by Laura Taylor
Even though he moved through the rooms of the suite with his usual predatory silence, Leah always felt his presence. He became the one constant in the sea of her unease. She began to count on his regular forays into her room, although no words passed between them.
She derived courage from his quiet strength, despite the worry she glimpsed in his dark eyes when he watched her. Leah mentally applauded him for not making her feel as though she needed to apologize for requiring a healthy chunk of alone time. And she appreciated the fact that he didn’t seem inclined to judge or to fault her emotional fragility.
Leah slept restlessly, when she slept at all, her dreams filled with faceless men who spoke a language she didn’t understand. Alternately drenched in perspiration or chilled to the bone, she awoke often. Each time she escaped the torment of sleep, she found Brett watching over her, his hands skimming up and down her arms as he tried to soothe her. When she tried to apologize for disturbing him, he shook his head and pressed a fingertip against her lips to silence her.
She attempted to stay awake, but fatigue claimed her even as he sat beside her in the semi–darkness of her bedroom. She didn’t admit that the safety and security of his presence faded once her dreams reclaimed her. There were some battles she was destined to fight alone.
As she showered and then dressed at lunch–time on the second afternoon of their stay in San Francisco, Leah recalled the feel of Brett’s fingers sweeping up the side of her face and across her forehead. Her memory of the gentle way in which he pushed aside her bangs and checked the shrinking bump near her hairline had the power, even now, to send heat streaming into her veins and make her heart thud wildly in her chest.
She recalled closing her hands into fists, determined not to touch him or to make him uncomfortable. In truth, all she’d really wanted to do was to sink her fingers into the dark mat of hair that covered his bare, muscled chest and explore every centimeter of his body at her leisure.
She wanted his unique taste on her lips, his tongue intruding into her mouth with tantalizing stabs, and his hands roaming the hills and hollows of her naked body. She craved everything about him—his sturdiness, his heat, the tender strength she knew she would find in his arms, and the promised pleasure of his sex buried deep within her body.
Shaken by the images flooding her mind and stimulating her senses, Leah closed her eyes. She gripped her hairbrush until her fingers ached. When her breathing finally slowed to a normal cadence, she wondered if she’d ever felt so aroused by the mere thought of a man.
Several moments passed before she regained her composure. Leah glanced in the mirror, inspecting her reflection as she set aside the hairbrush. Despite having grown familiar with the image that stared back at her, she still felt like she was looking into the face of a stranger.
Squaring her shoulders, she turned away from the sink and left the bathroom, once again clad in jeans, a cropped cotton top, and deck shoes. She crossed the bedroom, paused to draw open the drapes, and then collected from the bedside table one of the photographs she’d studied on and off for the preceding thirty–six hours. Something deep inside her soul ached with response every time she looked at the photo. Now, she intended to discover why.
Leah spotted Brett the instant she walked into the sitting room. Standing in the threshold of the open French doors that led out onto the awning–covered balcony of their suite, he appeared to be enjoying the view of the bay despite the cloud–dotted spring sky.
When he turned to look at her, she saw relief and something she couldn’t quite name in his eyes. Forcing a smile to her lips, she announced, "I’ve decided to quit hibernating. Whatever happens in the days and weeks ahead, I’m ready to deal with it."
He met her in the center of the spacious sitting room. She experienced a moment of guilt for having subjected him to long hours of silent brooding, but she sensed that he understood. She welcomed the power she felt in his large hands and long, blunt–tipped fingers as he gripped her shoulders. Looking up at him, she trembled beneath his touch.
"Welcome back, Leah Holbrook. You finally sound like your old self."
"Old or new, I’m tired of hiding."
"You weren’t hiding. You were just coming to terms with what’s happened to you. In fact, you’ve handled this situation the way you’ve handled tough times in the past. You got off the merry–go–round and gave yourself a chance to clear your head, because you’ve always been smart enough to realize that fear will eat you alive if you don’t confront it head–on."
She laughed at his summary of her supposedly rational behavior. "You’re giving me much more credit than I deserve."
"No way," he disagreed. His fingers curled over her shoulders, his eyes darkening to midnight pools as he looked down at her.
"I know I might never remember my life, but I want to try. I’ll need your help and your memories."
"Anything else?"
She nodded, tears unexpectedly stinging her eyes. "A lot of hugs, a ton of patience, which you obviously have, and the answers to a thousand and one questions."
She went willingly into his arms as he gathered her close, her need to be enveloped in his embrace eclipsing everything else for the moment. Sighing, she savored the power of his large, muscular body molded to hers.
"Are you sure you’re up for this?" she asked several minutes later.
"Stupid question," Brett muttered as he eased his hold on her and brought his hands up to frame her face. "There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for you. All you have to do is ask, and it’s yours."
She couldn’t speak. The tears stinging her eyes pooled and blurred her vision. She turned away from him and wandered in the direction of the couch. Sinking down onto it, she took a moment to harness her emotions. "Sorry. My feelings are quite close to the surface right now."
"Don’t apologize, Leah. It comes with the territory, I suspect. Does your head still hurt?" He joined her on the couch, tugged her to his side, and encircled her shoulders with his arm.
Leah heard his worry and could have kicked herself for acting like such a big baby. "The headache’s gone, and my bruises are even more colorful now. Despite the sporadic way I’ve been sleeping, I actually feel pretty good."
"That’s what I wanted to hear."
"Are you always so patient?" she asked, still amazed by his willingness to treat her with compassion and understanding. "This would be a whole lot easier for you if you turned me over to my family and let them deal with my problems."
"I’m not that patient," he muttered.
"I’ve been a royal pain in the ass, and you know it."
"Well, maybe, but you’re usually pretty pulled together. You’re allowed periodic lapses."
"Do we have to stay here much longer?" she asked.
"Of course, not. You aren’t a prisoner, Leah. I just wanted to make sure you had a chance to rest. Now that your headache’s gone, we can leave anytime. Tomorrow, in fact, if you’d like."
"I’d like," she said enthusiastically.
"Don’t care for the accommodations, huh?" he groused.
"The suite is beautiful, and you know it. I just hate feeling like a shut–in."
He chuckled. "You’ve always had a craving for wide–open spaces."
"Then I’m behaving in character?"
"Looks and sounds that way to me."
"That’s encouraging, isn’t it?"
She twisted her torso into him in order to get a better view of his face. Her breasts immediately plumped against his chest, her nipples tightening into pointed buds. Fascinated by his reaction, her eyes went wide with surprise. She held her breath, her attention fixed on the muscle that ticked in his jaw as his fingers dug into her shoulder. Even his angular face appeared more dangerous looking than usual.
She finally found her common sense, but Brett stopped her as she tried to ease back from him. He jerked her against his chest and held her still, leaving her senses to bask in the flex and flow of the muscles in his upper body and th
e slamming of his heart against his ribs.
Leah stared at him, her own senses enflamed. She felt seared by the hot glow of his dark gaze. She’d been ready to go up in flames during their first few hours together, and this frozen moment brought it all flooding back in scintillating color.
He muttered a low, lethal–sounding word, and then he warned, "Quit rubbing up against me like a cat that craves petting, or you’ll get more than you bargained for. I like the feel of you in my arms, just as I’d like nothing better than to strip you naked and bury myself in your hot little body. If you keep this up, Leah, all of my good intentions will go up in smoke, and we’ll both live to regret it."
She said nothing. She simply nodded. She wanted to be close to him. She wanted to feel his strength and tap into his seemingly bottomless well of courage. She also needed the reassurance she experienced when he held her. She quelled her desire for anything more, although she didn’t expect her longing to experience him sexually to ever end. Not when his desire for her appeared to be just as profound as her own for him.
Brett leaned his head back and closed his eyes. Leah heard him exhale raggedly as she rested her head against his shoulder. Several minutes ticked by before she felt the tension start to drain from both of their bodies.
"Were we ever married?" she asked unexpectedly.
Brett flinched as though he’d been struck. "No, Leah, never."
She frowned, oddly disappointed to realize that they weren’t lovers and had never been married. The strong emotional currents that flowed between them convinced her then that Brett was keeping something very important from her. She made a silent vow to continue her exploration of their complex relationship.
"I want to know everything about you, Brett."
"Not that much to tell."
She heard a note of wariness in his voice and decided to pursue it. "But it might help to trigger memories of my own life if you familiarize me with things about yourself that I’ve no doubt heard before."
"Sounds like a roundabout way of getting to the truth, but I’ll tell you anything I can."
"Good. We’ll tackle that side of the situation later. Right now, though, I need to know about one of the children in the picture taken at Yellowstone."
She produced the photograph in question and showed it to him, waiting while he inspected it.
"Have you remembered something?" he finally asked.
"Nothing, but the little boy seated beside me in the photo is the one child I keep zeroing in on, despite the fact that there are more than ten children gathered around me. He’s so serious–looking, almost as though he’s worried that I won’t remember him. My heart breaks every time I look at him. The link I feel to this child is just too strong to ignore, Brett, even though I can’t offer a rational explanation of why I feel so connected to him."
"You know him quite well."
"I do?"
"He’s my son, Leah."
"My God! I should have guessed. He looks like a miniature version of you. He’s a very special little boy, isn’t he?" She smoothed shaking fingertips down the side of the photograph. "Am I close to him?"
"Extremely."
"How old is he? What’s his name?"
"Matthew is going to be six on his next birthday."
"I keep feeling the need to put my arms around him every time I look at this picture," she confessed. "It’s as if he’s a very important part of me."
"I’m not at all surprised by your reaction. You’ll understand your feelings about him when your memory returns, which it will."
"He’s a serious little guy, isn’t he?" She glanced up at Brett and smiled, but her smile faded when she felt the tension tightening his body. "Kind of like his father."
He nodded, his gaze narrowing. "So I’ve been told."
"Do I like children in general, or just your son?"
"You once told me you’d like to have half a dozen."
"Sounds like a lot of work in the labor room." Returning her gaze to the photo, Leah asked, "Where is he now?"
"With his grandparents. They’ve taken him to Canada for a week of fishing."
"He likes to fish?" Her expression brightened. "Brett, I like to fish, too. I’m certain of it."
He smiled down at her. "You taught him how to bait his first hook, and you gave him his first fishing pole."
"Do you see him often? Does he live with you?"
"Unfortunately, I don’t see nearly enough of him. He doesn’t live with me, but I wish he did."
"He’s with his mother, then." Leah felt his nod when his chin bobbed against the top of her head. "That must be hard for you. Being divorced, I mean."
"We weren’t married when Matthew was born. Actually, we were never married. It was a complicated situation, and it’s an even more complicated story." He shifted, suggesting, "How about we save this part of my life story for another time."
She eased free of his encircling arm and turned so that she wound up facing him. When her knee bumped up against his hip, he absently brought his hand down atop it as he stared off into space. She shivered as his fingers drifted up and down the top of her jeans–covered upper leg, and she wondered what he was thinking as he touched her.
"I didn’t mean to make you feel sad."
Brett blinked and refocused on her. "You didn’t, although some trips down memory lane tend to remind me of the mistakes I’ve made with my life and with the people I care about."
"It sounds like you’re still carrying a torch for your son’s mother." Leah felt her heart sink, discovering in the process that she hated the idea that he might be in love with another woman. If Brett still loved little Matthew’s mother, she certainly didn’t want to hear him admit it. At least, not now.
"I have a lot of mixed feelings where she’s concerned. We parted before I knew about her pregnancy. I found out quite by accident. I was almost completely cut out of my son’s life. It took time and patience, but I eventually found a way to be a part of it."
"Didn’t you resent her?"
Brett exhaled, the sound harsh in the quiet of the sitting room. "As I said, my emotions were pretty mixed. A part of me understood her behavior. I’d hurt her very badly, and then I walked out on her. Hell, I hold myself responsible for a lot of the decisions she had to make, but I still wish she’d been willing to tell me the truth when she learned she was pregnant. I would have supported her in any way I could."
"I can’t imagine going off and having a baby on my own. I think she was a fool not to come to you and let you share the experience with her."
"She had her reasons," he remarked, his tone faintly defensive. "At the time, I’m sure she thought she was right. I have no right to find fault with her choices. As I said, I’ve made too many of my own mistakes."
Startled by the array of emotions reflected in his eyes, Leah covered his hand. She bit back a yelp of surprise when she felt his fingers flex and then dig into her thigh. She stroked the back of his hand, trying to help him relax in spite of her desire to simply put her arms around him and hold him.
Searching his troubled gaze, Leah realized how easily she could drown in the shadowed depths of his eyes. She felt that she was finally beginning to grasp the complex nature of this man, and she suspected that the events of the last few days were probably just a ripple in the pond of their shared experiences.
"I know you very well, don’t I, even though you’re an intensely private man?"
He nodded. "Better than anyone ever has."
"You’re like a puzzle," she said.
"You’ve said that to me more times than I can count."
Eager to dispel his melancholy mood, she teased, "Was I laughing or shouting?"
He gave her a wry look. "A little of both, as I recall."
"We must have a real roller–coaster of a relationship."
"I’m sure a lot of people think so."
"Do you?" she asked softly.
Brett cocked his head to one side, peering at her almost specula
tively. "We’ve definitely been up and down over the years."
"Does that bother you?"
Easing away from her, he got to his feet. "Some of the time."
Leah caught his hand when he reached out to her. He tugged her to her feet, surprising her when he wrapped his arms around her and pressed his face into the curve of her neck.
Trembling, she slipped her arms around his waist and held on to him. She breathed in his scent, savoring the woodsy cologne and the musky male essence of his skin. Her eyes fell closed. She listened to the steady beat of his heart. When Brett straightened a few minutes later, she reluctantly accepted his withdrawal.
He cupped the side of her face with his hand. "I don’t see myself trading you in on a new model, so I guess you’re stuck with me."
"Does that mean you’ve forgiven me for being lousy company?"
His frown reappeared, his consternation with her obvious. Leaning down, he planted a hard kiss on her lips. "I’ll think about it."
Leah grinned, her lips still tingling from his kiss. "You must have legions of women beating a path to your door."
"Where’d you get a crazy idea like that?"
"Chalk it up to a woman’s intuition," she suggested. "Your bedside manner is splendid, and you’re very attractive, in a rough sort of way."
"That hit you took on your head has distorted your vision and damaged your intellect."
She rolled her eyes, purposely acting silly. "I didn’t say you were pretty. Besides, I don’t like pretty men. They spend too much time in front of the mirror admiring their physical assets. Boring!"
"Any other warped observations before we conclude this topic?"
She grinned. "You’re dangerously sexy. Makes a woman go a little crazy when she’s with that kind of a man."
"Have I just received a warning?"
Leah shrugged. "Maybe, maybe not. You’ll just have to stay alert to the… possibilities, won’t you?" She sighed in sudden frustration, all of her humor disappearing like a wisp of smoke. "I wish I could remember you. I wish I could remember us."