A Discreet Affair

by Shelley Munro

  “Pamela?”

  “Yes. That’s fine.”

  She took Michael’s hand and led him to the drawing room. With the curtains drawn and a single lamp burning, the room took on an intimate air. She shivered but didn’t once consider telling him to leave.

  He sat and patted the couch beside him. A small smile played on his lips and she found herself smiling back, wallowing in his intense regard. His gaze played over her, sweeping from her head to her feet and back. Another frisson of awareness struck her before he tugged her down beside him. Twisting his body, he pressed her into the hard cushioning and stole another kiss. She shivered, savoring every moment. He ran his hands down her upper arms, the heat seeping through to her skin. Her breasts ached, and she moaned softly.

  “You fit perfectly in my arms.” Michael kissed the tip of her nose and pressed more on both eyelids.

  Pamela licked her lips, watching him avidly. His lips appeared redder than normal, and now she knew how he tasted. “I like kissing you.” And it was nothing less than the truth. She eyed his lips, wanting to kiss him again. Before she could blink, he drew her into his arms, half reclining on the couch with him leaning over her. His chest pressed against her breasts, the friction of her brassiere against her taut nipples driving her to distraction. She wanted the sensation to stop, yet contrarily, she craved more of the same.

  He brushed a kiss across her jaw, another on her neck. Everywhere he kissed left a trail of tingles. Desire spread through her, grew.

  “You’re pretty. You have beautiful eyes.” He caressed her with eyes and his body, his hands skimming across her breasts.

  “Thanks.”

  A sound escaped her when he repeated the move and he froze. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have taken liberties and touched you intimately.”

  “It’s okay.” She should make him stop. They were mere acquaintances. His hand skimmed with greater purpose, making sure she understood this touch owed nothing to chance. Instead of slapping him or moving away, she arched into his caress, letting her breast fill his hand. Her breath came in quick unsteady pants. Her eyes fluttered closed. With her sight restricted, every other sense took up the slack. The rustle of her dress and his uniform plus the sounds of their breathing filled her ears. She reached blindly, her hand colliding with his cheek. Her fingers traced the shape of his jaw and down his neck. She slipped her hand past the neckline of his shirt, running her palm over his warm skin. He shivered, his hand tightening on her breast.

  “Michael,” she whispered.

  They kissed, arousal surging through her until they both inhabited a private place where sensations ruled. Michael groaned against her mouth, pushing her against the cushions. His erection dug into her, but even the press of his cock didn’t send much of a warning.

  Michael pulled back first. Laughing softly, he ran an unsteady hand through his hair. “It’s probably best if I leave.”

  Had she disgusted him? Pamela bit her lip, not sure if she should meet his gaze or not.

  “Pamela?”

  “Yes?” She risked a quick glance, his smile reassuring her. The tension left her body. He didn’t intend to judge her like Thomas used to. He didn’t pepper her with questions about where she’d learned to kiss or who she’d kissed.

  “I didn’t mean to take advantage.”

  “You haven’t. You didn’t. I liked it.” Pamela reached for his hands, eager to encourage him. “Really, I…”

  Michael smiled again and nodded. “You don’t need to explain.” He glanced at the clock. “I’d better go. I have an early start in the morning.”

  Pamela bit down on her lip again, anxiety spurting through her. Did he want to see her again? And if he did, was it because he thought she was easy? Did he like her or were the feelings on her side? “Okay.” Her voice quavered a fraction but she managed to meet his gaze and hold it.

  “I’m off on Friday night. Would you like to do something with me then?”

  His words flooded her with relief until she remembered he might have an ulterior motive. He might want sex. Some men would do anything, say anything … Her mother’s voice pierced her worries, and Thomas’s arrogant commands underscored her mother’s words. They both agreed—she needed to exercise restraint. Her renewed confidence wilted. The last thing she should have told her husband was how much she enjoyed lovemaking. It had certainly come back to bite her on the backside.

  “Pamela?” He stood, good humor dropping from his face. “It’s all right. I’ll let myself out.” He turned away without another word.

  Pamela’s mouth dropped open in dismay. How had this gone wrong and so quickly? “No! Wait, Michael. I’d like to see you again.” She decided to give him honesty. He might as well learn about her character traits up front. “I like kissing you, but…” She paused, hesitating over what exactly she should say. Her throat worked in a swallow and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t meet his gaze. Instead she concentrated on his blue uniform jacket. “I don’t want you to get the wrong idea. I’m not easy. My husband suspected I cheated on him with his friends. I didn’t and I wouldn’t. I’m not like that. I didn’t want you to get the wrong impression.”

  “Pamela.”

  She looked up and some of the anxiety curling though her dissipated on seeing another one of his smiles. They lit up his entire face, made his green eyes sparkle and sincerity blaze free.

  “I don’t expect anything. How can I when I have nothing to give in return? I might die tomorrow. Some pilots and soldiers use the excuse to get more from a woman, but I won’t do that. I enjoy your company. You make me laugh and forget some of the things that haunt me.”

  They stared at each other for a long moment then they both moved. Michael’s strong arms wrapped around her and she pressed her face against his chest, reveling in the security for the first time in a long time.

  * * * *

  The Luftwaffe upped their attacks, especially on the airfields, and like the rest of the pilots, Michael spent his spare time catching up on sleep. He trudged into the dining room and fell on an empty seat beside Owen. Owen looked exhausted, his face a twin of the reflection Michael saw each morning he looked in the mirror, with dark shadows and bags under his eyes.

  “I heard you lost your replacement roomie.”

  Michael grunted as a steward placed a pot of hot tea on their table. He reached for both a mug and the pot, part of him knowing the words Owen would utter next.

  “They say the new pilots don’t like rooming with you anymore.”

  Michael couldn’t find the energy for another grunt or a cheeky rejoinder. The steward set a bowl of soup in front of him and he gazed at the watery liquid with disinterest.

  “It’s mock turtle soup, evidently. Have you seen Pamela again?”

  “Not for a few days,” Michael said. “Have you seen Christine?”

  Owen grinned, his eyes lighting up. “For a few minutes yesterday.”

  “Are you giving her a ring?”

  “We’ll get married once the war is over and go home to New Zealand.”

  Owen didn’t want to leave Christine a widow, but Michael wasn’t sure he agreed with the sentiment. A vision of Pamela flitted through his mind and comfortable warmth filled him. Memories of their kisses came to the fore. The other night he’d longed to remove her floral dress and underwear, to explore and touch her silken skin. “She’s a nice woman. I like her.” It was safer than verbalizing the thoughts flooding him now. If Owen and Christine loved each other so much, they should make a commitment now, before it was too late.

  “Attention, attention! Squadron 92 to readiness immediately; 92 Squadron to readiness!”

  Michael and Owen moved with the others and soon they strode into the dispersal hut, waiting for directions to scramble to their planes. Michael put on his Mae West and tried to relax. Most of the pilots fidgeted, restless like him, but one or two of them wrote letters or read books while waiting for the call to scramble. He watched one of the men reading a
nd noticed he didn’t turn the pages. Restlessness forced him outside the hut, the urge to move like a spring in his body. His mind drifted to Pamela and he seized the subject, remembering their kisses the last time they’d met. Her husband sounded like a real bad egg. She didn’t act like a promiscuous woman and if by chance he’d misjudged her, rumors would’ve circled the village already. Not one person spoke a warning about her, and he hadn’t overheard any gossip attached to her name.

  The phone rang inside the dispersal hut. Instinct told him they were receiving the call to scramble so he ran for his Spitfire. Before he’d taken two steps the alarm rang and pilots and ground crew exploded into action, removing starter plugs and pulling trolleys clear. The engines fired up with loud rumbles as the crew started one after another. Michael sprang into the cockpit with the rigger’s heft on the seat of his pants giving him added help. The engine vibrated through him and a sense of peace descended. He gave a last fleeting thought to Pamela and rubbed his fingers over his life jacket in the spot where his lucky coin rested. His talisman would get him through this sortie. It always did.

  Once he’d attached the harness and closed the door, Michael jammed his helmet on and fixed his mask in place. He switched on the R/T and signaled chocks away. Around him the other planes were taxiing as well. The squadron took formation and he concentrated on the takeoff, keeping his Spitfire straight and manipulating the rudder to keep a direct line.

  The R/T crackled and a calm voice reported, “Bandits approaching Dover.” The voice reported the vectors. “The bandits include snappers.”

  Michael stiffened on hearing the code word for Me109s. A prickle of apprehension sent a swirl of nerves through him. High above the ground, the sky appeared like a sea of blue but their approach would send them into the clouds sitting on the horizon. He tensed as the specks in the far distance became recognizable. Hundreds of enemy planes with Me109s flying cover for the heavier bombers. Their formation of Spitfires numbered ten.

  Their Spitfires continued to fly in a tight bunch. Michael concentrated on his flying, while watching the approaching enemy planes. He needed to pick out a target. There. A plane flying out of formation. Let the battle begin. He adjusted his flight path, angling toward the plane. He lined it up in his sight and fired, squeezing off several quick shots. Around him planes zapped through the sky. Shouts and warnings came over the R/T. To his right a 109 plummeted into a steep dive. Smoke poured from near the cockpit. Poor bugger. He was done for.

  A 109 flew right in front of him, almost creating a midair crash. Michael cursed, pulled up on the stick. He fired on another Hun, diving rapidly to dodge the return fire. The sky was alive with planes, the sun glinting off the wings. He caught a glimpse of Owen, saw his plane take a hit. Over to the right, a pilot jumped, the billow of his parachute a flash of white before he disappeared from sight. Then, he was too busy dodging fire, trying to shake a 109 off his tail. Sweat dripped down his face as he pulled up into a steep climb. Where the devil was he? Ah, there. He fired on him, grunting with satisfaction when smoke puffed up from his fuselage. A spurt of fire shot past the nose of his Spitfire. Enemy fire tore a hole in a wing. Fear gripped him. Close. Too close.

  He eased back and a 109 overshot him. Where had he come from? He acted automatically. Fire. Fire. Fire!

  Gradually the sky grew quieter. Aircraft pulled out, either hit or low on fuel. Michael checked his gauges. They looked okay. From the corner of his eye he caught a flash of the enemy. A Heinkel. He went into another dive, trying to shake his tail. The rear gunner fired and Michael returned fire, giving a whoop of victory when the gunner fell away from his gun. A hit! He checked his ammo and stopped firing, wanting to keep some in reserve. Time to turn for home.

  Keeping a close eye on his surroundings, Michael aimed his Spitfire back toward the airfield. He spared an instant to rub his life jacket in the vicinity of his lucky charm. The familiar landmarks soon came into sight, the pit-marked airbase looking like the war zone it was. A sense of relief flooded him. He’d survived another sortie.

  Michael landed and taxied down the strip, another Spitfire following close behind. They came to a standstill together, the pilot giving Michael a thumbs-up signal.

  The ground crew arrived and he cut the engine, the silence strange after the noise of the dogfight. Michael crawled out of the cockpit, noting the holes in his wing. Nothing the ground crew couldn’t fix overnight. He ignored the tremor in his hands as he removed his Mae West, the shudders a signal of pent-up relief at making it through another day.

  “Is Owen back?”

  “No, not yet.”

  Michael gave a clipped nod and tried not to think about his chum.

  “Wait! This looks like him.”

  Michael turned to watch Owen land, a smile breaking free. Squadron 92 was due to have the night off, and he couldn’t wait to kiss Pamela.

  Chapter Four

  Once darkness fell, Michael cycled to Pamela’s cottage on a borrowed bicycle. Aware of the need to keep talk at a minimum, he left the bike concealed in a hedge and crept stealthily through Pamela’s front gate and down the side of her cottage. After one last furtive glance over his shoulder, he tapped on the kitchen door. He spoke in an undertone when footsteps became audible inside the cottage. “Pamela, it’s Michael.”

  “Michael?”

  The light in the kitchen went off and the door opened.

  “Can I come inside?”

  “Of course you can!” With a beaming smile, she grasped his forearm and drew him inside. She shut the door behind him and tugged him into the drawing room where a lamp burned in the corner. The radio played, a male speaker giving a dry recitation on vegetable growing. “I’m pleased you’re here. How are you?”

  “Tired,” he said, going with the truth. She’d only have to take one look at his face to sense his exhaustion, although her beautiful smile did good things to his morale and made him forget his fatigue.

  “You should have stayed at the base and caught up with your sleep. You need to rest.” She cupped his cheek when she said it, the tenderness in her touch bringing a lump to his throat.

  “I’m not sleeping well.” No other woman made him feel like this. Both peace and desire filled him. Despite his weariness, he’d craved her company. A kiss or two. “I decided visiting you would lift my spirits more than tossing and turning or trying to read a book.”

  The radio continued to play in the background, the strains of a slow dance replacing the droning vegetable grower.

  “Would you like to dance?”

  She flashed him a smile. “There’s not enough room.”

  “We don’t need much room.” He took her into his arms and started a slow shuffle in time with the music. She relaxed against him and the accumulated agitation eased inside him. He buried his face in her hair, breathing the floral scent in deep. The perfume reminded him of carefree summer days before the start of the fighting, relaxed fun-filled times when they’d picnicked by the lake and frolicked in the water to cool down. Yes, she called to mind the wildflowers that grew in the meadows. When the song ended, he was reluctant to let her go. He pressed a kiss to her hair, and finally stepped back.

  “Kiss me.” She lifted her head, standing on tiptoe, her hands resting lightly on his shoulders. “Please.”

  He’d wanted to kiss her ever since he’d arrived at her cottage. “I didn’t want to presume.”

  “You’re not. I’m offering.” Her eyes beseeched, and he didn’t have a hope of resisting her plea when it was the same thing he desired.

  Their lips met, and it was as if they’d never parted. Her familiar taste and scent washed over him, the miracle of her curvy body pressing urgently against his, bringing a surge of arousal. His erection grew, but he didn’t move away or attempt to hide his need. Instead he cupped her bottom and lifted her to fit their lower limbs together. A groan escaped him at the friction their bodies created and, closing his eyes, he reached for another kiss. He missed her mouth but the
misdirection didn’t worry him. He was touching her and that was all that mattered. For the first time in days, the tension left his body. He opened his eyes, laughed, and walked over to the brown couch, dropping her lightly on a cushion.

  “Maybe we won’t dance.” He grinned at her. “You’re too distracting.”

  “I suppose I did start the kissing.” She folded her hands demurely in her lap, but the quiver of her lips gave her away. The minx.

  “Do you like living in the village?” Maybe if they talked, he’d manage to act the gentleman and keep his hands off her. “Or will you move back to London eventually?”

  The flirtatious smile slid right off her face, and his stomach lurched with alarm. Bother. What had he said to make her poker up like that?

  “No, I much prefer living here. My mother lives in London still, but we don’t get on very well. It’s much better if we only communicate via telephone or letter.”

  “Families can create difficulties.”

  “Yes.” A heartfelt reply full of suppressed emotion. “I don’t want to talk about my mother. What do you like to do during your spare time?”

  He didn’t have much spare time these days. “I like to fly. There’s nothing like it—the sense of freedom and soaring through the sky like a bird. Have you been flying before?”

  “No.”

  “Maybe I’ll get a chance to take you up one day. I’d like to share the exhilaration with you.”

  Pamela smiled. “I don’t have a problem with heights. I’d love to fly one day. What else do you like doing?”

  “My brothers and I grew up on a farm. My mother and youngest brother look after the farm now that my father and two other brothers have enlisted. I like fishing and spending time outdoors. I like to hike.”

  “Living in the village is the closest I’ve come to farming. Since I moved, I’ve been watching the farmer tend his wheat in the field next door.”