Chapter 8
On the trip back, Hank watched Rory closely.
She hardly moved. Gone was the exuberant woman who whooped with glee as they flew into the sky.
A melancholy seemed to have settled on her, and he ached to chase it away.
It pained him to see her like this. He knew exactly how he’d chase it away too.
Preferably in the cockpit of a Jenny. But some madness had possessed him in that field, and he turned her down. What was he thinking?
He no longer wondered what she wanted from him.
She’d made her interest abundantly clear.
She wanted the same thing he wanted of her.
Except that wasn’t quite right. Something made him hesitate when faced with the possibility of a tryst with her.
Making love to her once and then never seeing her again felt all wrong, though he couldn’t say why.
He couldn’t expect an ongoing relationship with her, nor was he the sort of man who engaged in relationships.
She had him all mixed up. There was no two ways about it.
He no longer knew what he wanted from her aside from continuing to be near her.
The only thing he was certain of was that this was not the end.
Not yet. Somehow, they would see each other again.
She couldn’t stay away any more than he could.
Something kept bringing them back together.
They couldn’t escape each other’s orbits until something knocked them free of their gravitational attraction.
The return journey was uneventful and surprisingly brief.
Before he knew it, he was coming in for a landing at Polo Field as if the last three hours hadn’t happened.
When they came to a stop, he walked around to her and caught her as she slid down instead of getting the ladder—anything for a bit more contact.
Her breath hitched as he held her for a moment too long when she landed on the ground.
She stepped away, avoiding his gaze. They were back in public now. Appearances mattered once again. The distance between them grew staggering as they stood facing each other, trying not to kiss.
“You should go,” he said at last, unable to force his feet to walk away.
“Yes, I should,” she said, meeting his gaze at last.
They stood looking at each other for far too long. It took the lanky silhouette of O’Donnell walking his way to snap him out of his reverie.
“You should go now. O’Donnell already suspects. If he tells Major Fleet, I’ll lose my job,” he said, nodding in the direction of his friend who seemed not to have noticed them yet.
She nodded and turned to go, looking back one last time as she walked off. He swallowed hard and forced himself to turn away.
O’Donnell sauntered over, glancing at her retreating figure. “Was that Miss Belmont?”
“None of your business, O’Donnell,” Hank snapped.
“Oh my! I’m right. It was Miss Belmont. Well done. I was wondering why you didn’t show a bit more enthusiasm at the club last night. By the way, when did you leave? I missed you. Thompson said you went off with some blonde whose boyfriend jilted her.”
Thank God O’Donnell didn’t know he’d left with Rory. The last thing he needed was O’Donnell spreading the rumor they spent the night together. It was bad enough that the senator thought that.
It could have been true, he thought with growing regret.
If he’d kissed her in the cab, he was sure she would have invited him up.
And then this morning in the field… Something was wrong with him.
He never turned down a good time, nor did he find risk daunting.
He thrived on it. So what was holding him back?
Aside from common sense and self-preservation.
“Nothing came of it. She was too upset,” he said honestly.
O’Donnell shrugged. “You should have stuck with the blonde at the bar with the tremendous knockers. She was heartbroken when you left. I had to buy her a drink and call you a cad to cheer her up.”
“How selfless of you,” Hank grumbled.
“I found a sweet little brunette named Patty looking for a good time. We got a room together and kept each other awake ’til dawn. I tell you I am dog-tired today.”
Hank tried not to roll his eyes.
“Then what brings you out to the field?”
“Checking tomorrow’s schedule. I wanted to see whether I could enjoy Patty’s company for another night and catch up on sleep in the morning before I fly.
I’m in luck. I’m not scheduled to leave until 1 p.m.,” O’Donnell said with a wide grin.
“Care to join me in some calisthenics? I’m hoping it will help clear the cobwebs from the old cranium. ”
Hank said, “Sure,” without really thinking about it.
His mind was still on Rory. As he went through the motions of pushups, squats, sit-ups, and then jogging with O’Donnell, he turned over the moments when he said “no” again and again in his mind.
He wanted her. There was no question. The mere thought of her sent blood rushing to places where he didn’t need it right this moment.
It wasn’t lack of desire or fear of risk. And then it hit him.
Oh no, Hank, you idiot. You’re falling for her. You won’t sleep with her because you want something more.
Of all the stupid, ridiculous, impossible, irresponsible…
Christ. This was a disaster. He was falling for Rory Belmont, princess of New York.
Never mind that she was totally unreachable.
Never mind that he didn’t want entanglements.
And neither did she. To her, he was only a bit of fun.
Hadn’t she said so? But with Rory Belmont, his heart completely ignored his head, not to mention his cock.
He wanted to spend time with her, hear what she had to say.
He wanted to defend her from all the people trying to use her.
And yes, he wanted to sleep with her, but apparently he couldn’t bring himself to follow through until they shared a deeper, more meaningful connection—a connection she wouldn’t, couldn’t welcome.
Hell and damnation, this was a pretty fix.
“Rory Belmont, you will be the death of me,” he mumbled to himself as he jogged.
“What was that?” asked O’Donnell, running beside him.
“Nothing,” he said with a shrug and a nonchalant smile.
“No, it was something. I thought I heard the word ‘Belmont’ in there. You may as well tell me. I’ll winkle it out of you one way or another. You know I will.”
Hank sighed. “Have you ever had feelings for a woman you couldn’t ever be with?”
“‘Feelings’ did you say? I must have misheard. The Hank Hawley I know doesn’t have feelings. He has his fun and moves on. Clean and simple.”
“Not this time, apparently,” Hank said, gritting his teeth. “She’s gotten under my skin.”
“Saints preserve us! Are you telling me you have a heart under all that useless muscle?”
Hank laughed. He couldn’t help it. “Don’t tell a soul.”
“Oh, I won’t. Except Thompson. And maybe Pritchard. I can’t keep something this juicy completely to myself, you know. But aside from them, I swear your secret is safe with me.”
“Christ. Leave it to me to spill the beans to the biggest gossip west of the Mississippi. Look, O’Donnell, it isn’t safe for her if this gets out. She has a fiancé.” Or had. But somehow, Hank didn’t believe that particular drama was over. “Not to mention her father—”
“I’m not going to tell Major Belmont. Who do you think I am? He’d shoot your balls off for looking at her the wrong way.”
Hank cleared his throat, not at all grateful for the reminder. “You see my point about keeping this secret.”
“At least let me tell Thompson. I’ll swear him to secrecy.”
“No one,” Hank said forcefully. “Or I’ll forget to keep secret what happened with that girl from Poughkeepsie when you took her on a ferry ride.”
“It’s not my fault she got seasick right after kissing me.”
“If you don’t want Thompson and Pritchard warning every girl you meet that your kisses make girls puke, you’re going to keep my secret.” Hank wasn’t entirely sure this would work. O’Donnell might decide it was worth a few months of ribbing to spill about Rory Belmont.
“Fine, fine. You have my word.”
Hank heaved a sigh of relief.
“But I still get to tease you about it in private,” O’Donnell added.
Looking up to heaven, Hank said a silent prayer for patience.
Two hours later, Hank was sitting on a bench in the park next to the runway, eating a sandwich, lost in thought, when an unpleasant voice interrupted him.
“I found out who you are,” said the senator, approaching from behind and making him jump. How the hell did the senator find him in the middle of a park? “Hank Hawley. Airmail pilot. I should have known. She has a weakness for pilots.”
The senator sat down on the bench beside him, looking out at the trees. The man was lucky to live in the twentieth century, or Hank might have lopped off the man’s head with a broadsword for his audacity.
“I could take your job, send you back to the front.”
Hank smiled. “There’s nothing I’d like better. You think I dreamed of being a pilot so that I could ferry birthday cards back and forth?”
“It would take you away from Aurora.”
With a shrug, he said, “There’s nothing between Rory and me. How could there be? She’s the princess of New York and I’m a nobody. By all means, send me back to the front.”
The senator exhaled with force. “Stay away from her. Do you hear?”
“Hard not to. You’re yelling in my face.” Hank smiled his chilliest smile.
“She may not forgive me any time soon, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to lose her to a piece of shit like you.” The man looked almost rabid.
“Good luck, Senator. If you’re worried about a shmuck like me, you need it.”
The senator got up and walked away without another word. Asshole. He had no idea how badly he’d lost already. No wonder Rory was starved for affection.
And you’d like to give it to her, wouldn’t you? Hank, you idiot, walk away and let this go.
But he couldn’t. Ridiculous schemes to see her again began floating through his head, each more outrageous than the last. It was a terrible idea, absurdly dangerous for both of them. But when had danger ever stopped him?
The trick was how to get to her. So far, their meetings had largely been a matter of chance. How could he see her intentionally?
Looking down at the insignia embroidered on the jacket draped over his arm, the answer clicked into place. The mail. He’d have to make the letter look innocent enough that it would get to her but still make it clear who it was from and what he was asking.
He got up and went to a five and dime where he bought stationery, envelopes, and a pen. Then he stopped at the post office and bought a roll of stamps with a Jenny printed on them. He came back to the park, found a picnic bench, and sat down to write.
For several minutes, he stared at the blank page, unable to write a word. Then he set pen to paper and wrote, in his best penmanship.
“Dear Miss Belmont,
The Pilots’ Benevolent Association cordially invites you to a silent auction fundraiser to be held at the Flatiron Building the evening of Tuesday, June 25th at 8 p.m. All proceeds will be given to the widows and children of pilots lost during the war. RSVP to 218 Garfield Ave, Mineola, NY 11501.
Sincerely,
Hank Hawley
Chairman of the Board”
Hank looked it over, nodded, and folded it up.
He put it in an envelope, wrote his return address, listing the Pilots’ Benevolent Association as the sender, and added a stamp.
Now he needed to find out her address so that he could post it.
Everyone knew where Belmont Mansion was, but he had no idea what the street address was.
He’d have to go for a stroll along Park Avenue to check the building number, something he could do as soon as he got back to New York.
He tucked the letter carefully into his pocket. This was madness. He’d clearly lost his mind. He had no business doing this, but he had to see her again. That was all this was, he decided. He would see her one more time and get her out of his system.