Page 20 of Air Affair

“All right. One quick flight. Just up and down, like you said. I’m only agreeing because you had a very bad morning, and I feel sorry for you.”

She clapped her hands together and grinned.

“Meet me at the airstrip at Polo Field in an hour, and I’ll take you up,” he said, brushing himself off and putting down his napkin. Fortunately, the prospect of being responsible for her safety in his aircraft deflated any other thoughts that had been stirring.

Kissing her hand, he took his leave and headed straight to the airstrip to get a plane ready. He’d have to repair one of the broken ones. Delaying the mail for her entertainment was not an option. Fortunately, he knew how to take apart a Jenny and put her back together in his sleep. He’d have one up and running in no time.

She never did answer his question, he realized as he paid the cab driver. He still had no idea what she might want from him. He only knew what he wanted from her, and that was as impossible as flying to the moon.

7

Speed and danger. That was what Rory needed to forget her troubles. Thank heavens for Hank Hawley. This flight was just the thing to sooth her soul.

She took a cab to Polo Field, which until recently had been a park. The hastily constructed hangar gleamed with fresh whitewash, looking like a newly built barn. The runway was merely a long, open stretch of grass, and the trees had been cleared from one end to allow for safe departures and arrivals. Was there even enough room for an airplane to take off? It looked rather short.

Speed and danger? What a wonderful, terrible idea. Her father would be apoplectic if he found out, but at the moment, she couldn’t bring herself to care. She needed to feel free of her cage even if she knew, deep down, she wasn’t.

It didn’t take long to find Hank. He was underneath a Jenny, jacket off, sleeves rolled up, grease streaking both arms, as he did something with a wrench.

She stood there appreciating the way his corded arm muscles flexed beneath his tanned skin before saying, “Hello, Hank.”

He jumped at the sound of her voice and hit his head, muttering a string of curses under his breath. It was delightful fun unnerving him.

“I’m almost done, princess. Give me a minute,” he said, going back to tightening something. With a grunt, he gave it a final twist, put down the wrench in his tool box, and brushed off his hands, which made no difference to the grease. She could see his tattoo clearly now. It was a Jenny on his left forearm that rippled like it was flying through the air when he flexed. Fitting.

“Give me a moment to wash up, and we’ll be on our way,” he said, heading over to a small building nearby.

She stayed with the plane. It was such a sleek and alluring machine with its dual wings and its curving fuselage—sculpted perfection hiding a snarling beast of an engine within. The fabric that stretched taut across the wooden frames of the wings was painted with round medallions bearing stars, reminding her of a crisp dress uniform, bedecked with medals and perfectly tailored to display the machine’s tantalizing curves. She ran her hand along the fuselage until she reached the prominent arc of the rudder and examined it at length. Then she walked to the front and traced the powerful petal-shaped propeller blades.

As she contemplated the crisscross of wires holding the wings together like a suspension bridge, she felt his presence behind her. He drew close. If she backed up a few inches, they would be touching.

“She’s beautiful,” she said.

“Yes, she is.”

She could feel his eyes on her, smell his masculine scent. The temptation to lean back and sink into him was almost overwhelming.

“They say seventy-five miles per hour is a Jenny’s maximum speed, but I’ve pushed them faster. Would you like to see?” he murmured right next to her ear.

Oh yes, she would. Turning to face him, eyes wide, she smiled mischievously. “Show me. I like to go fast.”

“Yes, you do,” he said, returning her grin with a slow, devilish one of his own.

“How did you get permission to take me up?” Surely, he couldn’t simply take a government plane up for pleasure.

“I promised the mechanics a round of beer this evening to turn a blind eye. Don’t worry. They won’t tell tales.” He gestured toward the front cockpit. “Would you like to get in?”

Were her undergarments on fire? It certainly felt as if they were.

Climbing the ladder resting against the fuselage, she slid into the cockpit. She was glad she remembered to wear divided skirts for this outing. Today, she was dressed all in white, a fitted cotton shirtwaist on top and linen on the bottom with brown suede kitten-heel pumps. Hank handed her goggles and a cap that fastened under the chin. Putting them on gave her a little shiver.

“You’ve been up in an airplane before, I assume?” Hank pulled the ladder away and climbed into the rear cockpit.

“Only once. Papa worries too much.” She didn’t feel that Hank needed to know how apoplectic her father was when she paid a pilot to take her up after an aeronautics display on Long Island. He definitely didn’t need to know that Papa tried to have the man arrested for kidnapping. Fortunately, the police refused when she explained it had been entirely her idea.

“As he should. Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Absolutely sure,” she said, hardly able to contain her excitement.