"If and when I marry," she felt obliged to explain, "it will be to a man who doesn't behave like a jealous idiot. Someone who demonstrates his love with a tad more finesse than to shout out a proposal in a ship's galley because he's afraid someone else might do it before he gets the chance. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to my stateroom." With that she stalked away.
To her dismay, Royce followed her down the long, narrow passageway. He was so close behind her, Catherine feared he was about to step on her heels. She hadn't a clue what he intended to say or how far he planned on following her. Outside her quarters, she vaulted around and confronted him. "You wanted to say something?" she demanded.
"You're damn right I do." In all the time Catherine had worked with Royce, she'd never seen him like this, as though he'd been driven to the very limit of his endurance.
"Might I suggest we discuss this at a more appropriate time, Commander," she said, her voice bordering on impertinence. She'd gone about as far as she dared with Royce, but she couldn't, wouldn't allow him to pull rank on her with an issue that was strictly personal.
"No, you may not." After looking both ways, he opened the door to her quarters and gently pushed her inside.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" she insisted.
Royce didn't answer her. Instead he backed her against the bulkhead. His large, muscular hands settled over her shoulders, dragging her against him. Her struggles were of little good against his superior strength. Arching her back was a mistake as well. It only served to bring the lower half of her body in intimate contact with his. She was about to cry out in protest when his mouth smothered hers, his lips ruthlessly grinding over hers. Immediately his tongue was there, flickering softly over her lips, coaxing them open. Catherine fought him, fought herself for as long as she could hold out, which was a humiliatingly short time. With tears crowding her eyes, she parted her lips, welcoming the intrusion of his tongue, meeting it with her own. Royce groaned when she opened to him, and her moans of outrage and anger quickly became soft cries of bliss.
"Royce!" she cried, jerking her head to one side. Her shoulders heaved with the effort. "Are you crazy?"
"Yes." He didn't bother to deny it. Gradually he released her and took a moment to compose himself.
"I have no excuse for this. Forgive me, Catherine." No sooner had the words been spoken when he was gone, leaving her to wonder if anyone had witnessed him coming out of her quarters.
Marilyn Fredrickson moved around the kitchen, her silk robe knotted at her trim waist. As Catherine watched her mother, she was struck anew by what an attractive woman Marilyn was. Petite, beautiful and intuitive, far more intuitive than Catherine remembered.
Marilyn brought the coffeepot around the kitchen counter where Catherine was sitting on a high stool. She, too, was dressed in her housecoat, her hair mussed. Catherine loved her mother's kitchen more every time she came to visit. It was painted a light shade of cheery yellow, with bright sunlight spilling in from the three skylights overhead. The counters were white with a huge wicker basket of dried flowers decorating the corner.
"So are you going to tell me about him?" Marilyn asked, slipping onto the stool next to Catherine.
She hadn't mentioned a word about Royce. Her flight from Seattle had landed late the night before. Her mother and Norman had picked her up at the airport, and they'd driven directly to the condo in San Francisco's refurbished Marina District. Catherine and her mother had stayed up half the night, but all the talk had evolved around her mother and Norman. Not once had Catherine mentioned Royce.
"About who?" she asked innocently, not sure even now she could talk about him.
Her mother's smile was chiding. She raised the coffee cup to her lips and took a sip, then sighed. "I remember the day Norman asked me to marry him. It wasn't the first time, mind you, but he hadn't pressed me in more than a year. I asked for more time, the way I always do. Ever the gentleman, Norman accepted that, but then he said something he never had before. He said he loved me, and always would, but he explained that a man only has so much patience. He was tired of living his life alone, tired of dreaming of having me for his wife one day. Then he asked me if I truly loved him."
"You do." Catherine already knew the answer to that.
"Of course I do, I have for years." Marilyn paused once more for another drink of her coffee, which gave her time to compose her thoughts, it seemed. "That night as I was getting ready for bed, I stood in front of the bathroom mirror to remove my makeup. As I stared at my reflection I realized there was a certain look about me, a certain...I hesitate to use this word, readiness."
"Readiness," Catherine repeated.
"Yes. Right then and there I realized what a fool I'd been to wait so many years to marry Norman. The time was right to accept his proposal, it had been right for a good long while, only I hadn't realized it. I couldn't even wait until morning, I phoned him right then." Her lips quivered gently with a smile. "I took one look at you this morning, Catherine, and there's a certain look about you not unlike the one I saw in myself."
"Readiness?" Catherine joked.
"No, not that. You have the look of a woman in love, but one who doesn't know what she's going to do. Do you want to talk about it?"
"I...don't know." Catherine had left for California shortly after her return to Bangor from the Venture. She hadn't seen Royce in three days prior to her departure, nor had she spoken to him since that one horrible night aboard the Navy vessel. Every time she thought about Royce's marriage proposal, she was forced to wade through a mine field of negative emotions, each one threatening to explode in her face.
Her mother was watching her closely, and Catherine realized she owed her some explanation. "There are difficulties."
"Is he married?"
Her startled gaze flew to Marilyn's. "Nothing that drastic."
"I take it he's in the Navy?"
Catherine nodded. "That's the problem. He's the executive officer, my boss."
Her mother knew what that meant without Catherine needing to explain it. The dark brown eyes narrowed slightly. "Oh, Catherine, sweetie, you do like to live dangerously, don't you?"
"It wasn't like I planned to fall in love with him," she cried, defending herself. No one in their right mind would purposely put themselves through this torment.
"Does he return your feelings?"
"I think so." After the night he'd met her on the dirt road, Catherine was convinced she'd never question the way he felt about her. Then he'd pulled that stunt aboard the Venture and she was left sinking with doubts.
"You think so?" Marilyn repeated slowly, thoughtfully. It seemed her mother was incredulous that Catherine wouldn't know something this important.
"He loves me," she amended.
"He just has a difficult time showing it?"
"Exactly." Catherine replayed the latest incident and how he'd followed her into her cabin. It had been a foolish risk that might have cost them both dearly.
"I take it you rejected his marriage proposal?"
"Of course I did. He asked for all the wrong reasons."
"But if he asked for all the right ones, what would you have said?"
"Honest to God truth?" Catherine asked.
"Honest to God truth."
"Yes. In a heartbeat. Oh, Mom, I'm so crazy about this guy—I don't know what's right anymore. I never dreamed I'd defy Navy regulations. It's simply not done. Yet here we are so crazy in love we're acting like complete idiots, risking our careers and our reputations and everything else I always thought was so important...I still think is important."
"I know Royce was upset that I'd been assigned to accompany him on the Venture. He'd wanted this time apart to gain some perspective about us and our relationship. At least I assume that was what he intended. Then I was ordered to accompany him, and it made everything much worse. Everything seems to be working against us."
"What's going to happen when you return?"
Catherine sighed and slowly shook her head. "I wish I knew."
"Royce...that's his name?" At Catherine's nod, Marilyn continued. "He'll have the time you seem to think he needs."
"But, Mom," Catherine said, feeling more miserable than ever, "if he does decide it would be best for us to marry, it won't help matters any. We'd both continue to paddle in the same leaky boat as before."
"But if. you marry Royce, won't you give up the Navy?"
"No," she cried vehemently. "Why should I? I love the military. I'm not about to relinquish an eleven-year investment just because I happen to fall in love. And getting out of the Navy isn't all that easy, either. It takes up to a year, unless I were to find myself pregnant."
Marilyn's eyebrows shot toward her hairline.
"Oh, Mother, honestly. There's no possibility."
"I'm sorry, sweetie, it's just that I'd love to have grandchildren someday."
"I'll do my best—someday."
Marilyn rested her elbows on the counter and released an elongated sigh. "I hadn't realized getting out of the Navy would be such a hassle."
"I'm not leaving the Navy," Catherine reinforced.
"So what's going to happen?"
Her mother asked the question as though Catherine kept a crystal ball in her pocket and consulted it regularly. "The only thing either one of us can do is put in a request for a transfer."
"But you just moved to Bangor from Hawaii."
"I know. It isn't likely the Navy will look favorably upon shipping me elsewhere anytime soon."
"What about Royce? Can he put in a request?"
Catherine bit into her lower lip. It was a thought she'd entertained often, although she'd never spoken to Royce about it. "Yes, but I don't know that he will. He's been stationed at Bangor for several years now, and he'd hate to uproot Kelly. It's the only home she's ever known. Of course there's always the chance he'd be reassigned to one of the other commands in the Puget Sound area. We can hope, of course."
"Kelly? Who's Kelly?"
Catherine doubted that her mother had heard anything beyond the point that she'd mentioned Royce's daughter's name. "His daughter. She's ten and oh, Mom, she is such a delight. We get along so well.
She's just at the age where she's discovering what it means to be a girl. It all started with me painting her fingernails when she was hurt in an accident. We've gotten so close. The last time we met, Kelly wanted her hair cut, so I took her to a salon and stood over the hairdresser like an old mother hen. When she'd finished, Kelly looked so cute."
"You're spending a lot of time with her, I take it?"
"As much as I can," Catherine said, and hesitated. "You're wearing that worried look again."
"I can't help it," Marilyn murmured. "I don't want to see you get hurt."
"I won't," Catherine assured her with more confidence than she was feeling. "Now quit being such a worrywart. This is your wedding day, and I certainly don't want you looking all serious and somber fretting about me." Catherine took a sip of her coffee and glanced at her watch. "Oh, my goodness," she said, sliding off the stool. "Look at the time! We've got to get ready, or you'll be late for your own wedding. Norman will never forgive me."