Always a Warrior(11)

Halfway down the stairs, she glanced across the room and uttered a soft gasp. Damien tossed and turned amid tangled sheets and blankets. Sweat glistened on his body in the faint moonlight. Laurie caught herself staring at his muscular body but those muscles were not smooth. They tensed and trembled in some unknown torment. She approached the bed slowly, sitting cautiously on the edge so as not to startle him awake.



“Damien.” She kept her voice low and steady, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. He had his back to her, his arm extended over her head. Her palm warmed, her skin tingled but she kept her hand on his shoulder. “Damien, wake up.”



He grunted and abruptly rolled to his back as he manacled her wrist in his tight grip. She gulped hard but ignored the discomfort in her wrist and let him keep it.



“Damien. It’s Laurie. Wake up,” she continued in firmer but still soothing tones. “It’s okay.”



“Laurie?” he mumbled, obviously still in the grip of his dreams. “Johnny! No—I can’t do it!”



Laurie wondered briefly who Johnny was as she examined him but it wasn’t important.

He was sweating. His eyes remained tightly shut. Muscles bunched under his damp skin.



“Okay, I’ll do it,” he muttered, his voice full of reluctance.



Tears leaked from his tightly closed eyes. He released her wrist, shifted closer. Her heart ached for him in this torment. It was no ordinary nightmare. His voice rang with the anguish of deeply painful memories.’



“I’m sorry. Please forgive me,” he begged, almost sobbing.



Laurie closed her eyes against her sympathetic tears and counted to ten. She longed to simply hold him until he slept more peacefully, but she had to wake him.



He suddenly sat up, wide-awake. He stared past her, grief and guilt clouding his eyes.

Reality slowly dawned. His eyes focused on her. His gaze traveled slowly over her then back to her face. Her skin tingled as though he had touched every inch of her. She realized with a jolt of embarrassment that the blanket had fallen around her waist. Only the thin spaghetti strap T-shirt she had worn to bed covered her. But even that could not hide his effect on her. Her nipples tightened and rose beneath the flimsy cotton. She yanked the blanket to her shoulders, wrapped it firmly around her.



“Are you awake?” she demanded softly, examining his tear-streaked face. “Are you okay?”



“Yes,” he murmured huskily. A dangerous gleam of stark desire lit his eyes.



Electric warmth spread out from her spine. She squirmed under his frank appreciation.

He leaned toward her and dropped his gaze to her mouth. She held her breath in anticipation of the touch of his lips. She wanted to taste him, to feel his mouth on hers. Anticipation exploded through her as he moved closer. His lips grazed hers, sent sharp jolts of excitement through her entire system.



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.

ALWAYS A WARRIOR Patricia Bruening

18



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.”