Always a Warrior(8)
While Damien built a fire in the wood-burning stove, Laurie looked around what was essentially a one room cabin with a loft at the far end. A sofa bed, already pulled out and made up, stood under the loft. A large table and six wooden chairs stood in the middle of the room.
The stove threw out plenty of heat now that Damien had a fire roaring in it. Laurie moved closer and the fire chased the cold from her body. Enveloped in warmth, she stood by the fire and took in the rustic design as she listened to Damien putting things away in the kitchen area along one wall.
“Mommy,” Stacy whined beside her. “I’m hungry.”
And tired, Laurie thought in the midst of her own exhaustion. She glanced at Damien rummaging through the cabinets then looked at her watch, surprised to find it was only a little after seven in the evening. The lack of sleep caught up with her and she stifled a yawn as she put Stacy in a chair at the table then sat beside her. Damien poked around in the refrigerator. Laurie eyed him curiously.
“How do you get power here?”
He grinned wearily. “Generator. It uses gasoline.”
“Need help?” she offered though she really did not want to move.
“Nope.” He lit two stove burners, set a saucepan on one and a skillet on the other. He moved around the kitchen as easily and knowledgably as she imagined he roamed a battlefield.
Dinner was a silent affair of grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup. Laurie and Damien eyed each other but said nothing as they ate. Her serene routine life had been turned upside down and she did not like it one bit. She had no doubt her face and the events of the previous night were plastered all over the media. I can do without this upheaval, she thought bitterly. What effect would it have on Stacy? Laurie expelled a ragged breath and lifted her gaze straight in Damien’s penetrating stare.
Dark, dangerous, and strangely compelling, he drew her in and had her contemplating urges she had buried long ago. Her earlier fantasy of his hands roaming over her bare skin streaked through her mind. She lowered her lashes but peered at him surreptitiously. Her gaze lingered on his full, sculpted lips. Would they be firm on hers? Or would they be soft, supple, and mobile?
The slight rustle beside her interrupted her thoughts. Hoping her face was not fiery red at the direction her thoughts had taken, she dragged her gaze from Damien. Stacy had almost fallen asleep after barely touching her dinner. Laurie quickly finished eating, then carried her daughter up the stairs to the loft. Stacy groggily changed into warm fuzzy pajamas and crawled into bed with a wide yawn. Laurie pulled the covers over her, tucking her in with a gentle good night kiss.
Then she simply sat on the edge of the twin bed and watched her little girl sleep. Stacy was too young to understand and too tired to care, but she was young enough to be badly frightened and unsettled. Laurie wanted her life back to normal. She wanted her daughter safe and sound in her own home.
Reluctant, she left Stacy’s bedside and trudged back down the stairs. Damien had cleared the table and now stood by the side window, staring out into the dark of night. When had she started thinking of him as Damien instead of McAllister or the soldier? She swallowed a derisive chuckle—probably the same time she started fantasizing about him touching her.
“Lt. McAllister,” she said softly as she crossed the room.
ALWAYS A WARRIOR Patricia Bruening
14
Her jerked at the sound of her voice but did not turn around. “Call me Damien. We’ll be in close quarters for a while, so drop the formalities.”
His toneless suggestion made sense. “Okay—Damien. What’s going to happen now?”
“Hopefully, nothing,” he said flatly. “But I won’t guarantee it.”
Laurie huffed in exasperation. The entire situation seemed like the plot of a low budget action movie. In the next scene she would probably end up chasing terrorists with guns blazing.
No way will I wear a slinky dress and heels to do it, either, she thought sarcastically. That notion brought a smirk to her lips but she squelched the chuckle.
“Turn around, please,” she asked quietly. “I prefer to talk to your face not your back.”
Slowly, as though in a trance, he faced her with haunted eyes. She read nothing in his blank expression except that tragedy in his eyes. It startled her and she simply stared at him for a moment before finding her voice again.
“Are you all right?” She frowned in concern, walking toward him.
He blinked and his eyes cleared. He regarded her coolly and professionally as he moved away from the window. Eyeing him curiously, she bit her lip in consternation.