Jameson’s head whipped toward the entry, and his heart stopped.
Scarlett stood in the doorway, her jacket folded over an arm.
She looked like heaven.
Her glossy black hair was pinned back, barely brushing the collar of her uniform. Her cheeks were pink, her lips curved in a barely contained smile, and damn, he could see the blue of her eyes from here. She was here. At his base. In his rest room. She was here.
He was halfway across the room before he’d even thought to move, abandoning his beer on the nearest table as he went. A few short strides and he was home, sucking in his breath at the warmth of her skin as one of his hands cupped the back of her neck and the other palmed her waist.
“You’re here,” he whispered, awestruck as she smiled up at him. This wasn’t a dream. She was real.
“I’m here,” she answered just as softly.
His gaze dropped to her mouth, and his grip tightened at the hunger that threatened to consume him. He needed her kiss more than he needed his next breath, but he wasn’t about to do it here. Not in front of the jackass who’d implied he needed company.
“For how long?” he asked, his stomach pitching at the knowledge that it was most likely only a few hours. He would have met her halfway if she’d told him. He wanted as much time as he could get with her.
“About that…” Her grin turned playful. “Do you have a minute?”
“I have a lifetime.” Which he’d offered her…and she’d refused, but he was trying incredibly hard not to think about that part.
“Brilliant.” She smiled and stepped out of his arms, taking his hand in hers. Then she looked back across the room. “Boston, is it?” she asked.
“Uh. Yeah.” He stood, rubbing the back of his neck as he flushed red.
“Ah. Well, let’s all hope that the WAAF isn’t ever integrated into His Majesty’s forces. It would be a shame for me to officially outrank you, Pilot Officer.” She offered him a polite smile, which Jameson knew well enough to recognize as her go-to-hell face, and he failed to stifle his laugh. Her smile shifted to a genuine one when she spotted Howard. “Lovely to see you, Howie.”
“You too, Scarlett.”
Jameson led her down the hall, then opened the door to the empty briefing room. He tugged her inside, shut and locked the door, then tossed her coat on the nearest desk and proceeded to kiss her senseless.
…
Scarlett didn’t melt; she came alive under his touch. She wound her arms around his neck and arched, seeking as much contact as she could get as his tongue twined with hers. He groaned into her mouth and kissed her deeper, wiping out the agonizing weeks of separation with every stroke of his tongue and scrape of his teeth.
Only with Jameson did Scarlett allow herself to simply feel. The need, the longing, the pain, the overwhelming ache of love in her heart—she surrendered to it all. Every other part of her life was managed and controlled. Jameson shredded the rules she’d been raised under and brought her into a world of emotion just as vibrant and colorful as he was.
Urgent need beat at her. More. Closer. Deeper.
As if he sensed the hunger within her, or felt it himself, he grasped her backside and lifted her against him so they were eye level. Her fingers speared into his hair as he walked to the briefing table and sat her at the edge of it, all without breaking the kiss.
She’d never been more thankful for wearing a skirt, which made it easy for him to fit himself between her thighs, bringing them flush. She gasped at the contact, and he tilted her head, taking her mouth as though he needed to lay claim again, as though she might disappear at any moment.
“I missed you,” he said against her mouth.
“I missed you, too.” Her voice came out breathless as her heart pounded. Even if they’d only shared this moment, everything she’d done to get here would have been worth it.
His lips trailed down her neck, lightly sucking just above her collar. She inhaled sharply when he flicked his tongue against her. Mercy, that felt good. Shivers of pleasure darted down her spine, pooling low in her belly as she caught fire. He burned away the November chill that had clung to her skin since she’d arrived this morning. She could never be cold in Jameson’s arms.
He flicked open the buttons of her uniform and slid his hands inside to caress her waist over the soft, white shirt. His thumbs stroked her ribs, teasing the inches just below her breasts, and she rocked against him, urging him on.
He kissed her again and pulled her closer.
She gasped, feeling the hardness of him through the layers of fabric that covered their bodies. He wanted her. Instead of shying away, she blatantly rolled her hips against his.
Anything could have happened to him in the last seven weeks—or to her. She had him now and she was done denying herself, done fighting the reckless speed or the intensity of their connection. She’d take him in whatever ways he wanted to give himself.
“How long do I have you for?” he asked, his breath tantalizing the shell of her ear just before his lips did.
“How long would you like me?” Her grip tightened on his neck.
“Forever.” His hands flexed on her waist as he skimmed his teeth along the delicate flesh of her earlobe.
Lord, he made it hard to think when he did that.
“Good, because I’ve been reposted here,” she managed.
Jameson froze, then slowly drew back, his eyes wide with disbelief.
“Are you displeased?” she asked, her chest clenching at the possibility. Had she been a fool? What if the letters hadn’t meant anything to him? What if he’d already moved on but hadn’t had the heart to tell her? Every girl back at Middle Wallop had made it clear they’d be happy to take her place, and she knew it had to be the same here.
“You’re here…as in here, here?” His eyes searched hers.
“Yes.” She nodded. “Constance and I asked to be reposted, and it was granted just a few days ago. I didn’t want to get your hopes up in case it was denied, and when it wasn’t, I figured I’d be here before a letter would even reach you. Are you disappointed?” She repeated the question, her voice hitching at the end.
“God, no!” He smiled, and the tension in her chest evaporated. “I’m…surprised, but it’s a great surprise!” He kissed her soundly. “I love you, Scarlett.”
“And I love you. Thank goodness, because I can’t just go and ask to be reposted back to Middle Wallop.” She tried to keep a straight face, but she simply couldn’t. Had she ever been this happy in her life? She didn’t think so.
“I don’t know how long the 71st will be here,” he admitted, stroking his thumbs over her cheeks. “Squadrons move all the time, and there’s already talk that we’ll be reposted elsewhere.” Just the thought of it made his stomach curdle. Her reposting here was a temporary bandage on a hemorrhaging wound, but he was so damned grateful for whatever time they’d have.