They'd shared something on that running track, a camaraderie, an understanding and appreciation for each other. Catherine didn't expect warm embraces, but she hadn't expected him to regard her so impersonally. Apparently she'd read more into their talk than he intended.

That was her first mistake, and Catherine feared she was ready to commit mistake number two.

Squaring her shoulders, she traipsed down the hillside to the running track. She was later this evening than she had been the night before. No thanks to Commander Nyland. For the past two hours she'd been reviewing files and charting progress as the substitute coordinator for the physical fitness program. Her eyes hurt, her shoulders ached and she was in no mood to lock horns with the executive officer, unless, of course, he started something first.

Catherine completed her warming-up exercises and joined the others circling the quarter-mile track. She needed to unwind, vent the frustration she felt over being assigned this extra duty, which was an imposition she didn't need. It seemed that the commander had seen fit to delegate CDO duty that Friday night to someone else. Lucky for that someone.

Her first lap was relaxed. Catherine liked to ease herself into running, starting off slow and gradually gain her momentum, peaking at about the second mile and finishing off the third in a relaxed stride.

Royce passed her easily on the first go-round. Catherine fully expected that he would. Once again she was impressed with the power and strength she felt as he shot past her. His skin was tan and his muscles bronzed. It was as if he were a living, moving work of art, perfect, strong and male. Her heart raced much faster than it should. A rush of sensation so powerful it nearly knocked her off her feet took her by surprise. On the heels of that emotion came another, one more potent than the first. Anger. He zoomed past her again and it was all she could do to hold herself back from charging ahead.

On the third lap she couldn't help herself, and she let loose, running as though she were in the Olympic time trial and this was her one and only chance to make the team.

The sense of satisfaction she gained leaping past Royce was enough to make her forget how hard she was pushing herself to maintain this stride.

The feeling of triumph was short-lived, as she knew it would be. Royce stepped up his pace and quickly charged around her. Then he slowed down and waited for her steps to join his.

"Good evening, Lieutenant Commander," he greeted, cordially enough.

"Commander." She wasn't in any mood to wish him a pleasant anything. Once again he'd managed to irritate her. No man had evoked such heated feelings from her, whether they be reasonable or unreasonable. It was all because of Royce Nyland that she'd been the one poring over a carload of files late into the afternoon.

Royce increased his stride, and Catherine struggled to keep even with him. She had the feeling that he could have left her to eat his dust at anytime, and was simply toying with her the way a cat enjoys playing with a cornered mouse. None of that seemed to matter as she pushed herself harder than ever.

After a couple of laps, Catherine sensed his amusement. No doubt she and her damnable pride were a keen source of entertainment to the obstinate executive officer.

Somehow Catherine managed to keep up with Royce for three complete laps, but she knew she couldn't continue the killing pace any longer. It was either drop out now or collapse. Catherine chose the former.

When she pulled back, slowed her pace to a fast walk, Royce raced ahead, then he surprised her by turning around and coming back. He kept his arms and feet in motion as he matched her speed.

"You all right?"

"Just ducky." She barely managed to breathe evenly, and prayed a sufficient amount of sarcasm leaked through to convey her mood.

A crooked smile slanted his mouth, his look cool and mocking. "Do you have a problem, Lieutenant Commander?"

"Off the record?" she asked, without hesitating. A month of frustration could no longer be contained, and she was bursting to let him know exactly what she thought of him.

"By all means."

Catherine might be digging herself in deeper than she dare, but her patience was shot. "Is there something about me that troubles you, Commander?" She didn't give him time to respond, but rushed ahead, "Because something's rotten in Denmark, and frankly, it isn't my problem.... It's yours."

"I don't treat you any differently than anyone else," Royce inserted smoothly.

"Like hell you don't," she shot back heatedly. Thankfully the others had left the track, which might or might not be a blessing.

"I don't see you assigning anyone else to stand duty four weeks straight. For some unknown reason you've chosen to destroy my weekends. I've spent eleven years in this man's Navy and I've never stood duty more than once a month. Until you were assigned my XO. Apparently you don't like me, Commander, and I demand to know why."

A nerve twitched in his lean, hard jaw. "On the contrary, I find your dedication to duty to be highly commendable."

Catherine didn't actually expect him to admit his dislike of her, but she wasn't willing to listen to his military rhetoric, either. "I suppose my dedication to duty is what made you decide to bless me with this plush job of coordinating the physical fitness program? Was that supposed to be a bonus for all the extra hours I put in on the Miller case? If so, find another way to thank me, would you?" She was trying to talk and draw in deep breaths at the same time and doubted that Royce could make out more than a few words.

Royce stiffened. "Is that all?"

"Not quite." She was only beginning to gain her momentum. "Off the record, Commander, I think you're a real jerk."

When she finished, Catherine was overwhelmed with a feeling of release. She started to tremble, but she wasn't sure if the shaking could be attributed to the fact she'd pushed herself physically to the point of collapse or that she'd stood on a military compound and shouted insults at her executive officer at the top of her lungs.

His look was impossible to read. The feeling in the pit of her stomach was decidedly uncomfortable.

"Is that a fact?" he demanded.

"Yes." Her voice wobbled with uncertainty, sounding as though it were coming from the bottom of a well. She drew in a deep breath, knowing she'd stepped over the boundaries of what should and shouldn't be said to a superior officer. The blood that seemed to have been pounding in her ears like ringing church bells suddenly went silent.

With her hands knotted into tight fists at her sides, she braced herself for the backlash. If she thought to clear the air, she was sadly mistaken. If she'd accomplished anything it was to sabotage her own career.

Royce didn't say anything for several moments, but the nerve in his jaw continued twitching. Then he nodded as though they'd casually been discussing the weather, turned and resumed running. Catherine was left standing alone to stare after him.

Catherine spent an uncomfortable night, tossing and turning and finally talking over her troubles with Sambo. To her way of thinking, Royce would either ignore her outburst or see to it that she was transferred to a Third World country. However he reacted, she would be getting exactly what she deserved. No one spoke to their XO the way she had. No one.

For hours she lay awake analyzing what had happened. After several soul-seeking sessions, she still didn't know what had caused her to get loose enough to say the things she did.

The following morning, Royce was already at his desk, behind closed doors when she arrived. She glanced cautiously toward his office. If there was a merciful God, then Commander Nyland would be willing to forget and forgive her outburst from the day before. She would apologize, grovel if need be, but leaving matters as they were was clearly unacceptable.

"Morning," she said gingerly to Elaine Perkins. "How's the great white hunter today?" she asked, hoping her secretary had had a chance to judge Royce's mood.

"Same as usual," Elaine told her, sipping coffee from a thick ceramic mug. Her voice drawled with a thick southern accent. "He asked me to send you into his office when you arrived."

Catherine felt the starch go out of her knees. "He asked to see me?"

"You heard me right. What are you looking so worried about? You haven't done anything, have you?"

"Nothing," Catherine whispered in reply. Nothing except stick her head in a noose and sling the other end of the rope over the highest branch in the tree.

Squaring her shoulders in her best military form, she walked across the office and knocked politely on the commander's door. When she was ordered to enter the room, she did so with her eyes focused straight ahead.

"Good morning, Lieutenant Commander."

"Sir."

"Relax, Catherine." He leaned back in his chair, his chin resting on folded hands as though he were still weighing his decision.

Relax, he'd told her to relax, only Catherine hadn't figured out how she was supposed to be at ease when her career was on the line. She hadn't joined the Navy like so many other women with her head in the clouds, seeking adventure, travel and a paid education. She knew from the beginning about the rigorous routine, the political infighting and the fact she'd be dealing with world-class chauvinists.

Nevertheless she loved being part of the Navy. She'd worked hard, and her efforts had been rewarded. Now this.

"Since our recent discussion I've been having second thoughts," Royce said flatly.

Catherine swallowed against the heaviness in her throat. She doubted if she could have spoken if she tried.

"From everything I've read about you, you have an excellent record." He leaned forward and closed her file. "Effective immediately, I'm removing you as the substitute coordinator of the physical fitness program, and assigning Lieutenant Johnson the duty."

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.