Debbie Macomber: Navy Woman

Catherine was sure she hadn’t heard him correctly. Her eyes, which had been trained on the opposite wall, skirted to his. A breathless moment passed before she could speak, “You’re removing me from the physical fitness program?” She couldn’t have been more surprised had he announced he was working for the KGB.

“That’s what I just said.”

Catherine blinked, not knowing what to say. “Thank you, sir,” she finally managed.

“That will be all,” he said, dismissing her.

She hesitated. She’d wanted to apologize for her outburst from the day before, but one look told her Royce wasn’t interested in listening to her list her excuses.

As it was, her knees were knocking so badly that she walked over to her desk, slumped into the chair and held on to the edge as though it were a lifeline.

Catherine didn’t see Royce for the remainder of the day, for which she was grateful. It gave her time to sort through her emotions, which were as confused and tangled as thin gold chains. She didn’t know what to make of the executive commander. Every time she had him figured out, he’d do something more to confuse her. Complicating the matter even further were her muddled feelings toward him. He was by far the most virile man she’d ever met. She couldn’t be in the same room with him and not experience that magnetism. Yet, she found herself intensely disliking him.

An early October drizzle moistened the air when Catherine walked out to the parking lot later that same afternoon. Rain, rain and more rain.

It was already dark, and her calf muscles were so sore she’d decided to skip running at the track. At least that was the excuse she’d given herself. How much truth there was to her rationale was something she’d prefer not to question.

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.