Soldier In Charge: Ripped!

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In a flash she was imagining the two of them, naked in her courtyard, surrounded by the sultry New Orleans heat and the inky dark night. The brush of his skin against hers, his breath warm against her neck, his arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her tighter against him…

She drew a slightly unsteady breath. “I’m open to trying lots of things—” If he only knew. “But some experiences are better left untried. The only way I’m jumping out of a plane is if someone throws me out the door.”

“Then it’s probably better that you don’t get on a jump plane. It’s been known to happen.” His grin held a wicked edge. “And here I’d pegged you to be the daring type, Ms. Walters.” There was no mistaking his challenge. The air between them felt fraught with sexual energy. When was the last time she’d felt so engaged by someone?

“Really? Does a woman have to be daring to kiss you, Lieutenant Colonel?”

The look he shot her set her nipples tingling. Sweet mercy. “I was talking about the red heels. They send a message.”

“Really? Is that your specialty? Decoding intelligence?”

“Red heels don’t require a specialization.”

“So, exactly what message do you think they send, Lieutenant Colonel?”

He made an efficient left turn. “They say ‘I’m bold. I’m not like everyone else here.’ And that kiss, that was all about telling everyone they might do what they’re told, but you’ll do what you want to do.”

“Maybe you’re partially right.”

“I’m always right.”

“Not this time, soldier. Do you ever do something just because the impulse strikes you?”

“No.” Unequivocal.

No surprise there. Her question had mostly been rhetorical. Lieutenant colonels, especially one his age, were not men of impulse.

She shifted in her seat, turning toward him. “That kiss was pure impulse. The only message there was I wanted to kiss you, so I did.” She did feel a tad remorseful although she couldn’t bring herself to regret it. “I know that’s why you wound up assigned to this. You no more volunteered for this assignment than I did.” He slanted her a quick glance. “Colonel Hardwick’s warped sense of humor is almost legendary. I’ve heard my dad talk about him more than once. He obviously thought you needed slapping down for being indiscreet.” She shook her head. “Trust me, I’m fairly familiar with soldiers and how they think.”

“I guess that happens when your father is a Brigadier General.”

Was he reminding himself or her? “This is what happens when your father is a Brigadier General—I’ll get a phone call tonight from my mother and in the conversation she’ll manage to work in my father’s disappointment in my behavior. It’s yet another reason I avoid Army bases,” she said, looking out the window. A group of soldiers stood at attention on a bare expanse of ground, obviously some review or another. They were all alike. There was no room for any individuality. Everything here was all the same Army-issue green or tan. She suppressed a faint shudder and looked back at Dugan. “It’s like living in a glass house and every action and reaction reflects back on my father. Believe me, I know.” She’d been reminded often enough in the past. Damn straight she knew now. Reminders weren’t necessary. “Growing up, our household was run with military precision and structure.”

“It beats the hell out of the alternate. Without structure you have chaos. No one thrives in chaos.”

He hadn’t glanced at her but there was a slight change in his tone, his inflection that said more than the mere words. Authenticity. Authority. That’s what it was. His tone bespoke firsthand knowledge.

“Something in between would be nice.” He merely quirked an eyebrow at that. The sun slanted through the windshield, etching his profile against the backdrop of blue sky outside his window. Gooseflesh prickled her. Good Lord but he was beautiful. She could look at the sharp slant of his nose, the slope of his forehead, the cut of his cheekbones, and the clean-shaven jaw that gave way to that faintly clefted chin all day long. “It doesn’t have to be one or the other.”

“Things are almost never fifty-fifty. They usually tend to sway one direction or the other. I’ll take structure and precision any day.”

Why did she have this sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, as if she’d been handed a treat and then told she couldn’t have it? “Obviously,” she said in a crisp tone, “or the Army would be an impossible career choice for you. But it’s not for everyone. Take this morning, for example. Public Affairs wanted to give me a list of calendar candidates.”

His look clearly questioned why that was a problem. “It does seem more efficient considering the size of this base.”

“But it’s not efficient if they’re not the right candidates. That’s part of my specialization. I’ve got an eye for people. And that’s the reason I’m here. See, a little flexibility would’ve actually made this morning much more efficient.”

“What makes one candidate better than another? Don’t you just need twelve well-built, easy-on-the-eyes guys?”

“It’s not that straightforward. There’s something, and I don’t know exactly how to describe it, that sets people apart in a photo. You would be perfect to photograph.”