by test
“Come on, short stuff. Bedtime.”
He stood as Stacy darted around the table, planted a quick kiss on her mother’s cheek, and raced back. Damien swung her into his arms and carried her, squealing in delight, up to the loft.
Relieved to be left alone for a few minutes, Laurie pushed her chair back inch by aching inch. With a low groan, she forced her body to stand up. Moving was pure hell. Agony exploded in every muscle. Tears welled in her eyes but she blinked them away. Trembling, she staggered.
Her knees buckled and she clutched the table for support.
Like a silent miracle, Damien was there. She never heard him come down the stairs. He slipped an arm around her back and the other under her knees and lifted her effortlessly off the floor. She wrapped her arms around his neck and clung as he strode toward the sofa, where he ALWAYS A WARRIOR Patricia Bruening
39
lowered her with infinite care to the mattress. He crawled onto the bed and knelt beside her. She stared up at him and tried to roll away. Pain ripped her raw.
“Ow!” she moaned and lay back down. “No, Damien.” She shook her head wildly.
Agony stabbed her neck and her back. She bit back another groan.
“Laurie.” He expelled her name in a sharp breath. “If I had a tub here, I’d make you soak in it. But all I can do is a full body rub. Strip.”
“Damien!” she protested in disbelief.
“If I don’t you won’t be able to move tomorrow, let alone sleep tonight. It will only get worse,” he insisted, his expression unrelenting, despite the sardonic gleam in his eyes. “Don’t worry. I won’t ravish you.”
Sitting up, she groaned and flushed hot at his perception then struggled to take off her shoes. Impatient now, he shoved her fumbling hands aside and deftly removed her shoes and socks.
“I’ll be right back. Get your clothes off.” He disappeared into the tiny bathroom that held only a toilet, sink, and small shower.
Amid grunts and groans, her fingers trembling, she slid off her jeans and pulled her Tshirt over her head. Still in sports bra and panties, she rolled onto her stomach. The mattress dipped and the springs creaked under Damien’s weight. He knelt beside her with an open tube of mentholated muscle rub cream. Strong enough to nearly clear her sinuses, the menthol aroma teased her nostrils.
“Works better without clothes,” he said ironically.
“Improvise,” she shot back weakly. His knee pressed against her hip and his thigh snuggled with hers.
“Afraid?” he taunted.
She said nothing, more afraid of herself than him. He didn’t move and Laurie wondered what he read in her silence. Then the mattress shifted again.
“This is going to hurt at first,” he warned and straddled her hips. He kept his weight off her but warm denim brushed her bare skin.
“Can’t hurt more than it already does,” she countered breathlessly.
He moved her hair aside, exposing the back of her neck. The sharp smell of eucalyptus stung her nose and made her eyes water as his hands covered her shoulders. She flinched, as much from his touch as the lingering throb in her muscles. With fingertips only, he slid the straps of her bra down her upper arms. His palms pressed into her flesh, kneading and prodding. White-hot pain lanced through her. She nearly screamed in agony but clamped her teeth on her lower lip. Tears filled her eyes and she buried her face in the pillow beneath her.
His hands moved lower, slow and sure, pressing and kneading. Sharp bursts of pain exploded everywhere he touched. It took every ounce of will power she possessed not to scream or swear at him. She did mentally curse him to hell and prayed the agony would end soon. But gradually his firm, patient fingers worked magic. His hands glided over her skin, wreaked havoc on her senses, and lulled her into a pleasantly drowsy state. Enjoying his touch, she didn’t want him to stop.
Gripping her shoulder, he rolled her to her back and started all over again. But the pain was gone, his touch more sensual. Eyes closed, she concentrated on the pure pleasure of his hands roaming over her. He shifted position, his denim-clad thighs sliding along her bare legs.
His hands bracket her ribcage, his thumbs just touching the undersides of her breasts. His touch scorched her skin through the thin cotton of her bra.
ALWAYS A WARRIOR Patricia Bruening
40
“That’s enough.” He stopped abruptly, his words harsh as he jerked his hands from her heated flesh.
Her eyes snapped open and she peered up at him. Desire smoldered deep in his dark eyes and she flushed, filled with pure feminine triumph at putting that hunger in his eyes. He moved off her, glared at her, but said nothing. Cool air across her stomach jerked her back to reality. She swallowed the sudden nervous lump in her throat as his stark gaze raked over her.
“If you don’t move now, I won’t let you go,” he threatened huskily.
Anticipation exploded through her and she sucked in a sharp breath. She stared at him, caught between passion and self-preservation. He was dead serious. She scrambled off the bed, snatched up her clothes, and fled.
* * * *
Damien fell back on the bed, his chest heaving with every ragged breath. He had given hundreds of massages, both therapeutic and sensual, but never experienced anything so erotic.
His heart still pounded in his ears. The blood rushed through his veins. Sliding his hands all over her nearly naked body had sorely tested his self-control and left him painfully aroused. He had tried to stay clinically detached but all that soft smooth skin under his hands had stirred a raging fire in him.
He scowled on a flood of disgust and frustration. No woman had ever gotten so far under his skin. Not even his ex-wife stirred him so much. Why Laurie Crawford? Why now? What was it about her that drew him? Sure, she was gorgeous. But he’d had gorgeous women in his bed.
What made her different? Why did she tie his gut into knots of pure lust?
He glared at the ceiling. Maybe it was the fact that he had not fucked her yet. He had to force himself to think of her in crude terms before he found himself caught up in things he never allowed himself to want.
“Damn her,” he muttered as he left the bed and stalked across the room. He slapped his hand on the light switch and plunged the room into darkness. The stove grate squealed as he yanked it open. He stoked the fire, the flames spitting sparks as he closed the grate. But even the fire did little to soften to black of night or his mood. Heavy clouds hid the moon so he didn’t even see shadows.
But he remembered the seductive picture she had made in his bed. All of that dark brown hair spread over his pillow, like strands of silk. His pillow still carried the faint hint of strawberry mixed with something else, something uniquely Laurie.
Again painfully aroused, he jerked onto his back and ground the back of his head into the pillow. He closed his eyes and forced himself to breathe slowly, deeply, evenly, until he finally slept, his dreams full of darkly sensual images.
ALWAYS A WARRIOR Patricia Bruening
41
Chapter Five
Over the rest of the week, they settled into a simple but intense routine. Laurie dragged herself out of bed every morning, gulped several cups of coffee for breakfast, and struggled to ignore her growing feelings for Damien. Mornings were spent target shooting. She concentrated on her aim rather than Damien and soon became a crack shot.
Afternoon martial arts sessions, however, were infinitely more difficult. They required physical contact, which tested her powers of concentration to the limits. Damien’s touch, no matter how impersonal, distracted her. When his arms closed around her, she struggled to remember what she was supposed to do. When he had her on the ground, she looked into his implacable eyes and wished he was making love to her instead of teaching her to break holds.
As if the days weren’t hard enough, the nights drove her insane. While Stacy was awake, Laurie played with her or read at the table. Damien often sprawled on the sofa bed, ostensibly reading. She often caught
his enigmatic gaze on her and hastily looked away.
Once Stacy was in bed, Laurie grew restless. Nothing she read penetrated the fog in her brain. More often than not, she found herself staring at Damien as her mind conjured erotic fantasies. She dreamed of him and woke every morning craving him.
This particular morning, six days after their arrival in the woods, was no different. She woke to early daylight with Damien in her mind and in her heart. She dressed quickly but lingered to stare uncertainly out the window. Dark clouds obscured the sun and she sighed.
When the aroma of strong black coffee drifted up to the loft, her mouth watered and she headed downstairs. Damien sat at the end of the table. Steam rose from a mug in front of him. He stared at her, his face blank, as she poured a cup and sat across from him. Alarm bells rang in her head. She had not seen that carefully blank expression on his face since their first night in the cabin.
“What’s wrong?” she demanded, tightening her fingers around the handle of the mug.
She studied him carefully through narrowed eyes, taking in every nuance of his demeanor. He was tense, alert, but that was not unusual. But there was an air of urgency about him, of secrecy that confused her. His gaze bored into her and she knew.
“They found him, didn’t they? They found my father.” Her words barely above a whisper, she continued to stare at him. Hope mingled with relief. Maybe now she could take Stacy home.
“Yes,” he replied tonelessly. “He’s still in Mexico, still with the terrorists. Now we can take him.”
Something flickered in his eyes then disappeared but he maintained his impersonal scrutiny of her. She read nothing of his thoughts. But she had realized early on that his carefully blank expression meant he was not telling her everything. Dread churned her stomach as she watched and waited.
“I have to leave,” he finally said. “Someone will replace me. In a couple of days you can go home.” Another brief flicker of something flashed in his eyes.
ALWAYS A WARRIOR Patricia Bruening
42
That impersonal declaration disappointed but did not surprise her. She knew instinctively what the next phase of his mission entailed.
“You’re going after him.” Her unwavering stare held his.
He raised an eyebrow but made no denials. He did not say a word. Restless with sudden anxiety, Laurie pushed the chair back and crossed to the window. Leaning her shoulder on the wall, she stared into the forest. The day was cloudy, dark with the threat of heavy rain, maybe even a thunderstorm as gloomy as she felt.
“I want to see him,” she stated abruptly, her breath momentarily fogging the window. “I want to see my father. I need answers. I want to go with you.”
He did not reply. She stewed for a moment then turned, afraid to look at him, and returned to the table. She sipped her coffee and finally lifted her gaze to meet his.
He shook his head, his expression hard and unrelenting. “No. You are not walking into the middle of this operation just to blow off steam. We will get him and I will not let you screw it up.”
She caught that strange flicker in his eyes again. What wasn’t he telling her? He dropped his gaze to the tabletop and stayed silent. Her stomach churned more as she eyed him intently.
Things were obviously more complex than Damien was leading her to believe. With everything no doubt classified, she did not expect his full confidence. He told her only what he deemed it necessary for her to know. Grumbling in exasperation, she drained her cup and left the table.
Laurie fixed breakfast for Stacy and Damien but, not being hungry, she went outside. The cold damp air struck a chill but she ignored it as she wandered across the clearing. She stepped between two huge trees and wrapped her arms around her waist. Her sweatshirt was not enough to ward off the chill. Cold shivers shook her but she only leaned against a tree, her forehead resting on the trunk. Her mind spun with what little she knew. Her father’s capture was imminent. Damien was leaving
And she did not want him to go. When, she wondered, had she fallen in love with him?
Yes, she acknowledged, love. Lust was easily ignored and faded quickly. Love lasted a lifetime.
She turned her head and looked back at the cabin. Love also hurt when it was not returned. Damien wanted her. He left her in no doubt of that. Her lips tingled with the memory of his kisses. Her body throbbed with the need for his possession. And her heart ached for his love—the one thing she would never have from him. She could have him in her bed but not in her life.
Tears welled in her eyes and she turned blindly back to the tree. She crossed her arms, leaned on the tree trunk, and let the tears fall. When they subsided, she sniffled, wiped her eyes on her shirtsleeve, and drew in a steadying breath.
Something warm covered her back and shoulders. Gentle hands covered her shoulders.
Damien. She almost sighed.
“It’s cold out here,” he murmured gently as he turned her to face him. She blinked and stared at his chest.
He shifted his jacket to drape over her shoulders and snapped the collar closed. His knuckles brushed her throat. Sizzling bolts of need shot into her and she stumbled back against the tree. He skimmed a knuckle up her throat until he tipped her chin. She looked into his concerned eyes as they searched her face.
“Crying?” he said softly as his finger traced the path of her tears.
She shook her head in denial. His heat swamped her, warmer even than his jacket that carried the sheer male scent of him. She shuddered but not from the pervading chill of the ALWAYS A WARRIOR Patricia Bruening
43
approaching storm. He took one step, slid his arms around her, and pressed her closer to his hard chest. It seemed he surrounded her, drew her into his enervating heat. And, oh, how she wanted to stay there, wrapped in his arms. A heavy sigh escaped her and she tilted her head to look at him.
His eyes were dark, dangerous, and compelling. Something even darker, even more dangerous lurked in the depths of that relentless gaze. Her heart lurched then pounded erratically in her chest. He shifted, his arms tightening around her for a brief moment before he slid his hands to her waist. She was caught, trapped, between the tree and the hard length of him. The rough bark pressed into her back. His erection pressed into her. His eyes glittered with a feral hunger that sparked a raging fire deep inside her.
“Jesus,” she groaned, unable to pull her gaze from him.
She flattened her palms on his chest. He was so warm under her hands, hands that curled into fists clutching his shirt. Instead of pushing him away, she dragged him closer. He gripped her hips and pulled her into his heavy arousal. Drowning in dark chocolate pools, she squirmed against him. Her lips parted on a shuddering breath and his mouth covered hers. The sharp vicious hunger, the frantic need for him, slapped her hard.
A ragged groan erupted from deep in his throat. She swallowed the low sound, the very breath that uttered it. Can’t do this, she warned her wayward body. But the warning was weak.
He plunged his tongue past her lips, stroking and exploring, taking what he wanted. Logical thought rapidly dissolving. She struggled to remember why she could not have him, why she could not let him take her into this vicious, glorious passion.
There’s a reason, she thought frantically as his mouth relentlessly devoured hers. When she thought she’d never breathe again, he dragged his mouth from hers. His lips raced hot and moist to the shell of her ear.
“I want you,” he growled softly.
Want. The word stunned her, slapped her. He wanted her. He didn’t love her. She jerked her head back, smacked the tree so hard bolts of lightening exploded in her brain.
“Oh Jesus.” She sucked in a rasping breath. Her heaving breasts brushed his chest. Desire warred with pain in her head. She uncurled her hands from his shirt and shoved half-blind from that inadvertent smack of sense into her head.
“No,” she sobbed in denial, of herself as well as him. “No, please.”
He released
her so fast she stumbled into the tree again. Short, shallow breaths rushed in and out of her lungs. She squeezed her eyes shut and swallowed a groan of misery. Not again, she reminded herself. She turned and stumbled into something else hard but very warm.
“Laurie!” The sharp crack of Damien’s voice thundered in her ears. His hands gripped her upper arms and halted her floundering escape.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Anger and uncertainty mingled in his tone.
Her eyes snapped open and she gaped at him. He stood rigid, holding her in place. The harsh planes and angles of his face were stark in the gloomy pre-storm atmosphere crackling around them. She sucked in air, let it out, and inhaled again. The hard glint in his eyes sent shivers along her spine.
He dropped his hands from her as though she scorched him. He stepped back from her but that relentless penetrating stare bored into her.
“Damien, I …,” she began.