Shielder — A new Science Fiction Romance (Book 1, Shielder Series) by Catherine Spangler

unnerved by his massive
presence. "I didn't do anything wrong."
    "I disagree. I told you to stay away from
the computer, and you ignored me. It would simplify my life
considerably to put you in the brig and leave you there. But I've
decided to give you one more chance. I will have your
word—again—that you'll observe the rules of this ship. And you will
not touch the computer without my consent. Understood?"
    She nodded slowly, sensing her seizure had
somehow tempered his decision. "Understood, Captain."
    "Good." He rose and strode to the panel in
two steps.
    "Captain McKnight." She scrambled off the
bunk, spurred by a strange need to express her gratitude. He turned
as she stumbled toward him. His hand shot out, grabbing her elbow
and steadying her. The scowl returned to his face.
    "Don't you have the good sense to stay put
until the effects of the seizure and medicine wear off?"
    Nessa started to deny any after-effects, but
he cut her off with an angry wave of his hand. "I know, I know.
There's nothing wrong with you. You just like to rest in the
middle of the corridor."
    His vehemence surprised her. Except for
Jarek, no one had shown any concern for her welfare. Not her own
people, her father, or even the woman who had given birth to her.
But this man had. Hesitantly, she placed her hand on his arm. He
tensed. Her hand looked small against the swell of his forearm. She
raised her gaze to unfathomable gray eyes.
    "Thank you," she whispered, her throat
strangely tight. She wasn't sure exactly what she was thanking him
for—rescuing her from a stranded ship, treating her seizures,
sparing Turi, providing food, or not imprisoning her. She only knew
he'd done more for her in one day than family and friends had done
in a lifetime. "Thank you, Captain McKnight."
    A myriad of emotions swept through his eyes.
"Chase," he growled after what seemed an interminable silence.
    "What?"
    "My first name is Chase. I don't expect
formality during off-duty hours. When we're in the cockpit, during
work shifts, I'm Captain McKnight to you. But at meals and off
duty, call me Chase."
    His husky voice wrapped around her like a
warm cloak. She took a step closer, inexplicably drawn to him.
"All, right…Chase."
    He inhaled sharply, his arm stiffening again
beneath her hand. She felt his tension increasing, although she
couldn't imagine what she'd done to anger him now. But his eyes
weren't cold as he stared down at her. They were molten, like
melted silver.
    He released her elbow, his hand sliding up
her arm and over her shoulder. The breath froze in her lungs as he
captured an unruly lock of hair near her chin and rubbed it between
his fingers. Strange sensations skittered through her body.
    He stopped abruptly, clenching his hand into
a fist by his side. She stepped back, her heart palpitating an
uncomfortable rhythm. All at once, the small cabin seemed much too
crowded, much too warm.
    She backed into the bunk. Her knees
collapsed, and she sank down. Chase spun toward the entry. Her
muddled senses cleared as he opened the panel, jarred to alert
status by the memory of what she'd seen on the computer.
    "Captain McKni—Chase, wait."
    He pivoted, his expression fierce.
"What?"
    She knotted her hands in her lap. "Why did
the computer say we're headed for Saron?"
    His eyes glinted coldly. "Because we
are."
    The distance between them slammed back into
place. Nothing had been resolved. Just the exchange of more
meaningless words. "But what about Intrepid? You said—"
    "I said you would reach Intrepid in due
time," he interrupted. "That means by my time schedule—when I
decide. No one questions my decisions on this ship." His frigid
expression warned her against challenging him.
    Nessa heeded the warning. At least for
now.
     
    * * * *
     
    Morning shift came and went, and still Nessa
didn't emerge from her cabin. He preferred it that way, Chase told
himself. The troublesome waif would only be underfoot. After the
way his unruly body had responded