Navy Woman

"This doesn't settle anything," he whispered, his breath mingling with hers. His eyes remained closed as though he didn't possess the strength to refuse her anything.



"You're right," she whispered, "but it sure as hell helps." With that she directed his mouth back to her own.



Chapter Nine



"I need to get back. I left Kelly at the neighbor's," Royce whispered close to Catherine's ear. They were snuggled up in the front seat of Royce's car, her back against his chest with Royce's arms draped around her. They'd spent the last hour just this way, savoring these stolen moments, not wanting to part for fear of how long it would be before they'd have the chance to hold each other again.



"I need to get back, too," Catherine admitted reluctantly, but neither of them seemed in any hurry to leave.



"One last kiss?" Royce suggested, while spreading nibbling kisses down the side of her ivory neck, pausing now and again to swirl the moist tip of his tongue around her earlobe.



"You wanted a single kiss a half hour ago," she reminded him in a low whisper, "and the next thing I know my bra is missing and you're cursing because you can't find the zipper in my pants."



"That was your fault."



"Mine?" Catherine was indignant. He'd been all over her. They'd been all over each other, so hungry with need it was a gnawing ache in the pit of her stomach still. If it hadn't been for the gearshift,



Catherine was convinced they'd have made love several times over by now.



"Yes, your fault," Royce repeated huskily. "If you didn't have such beautiful, tempting breasts." His hands slid up from her midriff to rest against the undersides of her fullness. His hands were close enough to reignite the achy, hollow feeling within her. Her breath escaped in a trickle as his thumbs lazily grazed her throbbing nipples.



"All right," she agreed softly. "Just one kiss." She arched her back and strained upward until her mouth unerringly found his.



Royce claimed her lips roughly, reeling her senses into oblivion. As his mouth worked over hers, his hands roved under her sweater after what seemed like an excruciating delay. Catherine moaned at the sheer wonder of his touch. Royce's tongue breached the barrier of her lips, probing, promising, as his hands caressed the weighted fullness of her breasts, kneading the heated fleah.



Soon Catherine was panting with primitive needs that curled deep inside her. "We're steaming up the windows again," she told him, knowing full well it was their moans and sighs as much as their breaths that were misting the car windows. It was becoming increasingly difficult to rein in their desires, and each time they were together, it became more of a strain, more of a struggle. Catherine had never felt more wanton. Never more wanting.



"The windows are the least of our problems," Royce said in a husky murmur.



She threaded her fingers through his hair and arched upwards, loving him so much she felt drunk with the emotion.



Royce lifted his weight, but his knee slammed hard against the gearshift. He cursed under his breath and rubbed the injured part of his leg. "I'm getting too old for this," he complained.



"We're both too old for this."



"I'm pleased you agree." His hands were at the band of her wool slacks. His touch was warm, and his lips, against the underside of her chin, were decidedly hot. A fluttery sensation rippled over her skin as he slipped the button at the side of her hip free and eased the zipper downward. The sound buzzed in the close confines of the car like a roaring chain saw. Catherine's heart was pounding just as loudly.



Royce was convinced there was a limit to how much sexual frustration one man could endure. He'd reached it the night before with Catherine in the front seat of his car. The front seat of his car. The thought was a sobering one. A man who'd reached the age of thirty-seven shouldn't be attempting to make love in a car seat. There was something ideologically wrong with that.



Only the physical restrictions had prevented him from taking Catherine. If he'd possessed any talent as a contortionist he might have been able to manage it, but he was long past the age of attempting acrobatics.



Royce, however, promised himself he'd never buy a two-seater vehicle again. Never. No matter how sporty looking it was.



That thought was sobering as well. Everything, he'd predicted about his and Catherine's relationship was coming to pass. Everything he'd feared. They were already meeting in out-of-the-way places. The sad fact was, Royce knew he wouldn't be able to handle any more sessions like the one they'd recently shared.



The next step was the hotel room. He'd been ready for one the night before. He'd been so incredibly hot for Catherine, he hadn't given a thought to propriety. If the circumstances had been somewhat different he would have driven Catherine to the nearest hotel and damned the consequences. He'd needed her, had wanted her that desperately.



He hadn't, of course, and consequently he'd been trying to forget about his unspent passion for the past twelve hours, with little success.



Once they'd gotten past the physical aspect of their need, or as near to satisfying it as was possible, they'd held each other for another hour and talked.



Royce was amazed that they could find so much to talk about and not mention the one thing that was on both their minds.



What the hell were they going to do?



Royce didn't know. Catherine apparently didn't, either.



Sitting back from his desk, Royce rolled a pen between his palms as he pondered the situation between him and Catherine for the hundredth time that day.



The office was unusually quiet. Everyone had gone home for the day, which was just as well. Catherine was due back from a court session anytime. Royce had left word for her to come directly to his office.



He was anxious to see her. When the hell wasn't he anxious to see her, he asked himself caustically.



It was her eyes, he decided. She had the darkest, most expressive eyes of any woman he'd ever met. They were wistful eyes, that clearly spelled out her thoughts.



And, if he could read her thoughts, then surely everyone else could, too.



How were they supposed to combat that? Royce knotted his hands into tight fists of frustration. He wasn't any closer to finding a solution now than he had been weeks earlier when the problem first presented itself.



Catherine's eyes were also the most provocative ones he'd ever encountered. She'd look up and smile at him, that secret, sexy smile, and then her eyes would meet his, and Royce swore she told him everything she hungered for in a single look. Apparently she found her own thoughts embarrassing because she'd start to blush and her eyelashes would flutter and she'd quickly glance away. It was all Royce could do not to make love to her then and there.



If there was anything to be grateful for, Royce realized, it was that she'd yet to give him that look while in the office.



The polite knock at his door cut into Royce's thoughts. He recognized the short, abrupt rap as Catherine's.



"Come in," he called out.



She stepped inside the room and automatically closed the door. "You wanted to see me?"



He noted that her gaze just missed meeting his. Royce didn't know whether to be grateful or not.



Matters being as they were, he probably should be.



"Sit down, Lieutenant Commander."



Her gaze briefly skidded to his, and he knew she was attempting to read his mood. Generally he didn't refer to her by her rank unless he was attempting to put some distance between them.



Catherine pulled out the chair and sat down.



Royce had spent a good portion of the day struggling with the problems between them, trying to formulate a solution. He wasn't any closer now than the time he first accepted his feelings for Catherine weren't going to go away. It was either deal with them now or later. And later could prove risky to their careers.



"How are you?" he asked, not knowing exactly where to start. Asking about her health was a stall tactic and not one he employed often.



"Fine. And you?"



"Well." As well as could be expected under the circumstances, he amended mentally.



Her fingers were clenched tightly in her lap, and she flexed and unflexed them a couple of times in nervous anticipation. Royce wondered briefly why she should be so ill at ease. Then he realized that the only times he'd ever called her into his office it had been to reprimand her for one thing or another.



"Relax, Catherine," he said, lowering his own guard. "We need to talk, and this seemed to be the safest place." And the most dangerous, but Royce felt it essential to clear the air between them. To do it without the physical temptations clouding their judgments as had so often happened in the past. The only other place he could think to speak to her was the jogging track, and he couldn't be assured of privacy there.



"I was thinking we needed to talk, too," she said, her voice little more than a faint murmur.



"Then it looks like we've come to similar conclusions."



Her beautiful, expressive eyes shot to his, and he could read her alarm as clearly as if she'd spelled it out.



"W-what have you decided?" she asked outright.



If only Royce could reach a conclusion. "1 haven't," he admitted with heavy reluctance. "I thought I'd have a chance to sort everything out while I was aboard the Venture. When that didn't pan out, I was hoping to have some time to think while you were with your mother." He'd soon discovered, however, that he missed her too much to be objective.



"I thought I might be able to do some thinking myself," Catherine interjected softly.



"And did you come to any decisions?"



She hesitated, as though she wasn't sure she should voice them. "Only that the...way I feel toward you isn't going to change."



There was a grim sort of satisfaction knowing that. It didn't solve anything, but it soothed his battered ego to hear her admit this wasn't just a sexual thing between them, founded on good old-fashioned lust. He'd considered that aspect himself. He'd been without a woman since Sandy's death, and perhaps his body was starting to play cruel tricks on him. It had been a cause for concern, but one quickly dismissed.



"I want a month," he stated decisively.



"I beg your pardon?" She blinked and scooted to the edge of her seat as though she wasn't sure she'd heard him correctly and was straining to understand.



'T need a month. Right now our feelings for each other are running high." That was putting it mildly.



A blacksmith's poker was less hot than they were for each other.



"H-how do you mean?"



"No contact except what's absolutely necessary here at the office. Nothing more. Not even a phone call.



I want us to remain as separate as we can and still work in the same command."



Catherine considered the suggestion for a moment, then nodded. "That sounds fair."



"I realize it's going to be difficult for us both."



"But necessary," she added, sounding as reluctant as he felt.



"Unfortunately, it is necessary," Royce agreed. "We can't go on the way we have."



"Something's got to be done."



At least on that they were of one accord.



"What about Kelly?" Catherine asked, her beautiful eyes bright with concern.



"Kelly," Royce repeated in a slow exercise. His daughter was a problem. He'd never seen her take to anyone the way she had Catherine. If he was going to force Kelly not to see Catherine for an entire month, he was likely to have a revolt on his hands. Yet he didn't know how he could maintain his distance from Catherine with Kelly spending time with her. He considered the situation a moment longer, then decided. "As you were quick to remind me not so long ago, it wouldn't be fair to punish her for a problem between us."