by Laura Taylor
Brett stopped at yet another rental–car agency to exchange their vehicle for a replacement several hours following their departure from the Seaside Lodge. Leah exited the car, eager for temporary respite from the boredom of being a passenger and staring at the scenery.
Despite his protest that he didn’t want her exposed to any possible danger, she reminded Brett that they were both vulnerable. He persisted in trying to tuck her back into the passenger seat. She grew adamant, refusing to cooperate. "We’re in this together, so stop trying to baby me. I hate it!"
Brett ground his jaws together. Leah watched the emotions that flashed across his face, feelings that were so diverse, they startled her, but he quickly controlled himself. He jerked a nod in her direction, glanced around the parking lot, scanning the area with long–standing practice, and then started to step away.
Leah stopped him by placing her hand on his arm, her tone subdued when she said, "I just want to stretch my legs. I’ll be careful, and I won’t wander off. I promise."
He searched her face, worry in his eyes, but he still nodded reluctantly and turned toward the rental agency clerk, who was headed straight for them. Brett signed the appropriate paperwork and asked the young man to bring the car around. He accepted Leah’s help in unloading and then reloading their luggage, but he insisted on handling the heavier pieces.
Although it took her several hours, Leah finally realized that she had to be more patient with herself when dealing with the emotional confusion she felt and the avalanche of memories that had begun to flood her mind again. The rational side of her personality asserted itself, cautioning that it would take time to sort through all of the information her overloaded brain and emotions were trying to process. As a result, she made a concerted effort to relax as the afternoon unfolded.
Leah turned her attention to Brett, who seemed to grow more tense and wary despite the expression of outward calm on his face. She closely watched him as they continued north on less traveled back roads that led out of Oregon and into rural Washington State. Each time he glanced at her, she had the impression that he was still restraining himself by the sheer force of his will.
Restraining himself from doing or saying what? she wondered.
By the time they checked into adjoining rooms at a bed–and–breakfast in rural Washington late in the day, Leah had begun to sense the emotional vulnerability that Brett kept hidden behind an enigmatic mask that he repeatedly donned—a mask that rarely slipped out of place. She suspected that he used it as a tool in his work, not just as a means of protecting his feelings when he feared being hurt or rejected.
Standing in the doorway that separated their bedrooms that evening and watching him unpack, Leah remembered his comment about the cost of his lie when he’d told her that he hadn’t loved her enough to marry her. He’d wanted to protect her from the jeopardy of sharing her life with a man who was exposed to constant danger. She didn’t doubt either comment now, but she still viewed his withdrawal from her six years earlier as a statement that he simply hadn’t loved her enough to find a way to make a life together. Neither had he credited her with the ability to be an equal partner, thus denying her the choice of standing at his side and facing together whatever challenges life offered. Had she been so spineless a creature that he’d viewed her as a weak link—perhaps even an unwanted burden—in his high–risk world?
Leah also began to grasp the emotional isolation inherent in his work, not just his anxiety that he might endanger innocent lives if he allowed himself to forge normal relationships. Thanks to her complex feelings for Brett, she already knew that the act of loving put people at risk. In his case, however, loving anyone carried with it the added risk of acts of revenge and lethal threats from his enemies. The gravity of that burden shook Leah as nothing else could.
Doubt surface yet again in her mind. She’d become acutely sensitive to his response to her as a woman during their time together, and she still felt bewildered and frustrated by his rejection. She knew he wanted her. She’d sensed and felt his desire, and she knew his feelings for her went far beyond the physical.
She wondered now if he was denying his desire in order to protect them both from an entanglement that had no future, or if he’d persuaded himself that he was simply protecting her for the sake of their son. Filled with uncertainty, Leah sighed as she leaned against the doorframe, unwittingly drawing Brett’s attention.
He looked up from his open suitcase. "Don’t you feel well?"
"Your world is a living hell, isn’t it?"
He appeared momentarily startled by her question, but he quickly concealed his reaction. "Sometimes," he conceded, surprising her with his candor. "Not always, though."
"I don’t know how you cope with the isolation."
He shrugged and glanced down at the sweater he’d pulled out of his luggage. He gave it a blank look before setting it aside. "It’s my job, Leah. There are a lot of people like me who work for the government, so I don’t consider myself unique." Changing the subject, he asked, "How about some supper? There’s a buffet downstairs, or we can ask to have something sent up."
"I’m not hungry."
"Leah, you need to eat."
She shook her head and turned away. She already knew that the kind of nourishment she needed wasn’t available to her. She wanted Brett to put his arms around her and hold her. She realized that intimacy with him wouldn’t solve the crisis they faced, but she still craved the full force of his passion. She longed to experience, just for a little while, the sense of completeness she knew she would find in his arms.
Leah didn’t bother to close her bedroom door. Brett would just open it again. As she removed her nightgown from her overnight bag, she wondered if he would ever risk allowing her to breach the walls surrounding his heart.
She gripped her nightgown when she heard his footsteps as he followed her into her room. Her nails dug into the silk fabric until she consciously forced herself to relax.
"I’ll have something sent up to the room. Soup and sandwiches, that sort of thing."
Leah’s shoulders slumped, but she managed the effort required to cross the room. "Whatever you want."
Brett stood in the open doorway long after she closed the bathroom door and turned on the shower. He finally spoke, his voice rich with despair when he said, "I want you, Leah. I want you so badly my soul aches."
** ** **
Only half asleep, Brett opened his eyes and reached for his weapon when he heard a floorboard creak a few feet from his bed. Poised to roll onto the floor, he froze when he saw Leah step into a puddle of moonlight and then pause. He drew back his arm as tension tightened every muscle in his powerful body.
He listened to the sound of her shallow breathing, and her obvious anxiety shredded his resistance to her. "Can’t you sleep?"
"No."
He barely heard her for the faintness of her voice. "Would you like to talk?"
"I remember us. I remember the way we were. I feel as if I’m standing under a waterfall of memories." Despite the semi–darkness of the room, she looked straight at him. She held her hands in front of her, her fingers tangled together, her body rigid with tension. "Was it so easy for you to walk away from what we had?"
He swore, the word harsh enough to make Leah flinch. "It was the toughest thing I’ve ever done, but I know I made the right decision. Unfortunately what I’ve always feared might happen, has happened. You and Matthew are vulnerable because of me." He momentarily wished for a drink, a habit he’d long since abandoned.
"I want you, Brett."
He pulled himself up against the headboard of the bed, his gaze intent, his senses alert to the slightest hesitation on her part. "Are you sure?"
"I’m not sure of anything. All I know is that I want a night with you, but I keep wondering if you’ll turn away from me again. I need to know the answer, Brett. I need to know if I’m just an obligation, or if you want me as much as I want you."
Too stunned to spe
ak, he simply stared at her. He wondered if she understood what she was saying, what she was offering him. As far as he was concerned, she’d just thrown him an emotional lifeline.
She took another step forward. "Do you… want me?"
He stopped denying himself in that instant. He no longer possessed the fortitude or the strength to be honorable. Lifting the sheet away from his naked body, he shoved it aside. His desire evident, he articulated his need in a voice resonant with the raw emotions coursing through him. "I want you more than I want to breathe, Leah."
Sighing softly, she discarded her nightgown as she took the final steps to his bed. "Tonight belongs to us. No obligations, no commitments, and no promises to each other that won’t be kept. Agreed?"
His heart absorbed the wound and kept on beating, and he took responsibility for her need to qualify the terms under which she was willing to express her desire. Leah paused at the side of the bed, exquisite in her nakedness, but also fragile emotionally. Brett sensed that she would not touch him until he answered her.
"Agreed," he finally said.
He watched her then through narrowed eyes that had turned black with need, waiting for her to continue at her own pace. Because he loved her, Brett told himself that he could handle the truth as she viewed it. His conscience called him a liar, but he knew that beggars had little to bargain with, so he said nothing more.
"Tomorrow we’ll face reality," she whispered as she knelt at his side and smoothed her fingertips over his sensual lips, strong chin, and then down across his broad chest. "You’ll go back to hunting terrorists and revolutionaries, and I’ll return to the task of rebuilding my life. Until then, I want to forget that the world even exists."
"It’s more than I expected," he admitted, hungry for her but still saddened by her need to establish conditions, but realistic enough to accept her terms because he knew he had no other choice. He remained immobile, although his insides burned and throbbed for the intimacy he craved with her. "Leah, I still love…"
She shook her head. Her long golden hair rippled over her shoulders and down her back. "No! Don’t tell me you love me. I don’t want you to lie, however unintentionally. I just want you to make the world go away for a little while."
She leaned forward, kept him from speaking when she covered his lips with her own, and slowly trailed her fingers through the thick, coarse hair that covered his muscular chest and flat belly. She bathed him with the fire of her desire, her tongue like a darting point of flame as she repeatedly dipped into the wet heat of his mouth. Meanwhile, her fingertips danced over his flesh with purposeful intent.
Despite the restraint required, Brett gave her the freedom to explore, to reacquaint herself with a body she had once known as well as her own. He gripped the bedding beneath his hands as he savored her intoxicating taste and the feel of her fingertips traveling like hot wands up and down his chest and across his thighs. The muscles of his body bunched and jumped beneath her evocative touch.
Leah sucked his tongue into her mouth and worried the tip of it with her teeth. Brett shuddered, a low groan catching in his throat. He watched her through half–closed eyes when she drew back and peered at him, a crooked little smile lifting the edges of her mouth. Shock rocked him when she lifted his hand to her lips and pressed tender kisses to the tip of each finger before scorching his palm with an open–mouthed kiss that sent fire streaking into his soul.
His head fell back and he closed his eyes, shattered by her gentleness, stunned by her sensuality. No woman in his experience had ever loved him with her tender intensity. No woman had ever satisfied his soul and his body. No woman but Leah had ever possessed his heart. No other woman ever would.
She breathed his name as she lifted his other hand, lingering over his palm, her breath warm, her tongue hot and wet, and her gentleness unbearably sweet. Brett caught her golden mane with his hands, tangling it in his fingers as she tilted her head and nuzzled the side of his neck with her lips.
"You’re killing me," he muttered.
He felt her smile against the sensitive skin of his throat a heartbeat before she opened her mouth and lapped at the pulse throbbing there. She lifted her head long moments later, her eyes a sultry aquamarine, her skin hot to the touch as he cupped her cheek and brought her closer. He felt the press of her taut nipples against his chest in the same instant that she raised her face to his and accepted his hungry kiss.
Brett absorbed her delicate shiver with his hands when he smoothed them down her arms and urged her even closer. She pressed against him, her high, full breasts plumping sensually against the hard wall of his chest, her nipples stabbing at his hot skin, tormenting him while she parted her lips even more to grant him greater access. He clasped her head with his hands and devoured her lips and mouth, his hunger without boundary, his desire for her escalating as he worshipped her, adored her, and loved her in a silent but eloquent language that only they understood.
She slipped free of him without warning, her soft laughter tempering his disappointment and inciting his imagination even as she moved down his body like a flow of molten gold. She paused here to nuzzle, paused there to excite, and paused lower still to devastate.
Kneeling between his legs, she watched his face as she slid her hands up and down his powerful thighs, her fingertips veering closer and closer to his jutting sex with each sweeping movement of her hands. Brett returned her heated gaze, all the while certain that his body would soon ignite from the tension building within him.
Leah softly vowed, "I intend to repay you for the other night."
His eyes shuttered closed. He held as still as he could, but his large body vibrated with barely leashed desire and tension. He groaned, "I may die before you’re finished with me."
She suddenly clasped him between her hands, her touch so gloriously bold, so achingly familiar that he had to choke back the emotion brought on by his memories of their shared past. He jerked beneath her fingers, almost not hearing her when she said softly, "I’ll make certain you survive the experience."
"Promises, promises," he managed between clenched teeth.
She loved him then, loved him with her deeply sensual nature, her skillful hands, and a cherishing mouth. She loved him until he trembled with the knowledge that he’d die for one last chance to feel the resilient depths of her body closing around him, clasping him, her delicately tremoring inner muscles milking every last drop of passion from him until he collapsed into a mindless heap.
As he savored her devotion, the pressure built inside him to almost unbearable limits. Brett felt a rush of emotion wash over him just before his world suddenly tilted to a dizzying angle. Catapulted into a shimmering cascade of pure sensation, he shuddered violently, his control stretched until it threatened to snap. No longer able to endure her sensual torture, he reared up, seized Leah, and hauled her up the length of his shaking body.
"I wasn’t finished," she protested breathlessly as he held her in an embrace so tight, she couldn’t move.
Brett sucked in enough air to fill his lungs before he raised his head and scowled down at her. "You almost finished me off, and you know it."
She looked at him, smiling like a cat who’d found a bowl of cream. He swiftly settled her atop his hips, his mouth staking a permanent claim on her mouth, his hands possessively closing over her breasts, and his pulsing shaft wedged between their bodies.
Leah gasped, clutching at his shoulders as she shifted experimentally against him. She arched and dipped and stroked him, her body an intimate instrument of mind–shattering pleasure. Brett instantly responded. Lifting his hips, he surged against her, silently pledging to give her everything she craved with the movement of his body.
She moaned, whispering, "Now, please, now," in his ear as she undulated with erotic intent against the hard ridge of flesh trapped beneath her.
Brett thought she resembled the finest silk buffeted by a gentle wind. He felt the soft swell of her stomach brushing against his lower abdomen, t
he dampness of her skin as passion swept through her like a firestorm, and the shivering fullness of her breasts as they nudged against his chest. Gripping her hips, he raised her up so that his sex intimately caressed her.
"Welcome me home with your gentle fire, Leah," he begged against her lips as she tried to catch her breath. "I’ll die without it."
Positioned on her knees, her gaze locked on his hard–featured face, Leah settled over him in a fluid downward stroke that made them both gasp. She sheathed him completely, taking him deep into the dark heat of her body. Moaning his name, she steadied herself, lifted, dipped, and then rocked her hips in concert with each upward surge of his body.
Brett felt consumed by a glittering world of pure sensation. The air in his lungs burned, and the muscles in his body thrummed. Hovering at the edge of his pleasure was his certainty that this would be his only night to experience the intensity of Leah’s passion. He savored every breathless sound she made and each deliberately provocative movement of her body. And every second they shared became more precious to him than the one before.
He filled his hands with her breasts, molding them, caressing them, and then tugging at her nipples until they were pebble hard. Ducking his head as she rode him with increasing speed, he took one of the tight peaks into his mouth and sucked strongly.
Leah’s head fell back and her eyes drifted closed as she groaned her pleasure. Brett surged up into her body in a relentless counterpoint to the erotic rhythm of her hips. He heard his name spill from her lips like an incantation, and he felt the subtle change in the lower regions of her body the instant she began to come apart beneath his hands.
She tightened into herself, her breath catching before it streamed out of her in a rush. She dug her fingers into his shoulders, holding onto him as though he’d become her anchor in a fierce Pacific storm. His hands fastened to her hips, he guided her in her breathless pursuit of the summit of her release. And he took into his mouth the sound of her sharp cry as her insides imploded in a series of spasms and contractions composed purely of ecstasy.