blue eyes stared right at him. That he could remember when they were cloudy and opaque with lust really ticked him off. "You can't order me to do anything," he said. Or rather, gasped. "We're not working at the moment." Her jaw tightened, but she didn't break stride. "I should have known. You're going to be a male chauvinist pig about this." "What?" "You can't work for a woman, right?" "Ha!" he gasped, but then had to go quiet to concentrate on getting oxygen to his poor body. "I can work for a woman. And—" And he was fresh out of air. "I'm...not...a...pig." "Male chauvinist pig." Okay, now she was trying to rile him, but before he could accuse her of that, she slowed, then finally stopped. Ignoring him, she went about a series of stretches to cool down, while Mike just concentrated on staying conscious. He found himself watching her as she spread her legs, then bent over, her palms flat on the ground. For just a moment, her shorts tightened across her tight, curvy butt and his hands actually itched to touch. How was it that he hadn't noticed what incredible shape she was in? He couldn't believe it, but she was actually in better shape than he was, and he was pretty damn fit. "Look," she said, suddenly straightening and looking him right in the eye, somehow managing to stare down her nose at him at the same time, even though she was nearly a foot shorter than he. "I can see you're going to have problems working under me, but get over it. You're our third and last choice. There is no one else. I won't compromise the mission." He didn't know whether to be flattered or insulted, so he brilliantly stood there like an idiot. "Your reputation precedes you," she continued, blowing a strand of hair out of her face that dared defy its confines. "Both in and out of the space shuttle. I'm well aware of your profile, but I didn't expect to have problems so soon." He blinked and straightened, breathing trouble and screaming muscles forgotten. "Excuse me? Problems?" She just looked at him. "Are you referring to the fact that we've been naked together?" he asked bluntly. That chin of hers thrust even higher into the air, and she pointed at him. "And I want you to stop that." "Stop what, exactly?" "Referring to... you know." "Being naked?" he asked, feeling wicked and angry, which didn't make a very good combination. "Or having sex?" She whirled and walked away. Because she was moving along at a good clip, and because he couldn't walk without whimpering, he let her go. But they still weren't finished, not by a long shot. THE TEAM SPENT THE DAY in the water simulator, working some of the experiments they'd be taking up with them. Although heavy equipment was weightless in space, it still wasn't easy to move around. Corrine knew the general public had no idea how strong an astronaut had to be. To relocate a large mass, which described all of their equipment, you had to apply a large force, taking care to exert it precisely or the object would twist and turn uncontrollably. An equally large, well-directed, controlled force was required to stop any motion. In other words, brute strength. Even something as simple as trying to screw a bolt into a piece of equipment required finesse. That sort of maneuver couldn't be done while floating in the cabin. Anchors were needed, or footholds, in order to apply force, which required special techniques, special tools, special processes, and often the coordinated efforts of a teammate. Everything, even the easiest of tasks, had to be practiced over and over and over again. One of the biggest challenges they faced was that a true space environment couldn't be simulated exactly on earth. Hence the "SIMs" in large bodies of water, with astronauts in scuba gear. It was the closest they could come to the real experience, even with today's vast technological advances. Corrine climbed into bed that night, thinking things had gone well. That is, if she discounted the dark, questioning looks she'd gotten at
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