Always a Warrior(30)

“Mommy?” Stacy had her crayons and coloring books scattered across the table. She bit her lip, her eyes anxious. “Are you mad? Did I do something?”



The ache started at the back of her neck, little pricks of tension that rapidly spread. She pressed her fingers into her temples, struggling for the calm that had become more difficult with each passing minute of the horrible day.



“No, I’m not mad at you,” Laurie said as she crossed the room.



“Damien?” Stacy demanded, as though she had to defend him.



Laurie shot an involuntary glance out the window. Damien sat where she had left him, beneath the tree, and stared at the cabin. He was obviously stewing over something. Judging from his fierce scowl, his thoughts aggravated him. She drew in a deep breath and let the anger slowly fade. But she did not feel friendly toward him at the moment. He was leaving. Could she trust his replacement as she trusted Damien?



The only sound during dinner was Stacy’s hesitant, subdued chatter. Tension escalated, crackling between Laurie and Damien like the fire in the woodstove. It would only take a simple spark to ignite a conflagration. Thunder rumbled in the distance, echoing through the forested mountains.



Laurie glanced up into Damien’s speculative stare and swallowed hastily. Was the impending storm brewing outside the cabin as dangerous as the one simmering inside these wooden walls? Fierce hunger darkened his eyes as the storm darkened the sky. She lowered her gaze to her plate but squirmed under his intense perusal. Anticipation sizzled along every nerve in her body. Her appetite fled in favor of a more base hunger and she pushed her plate away.

ALWAYS A WARRIOR Patricia Bruening

45



She sat back in the chair, crossed her arms over her breasts, and struggled to ignore the growing sensations spiraling through her body. It was almost impossible not to fidget, not to stare openly at him. Having been held by him, touched by him, kissed by him, it was ridiculously easy for her imagination to slip deeply sensual images into her head. Words of highly erotic descriptions charged through her mind as she surreptitiously studied him beneath her lashes. He frowned at his untouched plate.



Was he worried about his mission? Or was he sulking that she had avoided personal disaster? It had been a very near thing. She had been so close to surrender, to letting him take her against that tree despite the weather. Those images sizzled in her head, scrambled her pulse, and shot desire into the stratosphere.



He looked up, straight into her eyes. Her face flushed hot at being caught in her own erotically savage fantasies. His eyes went dark, almost black at what she knew he saw in her eyes. His gaze held hers. Unable to look away, she wondered again how their relationship might have progressed under different circumstances. With a wistful sigh and monumental effort, she banished those thoughts and her highly sensual fantasies. As much as she loved him, wishing was a useless endeavor.



“Time for bed, Stacy,” she told her daughter and inwardly cursed the smoky, husky edge to her voice.



Stacy gave her a quick peck on the cheek then ran to Damien. She threw her arms around his neck, taking him by surprise. He flinched but hugged her firmly. She planted a wet, noisy kiss on his cheek, said a cheerful good night, and dashed up the stairs.



As she cleaned the kitchen, Laurie felt Damien’s relentless stare bore into her skull. He tracked her every move until her neck prickled and blood roared in her ears. Nerves popped and sizzled under her skin until she wanted to scream or hide.



“We need to talk.” It was totally unfair that he sounded so calm, so cool, when she was nothing but a writhing mass of nervy, edgy hunger. And it was entirely his fault!



“After I finish,” she muttered, scrubbing the saucepan with fierce strokes that sloshed water over the edge of the sink.



“Leave the damn dishes!” Damien suddenly shouted.



The edge of frustration in his voice thrilled her. At least, she wasn’t the only one suffering the agony of self-denial. His booted feet pounded the wooden floor as he stormed across the room. The stomping sounds were a balm to her nerves since he normally moved without sound. His fingers curled around her arm as he yanked her around to face him.



She blinked, gulped, and stumbled back a step. Her heart pounded frantically at the ferocity of his dark eyes. He must have seen her apprehension because he swore viciously as he glared down at her. His hold loosened, though he did not release her.



“Damn it, woman, I’m trying to keep you alive!” he snarled.



Anger sliced through her fear. She wrapped her fingers around his thumb and jerked that thumb back. He winced and she slid his hand from her arm.