Chapter 6

Ryan

I woke to sunlight streaming through the window, warm, with my arms around Chanel. A headache thumped between my eyes, but it had nothing to do with the beers from last night and everything to do with how bad I'd just fucked up.

I'd slept late for the first time in fucking history, and I'd slept with a local after a night out at a bar. Soldiers were allowed their personal lives but this pushed the limit for me. I didn't need more complications. I didn't need feelings, not the ones that brewed beneath the surface, or attachments.

The last time I'd taken responsibility for folks, the last time I'd cared, I lost everything. Already, I cared about her. God damn it, I didn't want to, but I did.

Chanel moaned and huffed out a sigh in her sleep. She rolled off my arm and I missed the skin-to-skin contact immediately.

"Shit," I muttered, and sat up. The sheets fell to my waist and cold air assaulted me. Double shit. It appeared the storm had passed, but it'd left behind the icy weather. I'd likely be able to get out of here and back up to the base, now.

Chanel slept on behind me and I admired her shape beneath the covers. Curvy but slim. She'd mesmerized me, last night. She drove me to distraction with her needs and the sly looks she cast over her shoulder.

A knock rattled the door, and I hopped out of bed. I grabbed my jeans, tugged them on, then hurried to the entrance.

I opened up and met Jack's shit-eating grin. "Mornin', Lieutenant. It's about time we get back to the base, isn't it?" He craned his next and tried to catch a glimpse of the bed.

I blocked his view with the door. "What time is it?"

"It's 7 am, Sir. Late night?" Whitmore straightened the lapels of his uniform and I silently hated him for it. He'd rub this tardiness in my face for an eternity, and call it gentle hazing if I dared put him in his place.

"Go down to the truck, Petty Officer," I said. "I'll meet you in thirty minutes."

"You sure that's enough time?" Jack winked.

I slammed the door shut in his face and slapped the bolt into place. My friend laughed in the hall. His footsteps faded off.

"You're leaving in a half hour?" Chanel's voice sounded from the bed.

I spun and my heart skipped a beat.

She sat upright, one hand on the sheet, her left breast exposed, perky, nipple erect, and her hair tousled from the pillow. Most of her makeup had worn off, and what remained didn't detract from her beauty.

She took my breath away. It was the most cliché way I could put it, but there it was. The woman rendered me speechless.

"Ryan?"

"Yeah, in thirty minutes," I said, and marched to my bag on top of the rickety dresser by the window. I looked at the Rocky Mountains, now capped with snow. Cars glided by in the street below, unhindered by the slick tar.

I opened my bag and took my neatly folded uniform out from within. I didn't have time for a shower - I'd have to get that done back at the base - so I stripped off my jeans and exchanged them for my pants.

"Just like that," Chanel muttered.

"What?" I zipped up and looked back at her.

She covered herself up entirely. "You're rushing out, just like that. So much for that whole 'first time' thing, right?"

"What do you mean?"

"Don't bullshit me. That's what I mean." Chanel squirmed off the mattress and walked to her dress, piled on the carpet in front of the bed. She dropped the sheet, then picked up the garment and pulled it over her head. Her arms stuck out the top for a second and she waggled them frantically.

"I'm not bullshitting you," I said. Her breasts bounced and I stared in spite of the situation. I couldn't help myself, God damn. She had the best tits I'd seen in my entire life.

Chanel tugged the fabric down, at last. "I might be nineteen years old, but I'm not an idiot. You didn't have to tell me you wanted more just to get me to have sex with you. I wanted to do this."

"Uh -"

"God, I don't know why I wanted to. You were such an asshole yesterday. Then last night you were sweet as honey and so fucking delicious. And now, today, we're back to your dickhead behavior."

"Easy."

"That's what you think of me, now, isn't it? You think I'm easy," Chanel said, and stepped into her high heels. "Well, you know what? I don't care what you think. I had fun and that was all I wanted out of last night, and that's fine."

"Whoa, seriously, relax," I said. "That's not how I feel at all. I don't think you're easy."

She paused and narrowed her eyes at me. "You don't."

"No. I don't. I think you're - I just don't think that, okay? But I've got responsibilities. I've got soldiers under my command," I said. "I shouldn't have taken advantage of you."

"Taken advantage of me," Chanel said, and her voice deepened with anger. "Did you not just hear what I said? I wanted to do this. You didn't take advantage of me."

I finished dressing myself then faced her. Once again, her beauty almost floored me. The anger that went with it enhanced that fiery side of her personality - the part I'd seen in the store yesterday morning.

"I'd love to see you again. It just wouldn't be fair to you. I'm not in Meek Springs often."

"You were here yesterday," she replied.

"That was because of the base."

"The morale," Chanel said, and she raised an eyebrow. "Still think I can't help with that?"

"It's not a question of you not being able to help. I can't bring a civilian on base," I replied.

"So get permission. Get me a contractor's permit. I know you can do it." She placed her fists on her hips. The anger had died down, replaced by stubbornness that reminded me of myself. "If you do, we could see each other more often."

"That's not why I'd get you permission."

"I know that," Chanel replied. "But I'm good at what I do and I can help you." Her tone softened. "I can help you, Ryan. I know what I'm doing when it comes to interior design. It's all I've done for the longest time."

"The longest time?"

"Yeah," she said, and stroked her arms.

I brought my jacket, a regular leather one, out of my bag and handed it over. "Here."

She took it from me and our fingers brushed. "Thanks." She put it on and the jacket dwarfed her. It brought back images of her tiny waist beneath my hands. God damn, those thoughts would get me nowhere.

"What do you mean, you've done it for the longest time?"

"I mean exactly what I said. It's all I know how to do. That's my mother's store. I studied interior design from home as soon as I was old enough, and I took over running it day to day when she asked."

"Why can't she do it herself?"

Chanel shrugged. "It doesn't matter. This is all I know how to do. I know I can help you if you'll let me."

Was that all her life was? Meek Springs and nothing else? She was small town and I'd traveled all the way across the globe to desert sands and back again. We were polar opposites. How could I expect her to understand that the base was off limits?

Or was it? Sure, I could get a contractor's permit, but that usually took a lot of convincing, and it would take some serious lip service to get Commander Shepherd to approve a civilian woman on the base. Particularly, a decorator. I doubted I'd be persuasive enough to convince him.

"It's just not going to happen," I said. "There's no necessity for it."

"No necessity? This is the morale at a military installation we're talking about here," she replied, and folded her arms, still with that one eyebrow arched. "There's nothing more important than that. Did you know, that productivity increases with natural light?"

"Uh - what?" I reeled from the sudden topic change.

"Yeah. Fluorescents can decrease productivity and morale. That means your soldiers perform worse with more internal lighting. And colors like grays and browns aren't great either. Orange is conducive to creativity. Blue to peace of mind." Chanel paced back and forth. "All of these things can affect how your soldiers perform, how happy they are. Doesn't that matter to you?"

"Of course it matters to me. It's the reason I came to the darn store in the first place," I said. "I just wanted a couple things to spruce the place up a bit."

"A couple things." Chanel pinched the bridge of her nose. "One does not simply place a couple things in a base to spruce it up."

"My hands are tied," I said.

"No, they're not. Look, I have a portfolio you can take a look at. Shoot, you can even take it back to your base and, I dunno, scan and fax it through to your superior or whatever," she said. "All I'm asking for is a chance."

"Why?"

"Because this is what I do."

But there was more to it than that. Perhaps, her life in Meek Springs wasn't what she wanted it to be. Or maybe it had something to do with her mother - facts scratched at the surface but I couldn't crack through to them without prying. She'd likely clam up if I did, anyway.

"All right," I said. "All right. I'll take your portfolio back to base. I might be able to get you temporary clearance to check it out. Then you'd have to give me your suggested changes and designs to forward to my Commander for approval."

Chanel clapped once. "That's perfect. Fantastic. You won't regret it! I know I can improve your soldiers’ lives with this."

Her passion for what she did was infectious. I liked that about her. And her confidence in her professional abilities was even more attractive. "All right, that's settled then." I scooped up a shirt from the floor and folded it, then placed it neatly in the bag. I followed with the jeans and shoes I'd worn the night before. "I'll give you a ride over to your store and you can give me the portfolio."

"Perfect."

It didn't hurt that I'd get to see her again after this, either. I could pretend I wanted to distance myself from what'd happened, but it wasn't true. Chanel had already crept under my skin. The smells of her on the air, the taste of her on my tongue. I wouldn't forget last night in a hurry. Maybe, I didn't want to.

A knock sounded on the door. "Lieutenant?" Whitmore. Fuck it. "It's been thirty five minutes, Sir. Are you done in there?"

I slung the bag over my shoulder and trooped to the exit. One lock scrape and door creak, and I had Jack in my sights again. "Whitmore," I said. "Sorry for the delay."

"Oh," Jack said, and caught sight of Chanel in her dress and my jacket. "No problem, Sir. I totally understand."

"Understand what?" Chanel asked. "That we had a discussion? Good, I'm glad you understand." She marched to the door and stared down the Petty Officer. "I'm riding shotgun, by the way."

Jack's jaw dropped. "I - uh, yes, ma'am."

"Move?"

He backpedaled and Chanel swept past him and out into the hall. Apparently, she didn't play games. Another thing I could add to the list of 'Chanel's great qualities.'

I chuckled and patted Whitmore on the shoulder. "Looks like we've got our decorator," I said, then followed the scent of her perfume out into the sunlight.