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corpsman, she only slept on the ship when she had duty—and she obviously would once they deployed.
    Gina might have some insight into Hallie’s situation. Like Hallie, Gina was a Petty Officer Second-Class and it was considered fraternization for her to be getting it on with a chief assigned to the same command. Had he been attached to some other unit, fraternization wouldn’t have been an issue. Unfortunately for Hallie, there were no such exceptions permitting intimate relationships between enlisted personnel and commissioned officers. Ever. Of course, once they deployed, anybody getting it on with anybody was verboten aboard ship.
    Hallie loved the camaraderie she shared with the other Mass Communications Specialists—the MCs—in the Public Affairs office aboard the ship. They worked well together, gathering news about the Blanchard and disseminating it to the military and civilian communities via newsletters, email, and social media. She was glad her mom had talked her into joining the Navy as a way to finish college and receive on-the-job training as a news journalist.
    Although her job at All Hands magazine in Washington had been a plum assignment for an MC, she did not feel she was doing her part in the war on terror. She preferred the nitty-gritty, day-to-day life aboard ship. And she knew it was where she’d find the real stories once they deployed.
    Hallie had gladly exchanged her dress uniform and heels for combat boots and the blue and gray camouflage shirt and trousers, nicknamed “aquaflage.” Apparently it was doing its duty of camouflaging her or the men on the Blanchard were either exceedingly polite or not too smart. Because so far she’d escaped being called, “Babe McCabe” or “The McBabe,” monikers that had followed her since middle school. Going without make-up and perfume apparently helped, too.
    Despite the lack of privacy in the Public Affairs office, Hallie had the use of her own laptop. This benefit would pay off once they deployed since she could stay connected with the outside world. As an MC, she had far more access to the Internet than any other enlisted person on the ship—and even more than a lot of the junior officers. As long as the satellite feed was working, she could log on.
    Her current research was digging through the UCMJ for a loophole so she could continue to see Philip without them getting into trouble. The following sentence did not help:
     
    “ Any violation of this rule will subject the senior member to disciplinary action .”
     
    Ouch. She pictured Philip being led from the Blanchard in handcuffs. Blackballed. Stripped of his brass buttons and drummed off the ship. Hallie thought it sucked that the junior member could get away with a slap on the wrist—not that she wanted a major punishment if caught. It just seemed like a double standard.
    But she couldn’t help smiling at that “senior member” part when she thought about that senior’s member stabbing her in the stomach in the rain yesterday during those mind-blowing kisses. Kisses that had been more tantalizing than flat-out sex. Never had she been kissed with such passion and tenderness at the same time. Long and slow, but deep and hungry. She couldn’t believe he was the same guy from the beach on Saturday night. He’d obviously felt more confident on his boat. A flush of warmth curled low in her belly and she squirmed in her chair reliving those kisses. She reached up and touched the stubble burn on her chin.
    She and Philip hadn’t talked in the car on the way home from the river. Just held hands and listened to classic jazz. His mouth tipped up at the corner now and then, as if he had a secret tucked away. Probably the same one she had, with her heart thrumming like it was. Every glide of his thumb on her hand sent shock waves through her.
    She liked that he was a good driver. So many guys tried to prove their manhood behind the wheel of a car; speeding, taking chances, letting the world know