Page 65 of Plane Passion

“We aren’t fancy,” he warned. “We live in a simple townhouse in Brooklyn.”

“I didn’t grow up rich, you know. It will be a pleasure to go somewhere unpretentious and have a good, home-cooked meal. I miss that.”

The song ended, and another started. She hardly noticed as the rhythm of their steps adjusted to the new beat.

“My family will love you, though I should warn you they can be rather overwhelming all together.”

“I can’t wait to meet them, especially your sisters. They sound like very interesting and independent young women.”

Ernie chuckled. “That they are. You and they have that in common.”

He twirled them around, and Millie saw a flash of red. When they stopped, Beth was right next to them, dancing with the handsomest man in the room aside from Ernie.

“Reporter,” Beth murmured just loud enough for Millie to hear and nodded toward a table in the back.

“Thanks,” Millie whispered back.

“There’s a reporter here?” Ernie whispered as they traversed the dance floor. “I thought speakeasies liked to keep a low profile. Why would they let him in?”

“They probably don’t know what he does. If he knows the password and buys drinks, they don’t ask questions. Besides, he wouldn’t be foolish enough to name the place in his articles. He would just say he saw so and so out on the town.”

“What do you think we should do?” Ernie’s muscles tensed around her.

“Finish this dance and go to the bar. You should buy me a drink and then go home. I’ll stay here with Beth and dance with some other people so that he doesn’t suspect we’re more than casual acquaintances.”

His jaw clenched, but he nodded. For the rest of the song, he kept a decorous distance, though the intensity of his gaze never abated.

When he led her to the bar, she felt oddly bereft. He was no longer holding her in his arms, and she missed it.

“What can I buy you?”

“Martini, please,” she answered.

Flagging down the bartender, he ordered a martini and a whiskey. While they waited for their drinks to arrive, he wrote his address on a bar napkin, and she tucked it into her purse.

“We usually eat around seven. Does that work for you?”

“Yes, I’ll be there.”

Their drinks arrived, and she took a sip. Thank God for martinis. She needed something to cool the raging heat coursing through her in his presence. There was still a part of her tempted to throw caution to the wind and ask him to meet her at a hotel so that they could finish what they’d started on the dance floor.

“Good God I want to kiss you,” she blurted after her third sip.

A wicked smile played across his lips. “The feeling is mutual.”

“Maybe if we left separately, the reporter wouldn’t notice.”

It was risky, but she couldn’t imagine the evening ending without at least a kiss. The martini must really be going to her head if she was contemplating something like this. But at that moment, she didn’t care.

“Wait five minutes after I leave and then follow. I’ll be at the tobacconist up the street.”

“But you don’t smoke.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t kill five minutes buying cigarettes. No one will suspect I’m waiting for you.”

And so, a few minutes later, after a quick word with Beth, she wandered by the tobacconist, and Ernie just happened to come out as she passed, tucking a pack of cigarettes into his breast pocket.

She glanced behind her and only saw Ernie, so she ducked into a dark alley, and he followed.