She studied him anxiously, searching for a sign of his feelings, if he had any. His expression was blank, his eyes cold. He had been very careful to make no promises and to keep everything but desire to himself. Her heart broke all over again. She wanted to cry. She wanted to scream at him.
“So, that’s it. I was a means to an end.” Anger and disgust mingled with heartbreak as she grasped the door handle. “Thanks for nothing. I’ll walk.”
In a blur of movement, he grabbed her wrist. His arm brushed her breast. Desire shot straight into her. Her nipple tingled and pebbled. She heard his sharp inhale as he jerked her hand from the door handle.
“You were not a means to an end,” he insisted, harshly, his eyes hot and furious. “I lost my head for a while.”
She looked at him, hurt all over again. “Take me home.”
“Not until you hear me out.” He gripped both of her hands tight in his, his penetrating stare holding her captive. “Making love with you had absolutely nothing to do with the mission—but it was a mistake. It was more my mistake than yours. I should never have touched you.”
Laurie had told herself the same thing, but she didn’t like hearing it from him. Mistake—
it didn’t have to be a mistake. But she could not make him love her—want her yes, but not love her.
“Believe me,” he continued and his tone rang with quiet conviction. “Loving you is something I’ll never forget. I can’t quite regret it, either—not completely.” For an instant, he looked miserable. He shook his head in a sharp gesture of denial. “This—we—can’t go any further. I’ve already disrupted your life. There is absolutely no future for us. My job, my life, does not allow emotional entanglements.” He stared into her eyes for a moment and she nearly drowned in his intense gaze.
“For a few days I let myself forget that there are some things I can never have,” he muttered fatalistically.
“It’s just as well.” She had to force the words through her aching throat. “Stress and danger don’t exactly make for a lasting relationship.”
Laurie stared at him for several seconds, as though committing every nuance of him to memory. But she didn’t have to do that. She would never forget him. Only after he dropped her hands and started the engine did she tear her gaze from him. The ache in her throat became a hard, painful lump as she fought the urge to cry. In spite of everything, she loved him. She could not help it. Love did not come easily to her. It never had. Once given, it could not be taken back.
ALWAYS A WARRIOR Patricia Bruening
81
This was new territory for her. She had never really been in love before now. She did not know how to stop it or if it was even possible. Against all reason, she had fallen in love with the one man she could never have—her dark, dangerous hero who owned her heart but did not want it.
Damien turned the car into a driveway and stopped. Her eyes cleared. She was home. She fought to clear her mind as she climbed out of the car. Approaching the front door, she noted absently that the front wall and window had been repaired. She heard the clunk of the car door as Damien exited the vehicle.
The front door opened and Stacy ran into the yard. Relieved, ecstatic, and on the verge of tears, Laurie grabbed her daughter up in a bear hug. Her heart full of love, she spun around.
“Hi, Mommy!” Stacy squealed, her green eyes sparkling with delight. “I missed you! Hi, Damien!” She waved at him over Laurie’s shoulder and squirmed for release. Laurie set her on the ground and Stacy ran to Damien, hugging his waist hard.
“Laurie,” Marjorie spoke sternly, coldly from the open front door.
Laurie looked up. Stiff and regal, her mother radiated disapproval from across the yard.
Laurie squared her shoulders and straightened her spine. It was time for a long overdue confrontation.
“Thank you, Mother, for taking care of Stacy,” she said with icy politeness as she slipped past Marjorie and into the house. Stacy followed, leading Damien by the hand.
“What is the meaning of all this?” Marjorie demanded icily, her displeasure obvious.
“What have you gotten yourself into now?”
Laurie only glared at her mother as she lit a cigarette to cover the nervous flutter in her stomach. She had killed terrorists. She would no longer wither under her mother’s cold disapproval or be made to feel inadequate. When she spoke, her tone carried an imperial air of cold command she had never before used on her mother.
“Shut up, Mother. I’ll ask the questions.”