"What?" Catherine was on her knees, the protective shield covering her nakedness long forgotten. She was so furious, she leaped to her feet and started traipsing across the mattress in giant steps. Leaping onto the carpet, she searched for something to cover herself with and grabbed a shirt of Royce's that was hanging in the closet. She jerked it so hard the hanger clattered to the floor.
It didn't help matters to have Royce casually sitting up in bed, propped against two fat pillows. "Is there a problem with that?"
"You're damn right there is."
"Then why don't we sit down like two civilized people and discuss this rationally."
"Because," she cried, hands braced on her hips, "I'm too damn mad. I never dreamed...not once that you'd do something like this."
"Catherine, if you'd cool off for a moment we could talk this over rationally."
"I'm cool," she shouted, holding back her hair with both hands. "Answer me one thing."
"All right."
"Do you want a baby?" The whole world seemed to stop. It was as though their marriage, indeed their relationship, hung on a delicate balance, weighed by his answer.
"Yes," he whispered with enough feeling to convince her it was true. "I've tried to tell myself it didn't matter. That I'd leave everything up to you, but damn it, yes, I would like another child." He said it almost as if he were admitting to a weakness.
Catherine was so grateful, her knees weakened. "Oh, Royce, I do, too, so much."
"Apparently the communication between us isn't as good as I'd thought."
"Why are we arguing?" she asked softly.
He grinned. "I don't know. Damn it, Catherine, I love you too much to fight with you."
"I'm glad to hear that." The long-sleeved shirt she'd so hastily donned silently slipped to the floor. With
an unhurried ease, she walked over to the side of the bed, her head held high and proud. "As far as I'm concerned the sooner we make a baby the better, don't you think?"
"Catherine?" Royce sounded unsure, which wasn't like him.
"I want to make love." She sat on the edge of the mattress and sought his mouth, kissing him so lightly that their lips barely touched.
Royce groaned, grabbed her by the hair and plunged his tongue deeply into the moist hollow of her mouth. The kiss was so hot it threatened to blister them both.
"We need to finish our talk first," he murmured breathlessly, but even while he was speaking, he was kissing her. He groaned and shook his head. "Catherine... we can't do this."
"Later... We'll talk later."
"I don't think that would be a good idea." He firmly grabbed hold of both her wrists in an attempt to push her back, but the maneuver didn't work. Instead of fighting, she leaned into him, taking full advantage of the fact his hands were occupied. Murmuring words of love and sexual need, she seduced him. Whispering to him between kisses, she told him all the things she planned to do for him. All the things they'd do for each other.
"Catherine..." He didn't sound nearly so insistent as before. "I don't...we need to talk before we do any thing... first."
"If that's what you really want," she whispered, taking his earlobe between her teeth and biting lightly. "Touch me," she pleaded softly. "Oh, Royce...I need you so much."
His hold on her wrist slackened. "Catherine, I don't mink it would be a good idea—"
"I do..." She was kneeling over him, her thighs spread wide, anticipating the contact, knowing it would play havoc with them both. This was what she wanted, what she needed.
Royce hesitated; his face was hard, his eyes closed, blocking her out, because that was the only way he had of resisting her. The power she felt was strong enough to intoxicate her.
Neither moved. Neither breathed. The pleasure was too intense for either. There was no beginning. No end. The pleasure, once it started, only grew better. The joy burst forth in Catherine's heart until it filled every ounce, every pore of her being.
Joy. Pleasure. The tenderness so sweet it was violent. The beauty of their lovemaking transcending anything she had ever experienced.
When they'd finished, Royce cradled her in his arms. Neither spoke. After what seemed like forever, Royce reached for the blankets, covering them both. His arms held her close, nestling her head against his hard chest. He kissed the crown of her head, and whispered that they would talk in the morning.
Morning. Catherine's eyes slowly drifted open, and she snuggled against Royce's cozy warmth. He must have sensed that she was awake, because he ran his hand over the top of her head, smoothing her hair.
"Are you going to argue with me again?" he whispered.
"That depends on how unreasonable you intend on being," she said, rolling onto her back and arching her body, yawning. "I'm...sorry about last night." She was embarrassed now at the brazen way in which she'd come at him. Using their physical need for each other as a weapon to twist his will was not a tactic she'd ever intended to employ. But he'd made her so furious, she hadn't been thinking properly.
"I want a child, Royce," she told him, her voice low and determined.
"It's not a problem," he assured her, "as long as you're out of the Navy."
His stubbornness stunned her. "Why should I be the one to give up my commission?" she asked, in what she hoped was a reasonable tone. Her emotions were pitching around like a small rowboat upon a stormy ocean. The waves of righteousness slapped roughly against the sides. It was all so unfair. She had to make Royce understand that.
"How about if you give up your commission first?" she offered, hoping he'd see the foolishness of his logic.
He didn't answer her right away. "You agreed before we were married. We discussed it and—"
"We didn't," she denied vehemently.