Always a Warrior(4)
“You rescued us,” she declared, awestruck. Sanity returned with a jolt. “From who? How did you know? I don’t even know your name.”
Her hands shook as she poured coffee into two mugs. She placed one on the table in front of her rescuer as he sat down. She leaned against the counter, sipping from her mug. Absently, she fished a pack of cigarettes out of the drawer by the sink. Fumbling, she got one out and lit it.
“Who are you?” She took a long drag off the cigarette. It steadied her nerves and gave her something to do with her hands.
“Lieutenant Damien McAllister,” he supplied as he picked up the mug and drank slowly.
His steady stare never left her.
Laurie smoked her cigarette and sipped her coffee, eyeing him intently. In the bright light of her kitchen, his rugged good looks commanded attention. Even sitting at the table, he looked tall, muscular, and trim. Strength and determination emanated from him but he appeared unaware of his own attractiveness. He had a job to do and radiated his confidence in his ability to do that job. Those compelling dark brown eyes speared her where she stood. Caught and held in his relentless stare, she almost felt helpless. This was not a sensation she wanted or liked.
Adrenaline, she mused, waiting for the letdown. She gripped the mug tighter in an effort to stop the shaking. Her heart beat erratically, painfully. She had studied the effects of adrenaline rushes, written them into her books, but rarely experienced the phenomenon herself. Forcing herself to draw a deep breath, she dragged her gaze from the soldier. A bullet lodged in the doorframe grabbed her attention. Her heart lurched at the thought of everything she had nearly lost.
She blinked but could not look away from that bullet. She took a slow step back, slowly crushed out her cigarette in the ashtray on the counter. Her hand trembled and she curled her fingers around the edge of the counter. She struggled for calm logic but her efforts were no match for terror sparked adrenaline.
* * * *
Damien watched her carefully controlled movements. Long familiar with the effects of adrenaline, he knew what she faced. The mug slipped from her fingers and smashed on the floor.
She flinched at the sharp sound. Coffee splattered on the floor. Her green eyes blazed with rage and fear. Her whole body trembled. Damien approved. His mission was far from over. Tense, he waited for the storm to break. He was not prepared for tears as delayed reaction set in.
ALWAYS A WARRIOR Patricia Bruening
8
She clenched her fists until her knuckles whitened. Her fingernails cut into her skin.
Blood seeped from the half-moon cuts. Tears glittered in her eyes, fell in streams as she fought and lost the battle for control. With a wild shake of her head, she squeezed her eyes shut.
Damien watched her closely as she staggered then caught herself on the counter. He raked his gaze over her, lingering on her split, swollen lips. He’d have to treat that when she calmed down. When she opened her eyes again, that helpless confused look shot right through him. Her tears touched a chord deep within him. His combat hardened heart cracked a little but none of his carefully honed instincts told him what to do. He did the only thing that came to mind. He went to her and pulled her roughly into his arms.
* * * *
Laurie felt his arms slide around her and sagged against him. She gasped for breath, sniffling between sobs, and leaned on his broad chest. Listening to his heartbeat, she allowed the strong rhythm to steady her until her knees stopped wobbling. She lingered for a moment, wrapped in his strong arms, and drew a deep, slow breath. The aroma of strong black coffee mingled with the sheer masculine scent that proclaimed him man. Something indefinable shimmered inside her, something that resembled desire.
With a deliberate shake of her head, denying the brief sensation, she backed out of his embrace and stared up at him. The glimmer of concern in his eyes disconcerted her. He awkwardly brushed away the last trace of her tears with his finger. Such tenderness seemed out of place for him. His flustered, uncertain expression touched her and she almost smiled.
His finger lingered, gently tracing her lips. Sharp pain shot through the soft tissue, made her rudely aware of the damage and the fierce throb under the swelling. She winced and took another step back from him. He dropped his hand, lifted his gaze to hers.
“Some ice might help,” he murmured.
She shrugged. “Later.”
She bent over to pick up the remains of her mug and wipe up spilled coffee. It was time to put things back in perspective.
“All right,” she said as she dropped the rag into the sink. “Tell me what is going on here, Lt. McAllister. Who were those men and why were they in my house?”