Navy Woman

Her GEO Storm was parked in the far end of the lot, and Catherine walked briskly toward it, hunching her shoulders against the chilly air. She opened her door, gratefully climbed inside and turned the ignition. Nothing. She tried again with the same results. The battery was completely dead.



With her hands braced against the steering wheel, Catherine groaned. She knew as much about the internal workings of a car as she did about performing brain surgery. Her automobile was only a few months old; surely there wasn't anything wrong with the engine.



Climbing out, she decided to check under the hood. How much good that would do was highly debatable, especially in the dark. It took her several minutes to find the clasp that would release the lock. In the dim light from the street lamp, she couldn't see much of anything.



The only thing she could think to do was call a towing service. She was walking back to her building when a low black sports car rolled past her, then circled around.



"Problems?" It was Royce Nyland.



Catherine froze, her first instinct was to claim she had everything under control and send him on his way. Lie, fib, anything that would postpone another encounter. She hadn't had the time to filter through her emotions from the one earlier in the day. Royce Nyland flustered her, and clouded her judgment. She wanted to dislike him, categorize him and wrap him up in one neat package. But every time she'd attempted to gain perspective, he did something to alter her opinion of him. He brought out the worst in her and yet she'd never worked harder to impress an officer. Then it came to her with driving force. She was sexually attracted to Royce Nyland.



Attracted in a way that spelled trouble for them both. As long as she was under his command, anything romantic between them was strictly prohibited. The Navy didn't pull any punches when it came to emotional involvement between men and women, one a supervisor to the other. Not even a hint of impropriety would be tolerated.



For her sake as well as his, she must ignore the fact her heart raced every time she saw him. She had to ignore the way her eyes sought him out whenever he walked into the room. When they were on the track together, she had to disregard the strength and power that radiated from him like warmth from a roaring fire. Royce Nyland was as off-limits to her as a married man.



"Is that your car?" he asked, obviously impatient with her lack of response.



"Yes...it won't start."



"I'll take a look at it for you."



Before she could tell him she was about to call for a tow truck, he switched gears and drove over to where her Storm was parked with its hood raised. By the time she walked back, he was sitting in the driver's seat.



"It looks like you left your lights on this morning. The battery's dead."



"Oh...I must have." She wasn't usually this slow-witted. Running around the track with Royce was one thing, but standing in the far end of the parking lot in the shadows was another. Instinctively she backed away.



"I have a battery cable in my car. I'll give you a start." It took only a matter of minutes for him to arrange the clamps linking the cables between the batteries of the two cars. They worked together and within a matter of minutes, her engine was purring contentedly.



She climbed out of the car while Royce disconnected the cable. Although it wasn't all that cold, she rubbed her hands together several times.



"Thank you."



He nodded, tossed the cable into the trunk of his car and was prepared to leave when she stopped him.



"Royce."



She hadn't meant to say his name, it had slipped out naturally. Apologizing had never come easy to her, but she owed him one—for the heat of her anger, the unreasonableness of her attack. "I shouldn't have said what I did the other night. If there's any excuse, it's that I was tired and short-tempered. It won't happen again."



"It was off the record, Fredrickson, don't worry about it." His mouth slowly curved into a smile. Their eyes met, solidly, hungrily and God help her, Catherine felt herself step toward him.



"I'm worried." But it wasn't what she'd said or done that she was talking about and she knew they both knew it. His eyes continued to detain hers. She'd never seen eyes so dark. They told her things she'd only suspected. Things she didn't want to know and had no business knowing.



He was lonely. So was she.



He was alone. So was she.



So alone she lay in bed at night and ached. The need to be touched and held and kissed sometimes filled her with desperation.



She sensed the same desperation in Royce. It was what had drawn them together; it was what was keeping them apart.



The seconds throbbed between them like a giant time clock. Neither moved. Catherine dared not breathe. She was one step from walking directly into his arms, one word from spilling out everything she was feeling. The tension between them was as threatening as a thundercloud in a sky of blue. As strong as a prize fighter.



It was Royce who moved first. Away from her. Catherine sighed, her relief was so great.



"There won't be any problems," he whispered, turned and walked away.



She knew he wasn't speaking about her car.



Catherine wished she could believe it, but something told her it was far from the truth.



Royce was shaking. His hands were actually trembling as he sat in his own driveway, composing himself before he walked inside the house. He'd come so close to kissing Catherine that even now the thought of her filling his arms was enough to produce an ache so powerful, so sharp, it took his breath away. Royce was a man who thrived on discipline. He prided himself on his self-control, and yet he'd come a hair's space from tossing away everything he knew was right. And for what reason? Catherine Fredrickson turned him on.



For three years, Royce had shut off the valve that controlled his carnal appetites. He didn't need love, didn't need tenderness or require a woman's touch.



Those were base emotions, best ignored. And neglect them he had until he'd met Catherine.



From the moment she'd walked into his office, he'd been confronted with a surge of unexpected, and unwanted feelings. He hadn't recognized what he was dealing with in the beginning. Subconsciously he had, otherwise he would never have gone out of his way to ruin her weekends by assigning her duty four Friday nights running. It didn't take a psychiatrist's couch to figure that one. He'd been batting a thousand when her name was the first one that drifted into his mind when he learned a substitute coordinator was going to be needed for the physical fitness program.



In analyzing his deeds, Royce realized he was punishing Catherine. With just cause. The lieutenant commander was a constant thorn in his flesh, a reminder that he was a man with needs that refused to be denied any longer.



Unfortunately there was a good deal more at stake than satisfying a deep physical hunger. Catherine was under his command, which put pressure on them both. She was strictly off limits. Neither of them could afford to indulge in this attraction. It would only end up hurting them both. Their careers would suffer, and they'd both worked too damn hard to screw it up now over a few undisciplined hormones.



Dragging a fresh breath through his lungs, Royce closed his eyes and tried to push the picture of Catherine from his mind. He'd seen the emotions tearing at her in the parking lot, witnessed the pride-filled way in which she'd tilted her chin. Damn but the woman was proud. She apologized, accepting all the blame herself, although heaven knew everything she'd said was right. In that moment, he never respected a woman more. For her honesty, for her directness, for the fact she was willing to deal with whatever it was between them, lay it on the ground and call it what it was.



In those few words, heavy with meaning, Catherine had told him something he'd long suspected. Lieutenant Commander Catherine Fredrickson was a woman of substance. One so rare, one so beautiful, he didn't know what the hell he was going to do to get her out of his mind. All he knew was that he must succeed even if it meant requesting a transfer and uprooting Kelly from the only home she'd ever known.



Chapter Three



"Can we go to a movie, too?" Kelly asked, snapping her seat belt into place. They were on their way to the Kitsap Mall, where the all-important jacket was on sale. It was either buy his daughter the coat or ruin her life before the eyes of her peers. Royce couldn't remember clothes and shoes being so vital when he was in grade school, but the world was a hell of a lot different place when he was ten. "Dad?" Kelly pressed. "What about a movie?"



"Sure," he agreed easily enough. Why not? He'd been short-tempered all week, due mainly to the fact he was dealing with his feelings for Catherine. Kelly deserved a reward for putting up with his sour mood.



As for what was happening—or better said, what was not happening—between him and Catherine, Royce had rarely spent a more uncomfortable week. He couldn't walk into the office without being aware of her. Her presence was like a time bomb silently ticking in the corner of the room. Every now and again their eyes would meet and he'd be left to watch the emotions race across the landscape of her dark brown eyes. With everyone around them in the office, there hadn't been a problem. It was the evening run that tested his soul.



Every afternoon Royce told himself he wouldn't run. Every afternoon, like precision clockwork, he was



at the track, waiting for Catherine to arrive. They ran together, without speaking, without sharing, without looking at each other.



It was uncanny the comfort he found circling the track with the petite lieutenant commander at his side. The track was neutral ground, safe territory for them both. Those all-too-short minutes with Catherine were the reason he got out of bed in the morning, the reason he made it through the day.



When she smiled at him, Royce swore her eyes scored his heart. In the evenings when they'd finished jogging, Catherine would thank him for the workout and then silently return to her car. The moment she was out of sight, Royce was left feeling bereft. He hadn't realized what poor company a disciplined life-style could make, and what poorer company the long, lonely nights in an empty bed could be. The desolation was as powerful as a blow to his gut.



The evenings were another matter. He almost feared sleep because the moment he slipped into unconsciousness, Catherine filled his mind. She was soft and warm, and so real that all he had to do was reach out and draw her to his side. Royce would never have guessed his mind would play such cruel tricks on him. He was having trouble enough keeping Catherine at a distance, emotionally and physically. In sleep, his mind welcomed her, tormenting him with dreams he couldn't control. Dreams of Catherine running toward him on the beach, holding her arms out to him. Catherine feminine and soft in his embrace. Catherine laughing. Royce swore he never heard a sound more beautiful in all his life.



If there was anything to be grateful for, and it was damn little, it was the fact the dreams had never developed into anything even remotely physical between them.



In the mornings, Royce woke annoyed with himself, annoyed at Catherine for refusing to leave him alone and irritated with the world. With all the strength of his will, which was admittedly formidable, Royce pushed all thoughts of the lieutenant commander from his mind.



For as long as Catherine was under his command, all Royce could indulge himself in were involuntary dreams. He refused to allow himself the pleasure of recapturing the fantasy of him and Catherine alone together in quiet moments. Unhurried moments. With no demands. No deadlines. Moments when his heart and his soul were at rest.