ever there was a soldier who looked fresh from the front, he was it. But the front was hundreds of miles away, at least as far as she knew. So what was he doing here? He looked as out of place as a dockworker in a Rockefeller dining room.
She would’ve felt self-conscious showing up here so disheveled. The soldier, on the other hand, didn’t appear concerned. A weary pride emboldened his long, loose-limbed stride. He looked about, unabashed, a man on a mission. For a moment their gazes met, and a strange fluttering sensation filled her chest. Eyes as blue as a cloudless summer sky, all the more startling for the deeply tanned skin surrounding them, assessed her. Then his attention flicked up the stairs to where the British officer stood.
The soldier paused and gave a brief salute.
“I say, Sergeant, what’s the meaning of showing up like this, looking like the very devil,” the officer snapped in his crisp, formal accent. “I’ve half a mind to send you out again. We’ve ladies working here.”
“Sorry, sir. I was ordered to rendezvous immediately with USO unit 2918. I was told they were here.” The man’s intense, direct gaze flicked to her again. Her breath caught as those blue eyes seared into her.
Lord, there was something about him. Something primal and alluring . . .
His attention abruptly returned to the British officer, as if dismissing her.
Unsettled, Vi crossed her arms. Yes, she was sweaty and flushed, but she didn’t look that bad. Though maybe she could use a splash of water on her face after refilling the canteens.
“You’ll find them at the end of the corridor, just there, on the left. In the courtyard,” the officer said, his disgust barely concealed.
“Thank you.” The sergeant’s voice was a gravelly baritone that matched his gritty exterior.
“Damn Yanks,” the officer muttered as the sergeant turned away. The man appeared not to have heard. Or more likely, he had heard and didn’t care.
Having had to endure her own share of slurs being tossed at her, she couldn’t help but respect him all the more.
“Excuse me,” she called after the sergeant. “I can take you to them, if you’d like. Since I’m one of the performers.”
He hesitated for the briefest second. “Are you Miss Rossi?”
“No, I’m Miss Heart, Virginia Heart.”
“Then no, Miss Heart. Thank you, but I’ve got it in hand.”
“But I could . . .” The rest of her offer trailed away as he strode off.
“May I help you, miss?” The British officer’s tone was solicitous.
Her self-confidence shaken a bit by the sergeant’s rejection, she turned to the fellow and smiled brightly. “Why, yes!”
As she asked for directions to the nearest water tap, she found herself arching her back, so that her crop top, tied in front, pulled a bit more tightly over her breasts. And maybe she shouldn’t have batted her eyelashes quite so much, but the stunned, slightly glazed expression on the officer’s face went a long way toward righting her off-kilter world.
After refilling the canteens, she smoothed her hair and splashed water on her face to cool it. Feeling refreshed, she hurried back to the courtyard. Even though she was in no hurry to see the sergeant again—getting the brush-off from him once had been quite enough—she was curious to know what he wanted with her unit.
Marcie accosted Vi as soon as she rounded the corner, her eyes round with excitement. “Oh, my goodness, I’m so glad you’re back. A soldier just showed up, wanting to talk to the directors. A real Captain America. Take a look!”
“Is that so?”
The sergeant stood with Mr. Stuart, Sue, and Wyatt, with the same loose-limbed athleticism she’d remembered. To her relief, he had his back to her. Still, the solid breadth of his shoulders was a sight to behold.
Idly, she wondered if he danced. He had the build and looked as if he could easily lift her above his head in the most romantic of pas de deux.
“Isn’t he dreamy? Frances is practically salivating over him. And I don’t blame her.”
“He’s not a captain,” Vi corrected as she turned and spotted Frances primping near Gertie. “He’s a sergeant.”
“Ooh, a noncom.” Marcie’s hungry gaze sized up the sergeant like a candy bar. “Even better. That means he’s fair game as far as the USO is concerned.”
“He’s not a rabbit to be snared, Marce,” Vi said, tamping down her irritation as she handed Marcie her canteen. “He’s here to do a job. Just like us.”
“Who is?” Frances said as she