by test
An abrupt change swept over him and he jerked back, once again the professional soldier.
His dark glance flashed to the loft. “What happened? Is something wrong?”
Laurie hid her relief and the faint twinge of disappointment that he did not kiss her, though her lips tingled from that slight contact.
“You were dreaming—woke me up. So I came down,” she said steadily.
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He looked at her, his piercing dark eyes holding her in place. “You didn’t have to,” he muttered. “I usually sleep though them.”
“Okay.” Oddly hurt, she turned away. He obviously wanted to be alone.
His light, tentative grasp of her forearm halted her. Her skin tingled again, warmed under his touch, and she shot him an uncertain glance.
“Don’t go.” He peered intently at her, his words a hoarse whisper as he released her. “I don’t want to dream anymore.”
That vulnerable admission was her undoing. She scooted a little closer. She didn’t touch him, though she longed to feel his skin under her fingers. She tried to relax but images flitted through her mind; his hard body covering hers; the light touch of his fingers on her skin. Her whole system exploded in a kind of excited anticipation. Lightheaded, she forced herself to concentrate on him rather than her reaction to him.
“Nightmares are a way of life. It goes with the job.” He shrugged but the pain deep in his eyes tugged at her heart.
“But you don’t like it,” she surmised gently, quelling the urge to stroke his tousled hair from his face. “What were you dreaming?”
“I don’t know,” he muttered but averted his gaze from hers. “It was horrible. I don’t want to remember.”
Suspecting a lie, she took his hand in hers. “Sometimes it helps to talk about it.”
His eyes narrowed as he glared at her. “I don’t want to talk about it,” he snapped. “What are you—a psychiatrist?”
“All right,” she conceded, louder than she intended, again oddly stung by his reticence.
“Then don’t. And I’m a romance writer not a shrink. Didn’t your investigation tell you that?”
She had not realized it consciously but Laurie resented the government’s intrusion into her life, her privacy. He blinked, leaned closer, and studied her. She squirmed as though under a microscope.
“A romance writer,” he echoed in disbelief. “I don’t believe it.” He cleared his throat with a harsh rumble. “No, you weren’t investigated that I know of. I wasn’t interested in you.”
She jerked her hand from his and stubbornly defended her career. “I’m quite successful.”
“I guess you believe in love stories,” he derided, a cynical twist to his lips.
“I can be as romantic as the next person,” she admitted defiantly. “I do not believe love conquers all. If it did, I wouldn’t be here.”
He merely looked at her. Laurie took his silence for cynical agreement. He yawned behind his hand and she moved away.
“You should get some sleep,” she suggested gently and turned to leave him.
“Stay,” he simply, plainly, without touching her.
She turned slowly back to him. The tragedy in his eyes twisted her heart and turned automatic denial into uncertainty. Though his face remained blank, his eyes pleaded with her.
Reluctant, uncertain why she gave into him but afraid of what she might be getting into, she slid under the blanket beside him.
His body heat enveloped her and she shuddered, but not from anxiety. She wrapped her arms around him, his head on her breast, and comforted him as she would her daughter. She moved her hand, her fingers gliding through his thick silky hair. His deep sigh of relief brought a gentle, though shaky, smile to her lips.
* * * *
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A short time later Damien grunted in his sleep and Laurie slowly opened her eyes. The gray light of early dawn peeked through the windows. Damien’s arm lay across her stomach, a heavy but not uncomfortable layer of extra warmth under the blanket. It was a curiously pleasant sensation and for a brief instant she wanted it to last forever.
He snuggled, pulling her closer as he tightened his embrace. His deep even breathing caressed her ear. His chest pressed into her back with each slow rise and fall. She shifted slightly, felt the brush of his hairy muscular leg against hers and drowned in the sensations. There was something completely, decadently luxurious about snuggling with Damien in bed during the early, cozy dawn. Trapped by his strength but strangely secure, she sighed deeply and pulled the blankets to her chin. Closing her eyes, she tried to go back to sleep.
The arm holding her shifted. His hand covered her breast. A startled gasp escaped her but her nipple tingled and tightened. His fingers lightly squeezed that nipple to a hard bud. Electric jolts of pure pleasure shot through her. A long forgotten sensation tripled her heart rate and sent hot blood surging into her veins--desire. He was man. She was woman. And she wanted him.
He moved until she lay under him, his hand on her breast. She stared into his passion-glazed eyes. Dangerous thrills spiraled through her. Her lips parted on a silent inhale of breath.
His mouth covered hers, dominating her senses and demanding a response. Powerless to resist abruptly reawakened passions, Laurie kissed him back without restraint. He nudged her legs apart with his knee, hair-roughened skin sliding erotically over silky smooth skin. A raging flame threatened to consume her. Alarm bells clamored in her head. What the hell am I doing? This is insane! His kisses devastated, destroyed, logic and she struggled to hang onto self-preservation.
Then why does it feel so damn good, a tiny inner voice goaded? Why are you enjoying it so much?
Damien dragged his mouth from hers, his lips sliding along the curve of her jaw. Her knees went weak. But self-preservation, fueled by fear, prevailed.
“Stop!” Laurie commanded, drawing a ragged, panicked breath as she pushed him away.
She scooted to the edge of the bed, struggled to control her breathing and her traitorous body’s senses. Damien rolled to his back, chest heaving, to stare at the ceiling. When he said nothing, Laurie bolted from the bed and turned to flee, the blanket bunched in her arms like a protective shield.
“It won’t happen again.”
No explanations. No excuses. He didn’t even offer an apology, just that impersonal declaration. Laurie attempted to shrug it off, put on her pride like a cloak, and walked stiffly up the stairs. Why did his declaration bother her? After all, she wanted, needed, him to leave her alone. Didn’t she?
Several minutes later, she went back down wearing loose-fitting jeans and an old faded T-shirt. Her long brown hair swung in its usual ponytail while she pushed small tendrils from her face. Her bare feet made no sound as she rummaged and rattled around the kitchen. The aromas of bacon, eggs, and coffee soon filled the cabin. She turned her back on Damien, struggling to ignore him and his early morning passion.
Sounds reached her ears. The creak of the flimsy bedsprings and the rustle of bedclothes drew an involuntary nervous glance over her shoulder. He sat up and the blanket dropped to his waist. Keenly aware of his bare chest, she wanted to touch him, to smooth her hands over all that glorious muscle. She still felt his electrifying touch—his hands on her breasts, his mouth on hers.
She tensed under his penetrating stare as he tracked her every move around the kitchen.
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Stacy rustled around in the loft and Laurie fled to help her daughter dress, glad to have a few minutes respite from Damien’s dynamic, unnerving presence. When she returned, Stacy in tow, Damien sat at the table with a cup of coffee. He had dressed in black jeans and an old black sweatshirt with the sleeves ripped off, showing every rippling muscle in his arms as he moved.
He looked so ruggedly, gloriously primitive, she stifled a groan of pure desire. His jet-blac
k hair was combed, a few unruly strands curling around his ears. Brown eyes sparkled as he grinned at Stacy. She smiled brightly at him as she slid into the chair beside Laurie.
Laurie ate several bites, though everything tasted like sawdust and sipped her coffee before she looked across the table at Damien.
“Are we totally isolated here?” she asked in an effort to keep her mind off her newly rediscovered sex drive.
He glanced up from his plate. Though he didn’t smirk, a faint hint of amusement twinkled in his eyes.
“Not quite,” he replied. “I have a short-wave radio for necessary communication. And my men are in the woods.”
Disconcerted that he read so easily everything she wanted to keep hidden, Laurie tensed under his piercing regard. She noticed a brief puzzling flicker in his eyes, followed by a blank expression. A quick glance out the window revealed nothing except trees and shadows in the sunny morning.
“Where in the woods?”
“Don’t worry. We have plenty of privacy.” He paused, his eyes full of speculation as his gaze lingered on her. “I have to place a call after breakfast so you’ll have to go outside. It’s classified.”
Laurie arched an eyebrow in an expression that indicated she thought the time for secrecy had passed. However, she merely nodded acknowledgement and they finished breakfast in silence.
After she cleaned the kitchen, Laurie took Stacy outside, giving Damien his requested privacy. Though she had no other option, she did not want to be isolated with Damien for an undetermined period of time. Her peace of mind was threatened by something other than terrorists. How long could she hold her physical attraction at bay? He so obviously returned that attraction. He had aroused a desire in her that left her breathless and wanting, a desire stronger than any she had ever felt.
“Mommy,” Stacy broke into her thoughts. “There’s nothing to do here.”
Laurie sighed softly and grinned affectionately at her daughter as she wondered what to do about Damien. But children are never idle long. Laurie soon trailed after Stacy as she explored the small clearing. Discovering a tree near the side window, Stacy climbed it in a flash.
Laurie laughed but kept a sharp eye on her daughter as she moved from branch to branch like a monkey.
“Come up here, Mommy!” Stacy yelled enthusiastically from above her head.
“Absolutely
not,”
Laurie
replied firmly. “No way.”
“Laurie,” Damien spoke quietly behind her.
Startled, gasping, she jumped and spun around to face him. “You scared me to death,”
she accused trying to catch her breath as her heart pounded in her chest.
He glanced at her heaving breasts and she made a determined effort to control her breathing.
“Sorry,” he muttered, lifting his gaze to her eyes. “I need to talk to you.”
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She blinked at his serious expression and nodded slowly, her mouth dry with the sudden anxiety in the pit of her stomach.
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Chapter Three
“What about?” she demanded anxiously as she followed Damien back into the cabin.
She yanked a chair from under the table and sat down and gripped the edge of the seat so tightly her knuckles ached. She shot glance out the window at Stacy still playing in the tree then looked back at Damien.
“As of two days ago, Crawford was still very much alive,” he stated tersely, “and still smuggling.” His face hardened and his eyes turned to brittle chocolate.
Laurie gaped at him. It was all still unbelievable despite the evidence she had seen with her own eyes. One day her father was dead—the next he was a very much a live terrorist. Fate demanded too much of her. She could not change the illusions of a lifetime in just a day.
“Laurie.” Damien snapped his fingers and she blinked. “Did your mother ever tell you anything besides that he was dead?”
“No.” She shook her head on a wave of anguish. “I never even saw a picture. You people know more about him than I do.”
And it isn’t supposed to be that way, she thought bitterly. Her father still lived. New feelings of abandonment and anger replaced the old sorrow and loneliness. Bitterness only scraped the surface.
“Where is he?” she demanded abruptly, clenching her fists at her sides.
“I don’t know.” Damien, his voice harsh and his expression unyielding, admitted.
“They’ve moved. We don’t know where they went.”
Laurie watched him, her hands once more curled around the edge of the seat. Barely controlled fury emanated from him. He gripped the back of a chair so hard tendons stood out on the backs of his hands and his knuckles turned white. Laurie instinctively flinched back from his fury and eyed him nervously. He stood ramrod straight, every muscle rigid, and glared at her.
Anger blazed in his eyes.
Her voice barely above a whisper, she dared ask, “What happened?”
He did not reply immediately so she let the silence linger and tore her anxious stare from him to watch Stacy through the window.
“I don’t know,” Damien finally ground out through clenched teeth, “but when I find out--
.” He broke off, forcing the rage down. There had been a breakdown in communication and his source had disappeared. He could not tell Laurie that but if he had to train her to fight, he would damn well make sure she fought well. Without current knowledge of the terrorists’ movements, they had to be ready for anything. He was damned if he would be caught flat-footed with an untrained civilian on his hands, especially since Laurie had to play a part in the capture of Crawford.
“Damien.”
Her tentative tone broke into his thoughts and he focused on her. Her face pale, she regarded him solemnly. Fear lurked in the depths of her eyes despite her best efforts to hide it.
He blinked, almost surprised. She was beautiful. Just looking at her was a sucker punch to his ALWAYS A WARRIOR Patricia Bruening
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hormones. She tangled him in knots without even trying. Watching her, he shoved lust aside and wondered if she was up to the violent confrontation awaiting them. He remembered what she had done to the terrorist they removed from her house and smiled grimly.
“What now?” she asked quietly. Only the slight waver in her voice betrayed her apprehension.
“I teach and you learn.” His expression tolerated no argument.
“Learn
what?”
“To fight and to kill,” he shot back harshly, glaring at her.
Silence descended around them. Laurie detected no compromise in his rigid demeanor.
He meant every word he said. His sharp glare pinned her in place, though his face somehow remained expressionless. She forced herself to look out the window at her daughter, her reason for living and the only reason to follow every one of Damien’s orders.
Stacy had left the tree to chase a butterfly across the clearing. She stopped at the edge of the woods, shoulders slumped in disappointment, and then trudged back to the cabin. Laurie sighed. If only her world could be as simple as her daughter’s. She looked back at Damien and squirmed under his intense stare.
The situation suddenly overwhelmed her. Terrorists—her father was still alive.
Conflicting emotions flooded her. My father is still alive! The thought pounded in her skull.
Elation, anger, and fear fought inside her. He was alive, all right, and dragging her and Stacy into his violent, traitorous world. Screams bubbled in her throat but her father was not there to scream at. Without a single word, she fled to the loft to sort out her thoughts and emotions and the tangle of lies and illusions her life had become.
Tears streamed from her eyes but she made no effort to stop them. She buried her face in the pillow and sobbed in silent heartache. Sorrow and abandonment ran their twisted courses.
“Laurie,” Damien said softly as the mattress dipped under his weight. “Are you okay?”
She rolled onto her back and looked up at him through her tears. “I will be.” She sniffled and swiped a trembling hand over her eyes. “I’m so confused. Why all the lies?”
“I don’t know. You’ll have to ask your mother.” He took her shaking hands in his. His thumb rubbed idle circles over her wrist.
Her heart skipped a beat as she met his dark gaze. His touched warmed her heart and soothed her soul.
“Come here,” he ordered softly as he tugged her up until her breasts grazed his chest.
All too aware of him, Laurie knew she should move away, but she did not want to. She inched closer and his presence enveloped her. Heat radiated from him to warm her cold heart.