Camouflaged Hearts Anthology Read online

"Oh God,” she moaned as her entire body began to tingle. Michael took her hands in his and laced their fingers together. She came in a rush and collapsed on top of him, panting hard.

  Michael rolled her so he was on top, their joined hands above her head. His hips continued to pump into her. “You were made for me, baby. I fit so perfectly inside you. I love you."

  She could see the sweat on his skin, feel the pounding of his heart. “I love you, too,” she said on a low purr of satisfaction.

  Hooking her ankles so her feet rested on his back, Ayanna closed her eyes again and gave herself over to the pleasure this man brought her.

  This was where she belonged.

  About the Author

  Aliyah Burke lives on the East Coast with her husband. They have two dogs and a cat. A Navy wife, she enjoys hearing from her readers. If you visit her website, please don't forget to sign the guest book. Her debut novel, A Knight's Vow, is available through online retailers or Author House. She has one book published with Red Rose titled ‘A Little White Lie', and another one titled, ‘An Unlikely Encounter', released with them 06 Sep 07.

  Email: [email protected]

  Aliyah loves to hear from readers. You can find her contact information, website and author biography at www.totalebound.com.

  IN THE ARMS OF A PILOT

  Jennah Sharpe

  * * * *

  * * * *

  Dedication

  For George.

  Chapter One

  1941 came in with a bang. Popping champagne bottles and crackers littered the night with noise. We celebrated New Year's with a flourish at the Jump Club on Broad Street. Streamers, glitter and confetti covered the floor in a slippery blanket. Crowds of wives and girlfriends clung to their army men, under the pervasive cloud of cigarette smoke, as if their very willpower could keep the boys safe.

  My own RAF pilot was dapper in his starched army-green uniform and all the girls watched him, waiting perhaps for me to leave. That was more than likely. He was the most handsome man in the club. I wanted to be anywhere but the Jump Club with it's glassy, polished floors and exuberant jive. It really wasn't my style, especially that night. While others seemed to be able to lose themselves in the patriotic atmosphere of the night, I could not. A dark, ominous fog obscured my perception and seemed to follow all of us, waiting for its chance to blanket us with despair, even if no one else could see it.

  I took William's hand for comfort, relishing the warmth of his nearness. He wrapped his arm around my waist leading me in a rendition of the Blue Danube. Strangely, the lilting waltz, which should have been romantic and uplifting, seemed to me a haunting death knell for both the men in the room and our country as a whole.

  The second Great War was never-ending. The German front was advancing, seemingly unstoppable. I was certain the world would be left barren if it continued much longer. There could be no recovery from the horrors of war. The blackout curtains I'd sewn the day after I first met William at the Women's Royal Naval Service dinner and dance were thinning and faded. I needed new ones for the front hall but black material was next to non-existent. I debated using my grandmother's handmade quilt. It was dark navy and thick but I couldn't bring myself to cut it into two pieces as was needed in the hall. I missed eggs, cold milk, driving to the country on weekends and walking with William in the park without fear of a bomb turning us to dust.

  I shared my little flat with two other women working for the Women's Royal Naval service, more commonly called Wrens, and we got along famously. Wanda was moving out in two weeks to marry her beau and live with him. Sarah wouldn't be far behind if the noises from her room at night, when her boyfriend dropped by, were any indication.

  The flat featured three small bedrooms, a sitting room and a small kitchenette, just the right size for three single girls surviving in London. We did everything together, Sarah, Wanda and I, right down to finding our men at the same time. That dinner dance would remain in my memory until the end of my days. Then, at the height of the war, our carefree days seemed to be ending and so far away all at once. I was in a bit of a limbo, young and lively one day, solemn and old the next.

  We'd let the flat out to another group of young women and were packing for the move to be wives to our soldiers. The new girls would take over within the month.

  If our society had been a touch more liberal, we would have seen that staying together while our men left for the front would have been a much more stable situation. It didn't do any of us any good to wander about empty flats or houses, worrying when the black edged letter, signalling the demise of a loved husband, would appear in our mail slot.

  The Blue Danube wound to a close. Wanda caught my eye and smiled at me. I smiled back, but it was forced. I wanted nothing more than to take William home and never let him leave, but I couldn't say that to anyone. How patriotic would that be? Not to mention it would start an argument between William and I. Tall and grand in his uniform, I wanted him to leave with a smile for me on his face, not words of how I didn't appreciate all that he was doing for his country and the world in general.

  Wanda was flashy in her pink sequins; her blonde curls piled high on her head. Her long legs flying to the beat of a campy army song meant to give the men morale, she was completely unaware of the men on the sidelines ogling her. She only had eyes for the man she was engaged to. How ironic that the men were there for any piece of ass they could get their hands on, just to have willing company on their last night in town and here we were, all three of us, committed. The single Wren's were having the time of their lives, and I envied them their innocence, their joy and the lust filled, coy glances they were free to distribute amongst the soldiers. Not that I would have given up William. Don't get me wrong, but to marry a man who was leaving for war seemed a catalyst for bad luck. I could give him the slick honeymoon sex he craved and something to fight for, to come home to, but what did that leave me?

  Sarah too, with her red hair curled about her face, seemed to be lost in the music. As I watched her swing around the room, barefoot and light as a feather, envy coursed through me once again, it's thick, green venom winding its way through my veins. How could they be so blind to the danger, to the solitude? Or maybe they weren't. Maybe it was as much a show for their fiancées as my smile was for William. There was no way to know without asking them.

  William gave me a nod from the bar, a cold pop in his hand, as if to ask if I wanted anything to drink. I shook my head and sidled up to Wanda who was now resting in a chair against the wall, clapping her hands to the music. I took the empty seat beside her.

  "Wanda, I think Will and I are going to head back to the flat,” I told her. “You'll take the underground home with Sarah?"

  "You're going home already, Emmy? The night is young. You can make out here, you know. No one will notice.” She winked. “You don't have to go home.” Her green eyes flashed with life. I'd miss her when she left. Both she and Sarah were going to leave a hole in my life, perhaps even more gaping than the hole William would dig with his leaving.

  I smiled indulgently. “We want more than what is acceptable here on the dance floor, Wanda. Don't be silly. They've moved up the date for deployment, you know. We're thinking of visiting the judge tomorrow to have him marry us. It would mean having more time together as a married couple. That's important to Will."

  "Really? And the date's been moved up?"

  "That's what William tells me. Just come in quietly, will you?"

  Wanda touched my shoulder. “Of course. I'll tell Sarah and AJ. I'll tell them to keep it down."

  That made me laugh. Wanda could always make me laugh under the worst of circumstances. “We should have told them that, months ago. Why should tonight be any different?"

  "Huh. You're right. Why did we put up with all that moaning? We should have been competing.” She slapped my back. “Doesn't Will make you scream his name?” She winked again.

  "Hardly. His lovemaking is soft and quiet.” I drew in a breath
at the thought, my gaze searching the room for my lover.

  "Just like he is, right?” teased Wanda.

  "Oh, he's quiet all right, but he's anything but soft."

  Wanda laughed out loud again. I smiled. This time it was genuine. I wished I could be more like Wanda, carefree and light-hearted. I was thinking just that when I caught sight of a sparkle of wetness in the corner of her eye. It was there for a split second before she blinked, and then it was gone. God, the war was killing us all. I took her hand and squeezed it. I wanted to be able to protect both her and Sarah from the atrocities in our lives, to be the mother hen for us all, but I couldn't find the strength or the willpower. Instead, I held her hand as we watched the dancers with only the blackness of a scared and skittish city behind them.

  At home, I locked the door behind Will and I, ensured the thin film of black wool was drawn over my bedroom window, flicked on the bedside light and laid down on my double bed. Will moved to the dresser where he took off his cap and loosened the buttons of his collar. I watched from my pillow as he doffed his outwear and turned to me wearing loose hunter green shorts that accentuated his arousal.

  He knelt beside me on the bed. I reached up to run my hand over his shorn head as he leaned in to kiss me.

  His mouth was warm and soft. Running his fingers through my hair he murmured against my cheek, “I've always loved these chestnut curls. Don't ever cut your hair, all right, Emmy? Will you promise?"

  "William, dear. It needs the occasional trim. I can't promise that."

  "Okay, but don't cut it off. I love it long. I love your braid when you're washing dishes, the ponytail when you're shopping. I want to remember you like this and be able to picture what I'm coming home to."

  "I promise.” Great. One more thing I wouldn't be able to have control of. While Will was away, I would waste away waiting for him to come home. The urge to defy him and cut my hair there and then was overwhelming, but I bit my tongue and stayed my hand.

  Chapter Two

  That night the alarms sounded, sending Will bolting from beneath our warm quilts. The building rattled my collection of porcelain music boxes sitting on my dresser. I jumped from the bed to steady them, my trembling hands doing more damage than the onslaught outside. I tried to remind myself that if the walls were shaking, we weren't hit. It was close though and there was no guarantee another bomb wouldn't fall.

  A delicate porcelain ballerina crashed to the floor, bringing tears to my eyes. Grandmother Harris would roll in her grave knowing I hadn't protected her antique heirloom.

  By the time I reached for the shards of painted porcelain, Will was dressed and searching for his hat.

  "Where are you going?” I asked, the breath catching in my throat.

  "We'll be sent out now.” He paused to read my face. “I'm a pilot, Emmy. It's my job."

  I cradled the ballerina against my chest. “I know.” I blew him a kiss as he thundered out the door on the heels of the bombers. I knew I'd never see him again. You can ask me how, but I really don't have an answer.

  When he was listed as missing in action a week later, I wasn't surprised. I didn't cry as Wanda and Sarah baked me orange cranberry muffins and scones. The amount of tea I drank in those days after the announcement could have floated me away. Drinking and eating gave me something else to think about. I was in limbo once again, waiting for word of his death.

  Wanda and Sarah still had their men, although they'd been deployed to the front where the Germans were advancing through France. Will's plane went down as he flew toward Denmark over the North Sea, and he hadn't been heard from since the mission began. I think guilt was most of Wanda and Sarah's motivation in ensuring I ate. I couldn't complain. Their baking was exemplary.

  Before we knew it, it was time to let the new girls move into our apartment. Wanda and Sarah secured nice row houses to welcome their men home to. I, on the other hand, had no family in London and no desire to return to Bristol where my mother had her little sewing business. She would want me to return, I was sure of that, but living in her noisy little room near Temple Meade wasn't on my list of things I wanted to do. There wasn't room for the two of us no matter how much we managed to put up with each other. Papa died five years ago of a heart attack. There was no saving him. It had been sudden and thankfully, over quickly. Mother was now too independent to deal with a roommate, even if it was her daughter. I didn't bother to tell her I was currently homeless.

  On the day I was to pack and move to a small hotel where I knew I could manage one night, a letter arrived in the mail.

  Dear Emeline,

  It's been quite some time since we've been able to correspond. However, I'm sure you remember me. I recently heard through the ever-reliable grapevine that your betrothed is no longer with you.

  Just this morning I received word that the same terrible fate has taken my husband, Charles. As you know, I live in a small cottage on the edge of a rather large horse farm. I cook for the owner and his staff.

  I'd hoped, as we're both alone, that you might consider spending the summer with me. We could be good company for each other and I'm sure it would take some of the unwelcome burden from both of us.

  I look forward to hearing your response.

  Your loving cousin,

  Rose MacDonald.

  I hadn't heard from Rose since we were two sixteen year olds in Bristol. She'd married young but did not have any children. Whether that was due to choice or the strange ways of nature, I have no idea and I never asked.

  I discussed the letter with Sarah and Wanda who both whole-heartedly agreed that I should leave at once and if it were up to them, they'd go as well. I didn't question who the grapevine was or where it began. No doubt my mother had heard as well, if the news had travelled to Rose already.

  Before I could decide not to go, I sent a telegraph to Rose saying that I would be on the train on June the second. She replied that she would be there at five fifteen with the horse and carriage, as she'd run out of money for petrol. Apparently, the cottage wasn't far from the station.

  Unsure, I walked alone to the train station, a suitcase full of my two wool sweaters, a pair of trousers and my two day dresses along with a couple of hats, toiletries and my stationary. My dear little music boxes, I had to leave at Sarah's house or find them all broken when I arrived at Pond Hollow, the quaint whistle stop on the route to Bath.

  The day was strangely sunny. I say strange because it seemed a grey fog hung over me wherever I went. That I should notice the day being sunny was a revelation. I was doing the right thing. I could feel it in the lightness of my shoulders as I boarded the steam passenger train filled with tots of every size, their eyes filled to the brim with bravely withheld tears as their mothers sent them to relatives in the country to escape the bombing.

  I should have felt guilty leaving the city with the children, but I didn't. I wanted to get away from the fear and anxiety pulsing through the streets. If Cousin Rose hadn't written to me, I'm not at all sure I would have survived there.

  As the train raced through the green countryside, a thrill of anticipation whipped through me. I felt like sticking my head out the window, letting the full force of the wind rip its icy fingers through my hair, but what kind of example would that have been to the children?

  Instead, I paid for a cup of tea and a slice of white frosted cake and sat quietly listening to the consoling of the elder siblings to their young charges. For once, I was thankful to not have children. They'd be safe in the country, but what kind of life was that, away from their parents? Who knew when they'd return home? If ever.

  There was a scrabble of feet and arms as the train slowed, approaching Pond Hollow station. Steam erupted from the engine and the chatter of children grew to a fever pitch. I waited until the train ground to a painfully slow stop and most of the children disembarked before I rose from my seat. I adjusted my hat, straightened my skirt and allowed the ticket master to retrieve my suitcase from the storage above my seat. I tha
nked him graciously, sidled down the aisle and stepped on to the wooden platform.

  The children were gathered up and escorted away by their new guardians, leaving me uncomfortably alone on the platform. There was no sign of Rose or any waiting carriage.

  "Good God, has she forgotten about me?” I wondered aloud.

  "I shouldn't think so, as she sent me.” The voice was masculine, deep and smooth. I spun around to find myself overshadowed by the most beautiful man I'd ever seen. For a moment, I was at a total loss for words as I gazed into his rugged face, sharp features softened by a light five-o'clock shadow. I fought the urge to run my hand along his cheek.

  Finally, I wet my lips and spoke. “You're here for me?” He didn't seem real.

  "Of course.” He smiled. “Rose sent me. She managed to twist her ankle on her way to the post box this morning and wondered if I'd be able to meet you and take you to her cottage.” He held out his hand. “I'm Ethan Graham."

  "Emmy Wood, um ... no Rosthorn.” I could feel the blush reddening my cheeks as I realised I had no idea which name I should go by. Technically, I wasn't yet married, but I didn't want to disrespect Will's intentions either, especially if he'd died. I decided to give Will's last name.

  Belatedly, I shook his hand. In his palm, my hand seemed tiny and frail.

  "Emmy Rosthorn. It's a pleasure,” he answered, apparently unaware of my embarrassment. He gestured his arm toward an old brown mare, strung to a rickety wagon, blissfully chomping on the grass on the side of the gravel road.

  "I'm ready,” I said, heaving my suitcase into my arms.

  Without speaking, Ethan Graham took the burden from my arms with barely any recognition of its weight and gently set it in the back of the wagon. All the while, I watched his broad back flex beneath his cotton shirt. I blinked my eyes. Why wasn't I thinking of Will? I should have been. I shouldn't have been lusting after some man I'd just met, no matter how attractive he was.