Always a Warrior(12)

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.



* * * *

ALWAYS A WARRIOR Patricia Bruening

19



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.”