willing to bet that Daddy had money or influence. Most likely both. Wait…sector operations? He’d raise that bet to his whole month’s pay that they were plotters. “You move a lot of flags over there?”
Scarlett arched a brow, and his entire body tightened.
“You honestly think we pilots don’t know?” They were saving his ass, that was for sure. Plotters tracked all aircraft movement in the sky with the help of radio operators and RDF—Range and Direction Finding, creating the very map he flew by when the raids came. They were also top secret.
“I wouldn’t presume to guess what you know,” Scarlett responded with a faint smile.
Not only was she gorgeous but smart, too, and the fact that she didn’t let on that he was right—when he now knew he was—earned his respect. He was intrigued. He was attracted. He was in a damnable mess because he only had a few more minutes with her.
The minute they passed through the gate, a pit formed in his stomach, and the odometer ticked like a countdown. He’d been stationed here nearly a month and he’d never seen her. What were the chances he’d ever see her again?
Ask her out.
The idea nagged at him as he pulled up in front of the women’s barracks—the Brits called them huts. The entire station was still under construction, but at least these were done.
The girls climbed out before he could open their door, which didn’t surprise him. The English girls he’d met since landing in country had learned to do a lot for themselves in the last year the UK had been at war.
He took their bags from the trunk but held on to Scarlett’s as she reached for it.
Their fingers brushed.
His heart jolted.
She startled but didn’t pull back.
“Can I take you to dinner?” he asked before he lost the nerve, which wasn’t something he’d particularly had to worry about lately, but something about Scarlett had him tongue-tied.
Her eyes flared wide, and her cheeks flushed with heat. “Oh. Well…” Her gaze darted toward her sister, who was doing a poor job of hiding a smile.
Scarlett didn’t let go of her luggage. Neither did he.
…
“Is that a yes?” he asked with a grin that just about took her knees out of service.
Trouble. For the first time in her life, she didn’t want to avoid it.
“Stanton!” another pilot called out as he walked over with Mary tucked beneath his arm and her lipstick smudging his face. At least that question was answered.
Mary gasped, then cringed. “Oh no. I’m so sorry! I knew I was forgetting something today!”
“Don’t worry about it. Seems to have worked out for everyone involved,” Constance responded with a cheeky little smile, her engagement ring winking in the sun.
Scarlett narrowed her eyes at her sister before a tiny tug reminded her that she still stood on the pavement with her luggage suspended between herself and Jameson. What kind of name was Jameson, anyway? Did he prefer it to James? Jamie, perhaps?
“I’m glad to see you, Stanton. Can I catch a ride with you to the flight line?” the other pilot asked as he disengaged from Mary.
“Sure. As soon as she answers the question.” Jameson looked her dead in the eye.
A nagging little feeling told her that he’d always be this forthright. It also told her not to let go.
“Scarlett,” Constance urged.
“I’m sorry, what was the question?” Had he asked another while she was distracted by staring? Her cheeks caught fire.
“Will you please let me take you to dinner?” Jameson asked again. “Not tonight, since I’ll be flying. But some night this week?”
Her lips parted. She hadn’t agreed to a date since the war began.
“I’m quite sorry, but I don’t see men like you socially,” she managed to croak out.
Constance let loose a sigh of frustration strong enough to change the weather.
“Men like me?” Jameson questioned with a tease in his tone. “Americans?”
“Of course not.” She scoffed. “I mean, not that I’ve ever been asked by an American, naturally.”
“Naturally.” And that grin was back, wobbling her knees again. He really was too handsome for his own good.
“I mean pilots.” She nodded toward the wings on his uniform. “I don’t see pilots.” Out of every job in the Royal Air Force, pilots were the most nomadic in regard to where they slept, and geography wasn’t the least of it. They also had a tendency to die with a frequency she couldn’t stomach.
“Shame.” He clicked his tongue.
She tugged on her luggage, and he released it.
“It is most assuredly my loss,” she professed, the words ringing true in her own ears. She shouldn’t go. That didn’t mean she didn’t want to. Longing resonated through her like a church bell, hitting hard and loud, only to come again in softer echoes the longer she stood there looking up at him.