Page 4 of Air Affair

“I am not a damsel in distress.” She walked a bit faster, even if his concern was rather touching. It wouldn’t do to be seen with a strange man. People would certainly assume the worst, especially after Archie.

“Oh, then you’re happy to be going back to whatever fancy party you ran away from?”

No, she wasn’t, but she could hardly tell him that. “My fiancé won’t be pleased if I come back to our engagement party with a strange man.”

“You ran away from your own engagement party? Are they trying to marry you off to some old geezer or something, Miss Belmont?”

She stopped in her tracks and turned on him. His guesses were a little bit too close to the mark.

“He’s not that old.”

He raised an eyebrow.

Damn. She shouldn’t have included the “that.” “For your information, he’s only forty-three, not old at all.” Not like some of the prospective husbands her father tried to foist on her before he landed on Edward. Uninspiring as Edward was, he was the best of the lot.

“Still twice your age, I’d wager.” Hank’s eyes were filled with insufferable pity as he reached out to touch her but stopped short.

“For a man so terrified of my father, you’re awfully forward. Why don’t you keep your opinions to yourself?” She scowled as her pulse quickened.

“Yes, Miss Belmont,” he said, but he held her gaze. For a moment, it was as if he could see into her soul—all the pain and vulnerability she hid from the world laid bare. She braced herself for his disdain. After all, there was nothing the men in her life despised more than displays of feminine weakness. But instead, his expression was filled with kindness and compassion, and something inside her broke.

Swallowing hard, she turned away and began walking again with him trailing several feet behind.

“I’ll be leaving now,” she said, spotting the door to the club. “Or are you going to follow me in there and ruin my reputation all over again?”

To her infinite relief, he stopped. “Good luck, princess.”

Pausing, she felt scorched by a pair of soulful brown eyes. She turned her head one last time, glancing at his silhouette.

“Goodbye, Hank.”

Heart pounding, she walked back into the club.

2

Well, that was a terrible night’s sleep.

Hank poured himself a crap cup of coffee in the lunchroom, staring out over the whitewashed picnic tables and squinting at the sunlight through the windows. It was only seven-thirty in the morning, and already it was hot as Hades. The new cadets would be here soon, poor sods. He supposed he should make some attempt to look like a heroic pilot instead of someone dead twice over from exhaustion, smelling as hot and swampy as he felt. He really needed to change his shirt. Good grief.

He choked down the caustic brew and headed to the locker room. A shave, a shower, and clean clothes would do wonders for him. Making a beeline for his cubby, he pushed past the full-body leather flying suit that hung there and grabbed a towel and some soap from his ditty bag. The room still smelled of fresh paint, having been built only a month before. Only half of the cubbies were in use, but that would change soon enough.

As he gathered his things, his thoughts turned to the previous night.

Aurora Belmont. Aurora fucking Belmont. Not that he ever slept well on guard in the hangar, but Jesus Christ. Rory, she wanted him to call her. Princess Rory.

Over and over the nightmare replayed as he dozed after she left. It started pleasantly enough. She came back despite his warnings, a mischievous look in those sparkling blue eyes, and he peeled that sinful dress off her luscious body and…Papa Belmont materialized from thin air, took aim, and unmanned him.

As a pilot, Hank had no great attachment to his life, but by God while he lived, he wanted his cock and balls safe from harm. And now, he found himself peeking around every corner to make sure Major Belmont wasn’t standing there with a shotgun, ready to blow them off.

Even getting into the white-tiled shower stall, he looked twice before closing the flimsy tan curtain behind him. No, it was just a bad dream. He shook himself and lathered up. She had every reason to keep their little meeting secret. He was in no danger, was he? Thank God he was never going to see her again.

Of course, in attempting to ban her from his thoughts, he brought her front and center. His cock began to stir, and he gave it a withering look. Instead of retreating, it grew unapologetically rampant. “Fine,” he grumbled aloud. “I’ll ring up Dorothy and see if she’s up for a visit.” At the word “Dorothy,” it deflated. “Oh, come on. Now you don’t like Dorothy?”

“Hawley, are you conversing with your willy again?” asked a familiar voice with a slight Irish brogue that made him jump a mile.

“Go to hell, O’Donnell.”

Two men’s laughter rang out after that.