Always a Warrior(52)

“She runs through a gun battle and shoots down armed terrorists, then cringes in fear when we’re finally safe?” he said softly as he tossed his guns onto the bed.



Laurie warily tracked his every move as he crossed the room and rounded the corner of the bed. He sat on the floor, his back against the side of the bed. She squirmed under his piercing regard. The room was so small she could touch him if she wanted. And she did want to touch him but kept her two-handed grip on the rifle as though it were a lifeline.



Delayed reaction slammed into her. The rifle slipped from her hands and she sank to the floor, her back against the rough wooden wall. She drew her knees up to her chin, wrapped her arms around her legs, and cried. Tears streamed from her eyes. Racking sobs shook her shoulders but she did not make a sound.



Damien’s arms slid around her and he pulled her onto his lap. She had not heard him move. Sobbing silently, she cuddled up to him. He rocked her gently until her sobs subsided and she sagged in his embrace, clutching his shirt. His finger under her chin, he urged her to look up at him. She reluctantly lifted her spiked, damp lashes and met his gaze.



“Hey,” he said lightly. “You did good.”



He stroked his thumb over her lips. That slight contact warmed and soothed her. She offered him a shaky smile and wiped the remaining tears from her face.



“I want to go home.” Longing rang in her voice, echoed in her ears, and put an ache in her heart.



“You will,” he promised. Then he simply stared at her, curiosity darkening his eyes.

“Why didn’t you get in that helicopter with Neal?”



She hesitated, her teeth clamped on her lower lip. She had asked herself the same question during their long silent jeep ride. Only one answer circled in her mind. The desperate urge to make sure he was unharmed made her realize she still loved him—but she dared not admit it.



“You could have escaped,” he persisted.



She dropped her gaze from the hard gleam in his eyes, unable to formulate a response without admitting her feelings.



He cupped her face in his hands, tilted her head so she looked into his eyes. His piercing brown stare riveted her. “You killed for me.” He paused. His breath hitched. “Not to protect Stacy or yourself but for me. Why? You could have left me there for whatever you felt I deserved. Damn it! Why?”

ALWAYS A WARRIOR Patricia Bruening

76



The need to know, to understand, burned fierce in his eyes. She swallowed hard and could not look away. Her feelings meant nothing to him. Tears filled her eyes again. She took the coward’s way out and gave him only part of the truth.



“They would have killed you,” she whispered raggedly. “I didn’t want to watch you die.”



His gaze roamed slowly over her face then he lifted his eyes once more to hers. His expression softened and he released her face but kept her in his lap. He traced the faint tracks of her tears with his finger then stroked the curves of her lips. That once familiar warmth stole over her.



“Laurie.” His tone was low but full of wonder and disbelief.



She cringed at the knowledge that he had read her emotions so easily while she read nothing of his. Except physical desire, she had no idea if he even felt anything for her. But his touch scorched her senses. Her skin tingled and her pulse raced just from the simple contact of his fingertips. Her lips burned for his kisses. Her gaze dropped to his mouth and a sudden fierce craving shot into her. Need clawed her gut. Lifting her gaze to his, she let the hunger rage.



She plowed her fingers into his hair and dragged him to her, frantic for his kisses.

Suddenly cold, she craved the feel of him to prove they both still lived. Her mind knew. Heart and body wanted physical proof. With a low ragged groan, he fastened his mouth to hers and kissed her deeply, hungrily. She parted her lips on a shuddering breath and eagerly welcomed the invasion of his tongue. His touch and those deep, drugging kisses ignited a raging explosion of desperate passion.



More, she demanded mentally, wanting only the friction of skin gliding over skin. She shoved him backward onto the floor, slithering frantically over him, kissing him voraciously.

Blood rushed and roared in her veins. Her pulse thundered in her ears. His arms tightened and he rolled her beneath him. Frantic for more, always more, she scrambled to unbutton that hated terrorist jacket then impatiently shoved it over his shoulders.



He dragged his mouth from hers, yanked off jacket and T-shirt, and then came down on top of her. He took her mouth again, hard and passionate and as desperate as she. Laurie kissed him back, as demanding as he. She gloried in the weight of him pressing her to the floor. They explored each other in a frenzy of mouths and hands, lips and tongues, somehow shedding their remaining clothes. She loved the slick feel of his body covering hers, his skin sweaty and damp from rising passion. She wanted more, craved everything he gave her, clutching and clinging to him as though to a lifeline dangling over a cliff.