More Than Friends (The Warriors) (14 page)

Leah laughed at the surprise that flickered in his eyes, the sound of her humor warm and intimate. "It’s a miracle my psyche wasn’t permanently dented, especially since some twit on the yearbook staff decided to put a picture of an abandoned gym sock next to my graduation photo."

Brett’s harsh façade finally cracked. His gazed dipped below her chin for a lingering inspection of her physical attributes. Leah heard the ragged half–sigh, half–laugh that escaped him as he studied the gentle swells beneath her sweater.

"Nature obviously rewarded you for your patience in that department," he observed, his gaze heating as he visually stroked her with his dark eyes.

Her pulse picked up speed. Leah grinned and congratulated herself on penetrating the wall of silence he’d erected around himself. She continued to share snippets of her past, primarily recollections from her teenage and early college years, as they lingered over coffee and dessert. They were the last diners in the restaurant when their waitress brought them the check for their meal.

"I almost feel like I’m being deluged by my memories," Leah confided. "There are gaps, of course, but my past is coming back to me in big chunks. I’m having trouble with some of the chronology, but I’ll eventually get the sequence of events straightened out."

As she continued to speak, Leah kept a close eye on his body language, which appeared to be undergoing a subtle transformation. She watched the tension in his face and upper body ease, and she also noticed that he’d stopped gripping the handle of his coffee cup like a weapon. And when he smiled at her as she described another humorous escapade from her college days, she managed not to stand up and cheer. She wanted to, though.

A short while later he placed three twenty–dollar bills on the table. "It’s getting late. Why don’t we head back to our room?"

Leah leaned forward, confessing softly, "I’m in need of a hug."

He looked vaguely thoughtful before he nodded. "I think that can be arranged."

"I hate it when we’re at odds with each other, Brett. I’ve felt so lonely all day."

A muscle in his jaw jumped. He reached for her hand and ran the blunt tip of one of his fingers back and forth across her exposed palm. Leah felt his touch in the depths of her heart.

"Me, too, Leah. Me, too," he finally gritted out before releasing her hand and getting to his feet.

She collected her purse and stood. Noting Brett’s hesitation, she asked, "Is something wrong?"

"The only thing that’s wrong is me. I’ve behaved like a bastard all day. I owe you an apology."

"An apology isn’t necessary," she said. "Just don’t treat me as though I’m invisible if you’re worried about something or if you’re angry with me. Be willing to talk to me, because when you shut me out, I feel like I’m dying inside."

Leah welcomed the strong arm he slipped around her shoulders as they left the restaurant, just as she welcomed the warmth and strength of his embrace when they turned out all of the lights in their room and settled into the loveseat in front of a roaring fire. Her intuition told her that Brett cared more deeply for her than he was prepared to admit, but she felt no such restrictions on her emotions.

Gathered against his chest, Leah whispered, "I love you," just seconds before the security she found in his embrace and the steady cadence of his heartbeat lulled her to sleep.

I love you.

Her words reverberated within his soul, stunning him, briefly stilling his pulse. Brett hadn’t ever expected to hear her utter them again. His heart rocketed into the heavens, but it quickly reversed course and plummeted back to reality. The startling burst of pleasure he’d initially felt died in the space of a single breath, leaving him mired in a state of emotional defeat.

Brett knew better than to believe Leah. She would loathe him when she finally remembered the truth, which he suspected would happen very soon given the almost sequential nature of her returning memory. As well, he cautioned himself against hoping for the impossible—her forgiveness—because life had already taught him that some things are never forgiven or retrieved.

She would run from him, just as she’d run from him to start a new life in Monterey six years earlier. And she would hate him even more than she had then.

Brett lost track of the time as he held Leah and stared at the fire. He longed to feel whole again, to be loved, and to experience the emotional satisfaction and fulfillment he’d once known with her. All of his dreams and fantasies during the last six years had hinged on the possibility of a life with Leah and their son at some point in the future, but the future had arrived. Now, he saw it for what it was—a colorless landscape littered with broken dreams and shattered hopes.

As Leah curled into him and sleepily nuzzled the side of his neck, Brett fought the temptation to abandon his conscience and simply take her into his bed. Starved for one last taste of her passion, he silently cursed the gnawing weakness within himself that prompted such selfish thoughts, and he forced himself to reaffirm his commitment to her protection and to guiding her through her present crisis.

His thoughts shifted for a moment to the weariness he felt at the prospect of returning to the never–ending battle that he and Micah, and men like them, waged across the globe. In danger of losing his edge and his soul if he remained much longer in the hunt, he realized that his days as a hunter were nearly over. He’d seen too many good men die, and he’d lost everything he valued. For now, though, he couldn’t—and wouldn’t—walk away until the terrorists who’d placed Leah and their child in jeopardy were all imprisoned or dead.

Brett carried Leah to bed shortly before dawn, removed her slacks and blouse, and tucked her beneath a down comforter. Placing his weapon on the night table that separated their beds, he discarded all of his clothing except his trousers before he stretched out atop his own bed. He wedged a pillow behind his head, staring absently at the tongues of flame that licked at the fireplace logs and listening to the sound of the rain as it pummeled the rooftop above his head.

Brett didn’t expect to fall asleep, but his fatigue eventually claimed him. He drifted off, still sick at heart as he anticipated Leah’s reaction to him when she recalled their shared past and to the explanation he would need to provide about the threat he’d caused to her and to their son.

Leah screamed. She fought the hands restraining her until the pain deep in her belly destroyed her dwindling strength and sent her tumbling into the arms of agony. She screamed yet again, a hoarse cry that sounded as though it had been wrenched from the depths of her soul.

A voice she didn’t recognize yelled, "Quit fighting me, Leah. You’re close. Very close. Give me one more push. Just one more."

"Can’t," she muttered between sobs. "Can’t push."

Strong hands seized her, shoved her upright, and held her still. Her head rolled forward, long, sweat–matted strands of golden hair spilling across her tear–stained, perspiration–drenched face. She groaned, protesting as best she could despite the cramp gripping her mid–section.

"Come on, Leah. One more time for Micah. Just one more for me, baby sister, and then it’ll be all over."

She flailed against his hold, but he brushed her hands aside. "One more," she whispered to herself, all the while knowing that she had no strength left. "One more."

"That’s right, baby sister. One more time. You can do it. I know you can."

She whimpered a feeble protest and then screamed as the pain exploded inside her again. Someone cursed, the sound vicious as it rang in her ears. She pushed, too frightened now not to. Voices all around her kept yelling at her, insisting that she push. Desperate enough to do anything to end the pain, and despite her certainty that she was on the verge of death, she kept trying to do what they wanted.

"Leah! Wake up!"

Someone shook her, in the same way that a frustrated child shakes a rag doll when it won’t talk back. She gasped, grabbing her middle as the muscles there rippled in protest.

"Can’t. Can’t," she wept, tears streaming down her cheeks.

She felt strong hands jerk her forward. She slammed into a hard wall of muscle. Disoriented, she stiffened, opened her eyes, and looked blankly at the fierce expression on the face of the man holding her. "Is he alive? Tell me," she begged, perspiration dripping into her eyes and making them sting. "Is he alive?"

"Leah, wake up. You aren’t making any sense."

She clutched at Brett, her fingers sinking into the dark hair that covered his chest. She didn’t notice that he flinched as her nails scored his skin. "Is he alright?"

He tugged her close, his confusion evident as he stroked her shaking body and tried to calm her. "Is who all right?"

"The…" Uncertain and bewildered, she eased back and studied his features. She saw his concern and what she thought might be a hint of fear. What could he be afraid of? she wondered.

Reaching up, she traced the width of his mouth with her fingertips. He froze, staring at her. She frowned, wondering why he kept looking at her in such an odd way. What was there between them that caused him such anxiety?

She tilted her head to one side, studying him with the open curiosity usually reserved for small children when they’ve discovered something new and interesting. She slid her fingertips up the side of his face and into the shaggy dark hair that crowned his head and trailed down his neck. After letting the coarse dark silk slide through her fingers, Leah flexed them and then pressed the pads of each finger against the warmth of his scalp.

Brett shuddered under her touch. His hands tightened, his fingers digging into her waist. She felt pleasure spark to life deep inside her, a ready replacement for the quickly fading memory of pain she’d brought with her from her dream.

"Where are we?" she absently asked as she scanned his harshly carved features yet again. "You look worried. Why?"

Brett frowned. "The Oregon coast. We’re in a room at the Seaside Lodge, and I
am
worried."

She shook her head. "No. We can’t be. The hospital…" Confused, she let her voice trail off.

Shoving her tangled hair out of her face, she exhaled and sagged against him. Sanity started to pierce her befuddled mind. The dream receded a little more, the edges growing fuzzy. Leah swallowed against the dry, cottony feeling in her throat and mouth. "Water, please."

Brett kept one arm around her, pushed his holstered gun out of the way, and reached for the carafe on the bedside table. After half–filling a glass with water, he helped her tilt it to her lips. She drank greedily.

"I had a dream," she whispered once he set aside the glass and drew her back into his arms.

"It sounded more like a nightmare."

"I don’t understand."

"You were screaming. I couldn’t make out the words, but you sounded terrified and angry."

She felt engulfed by his embrace. He made her feel safe and protected. Why couldn’t he love her, too? she wondered drowsily.

"I couldn’t get you to wake up. You scared the living hell out of me."

She shook her head before she pressed her lips against his shoulder. "Sorry. The dream seemed so real. I think I was having a baby, but no one would tell me if he was alright. Micah was there with me."

"You had a baby in your nightmare?" he asked grimly.

"Sounds crazy, doesn’t it?" She hesitated and then admitted, "It hurt. People kept yelling at me to push, but I didn’t have any strength left. No one would listen to me, though."

"I would have listened." His voice sounded tortured, his eyes filling with anguish as he looked down at her. "I would have been there for you if I’d known you needed me."

Startled by his reaction, she said, "Don’t be sad, Brett. I’m alright. It was just a dream. I’ve almost forgotten it."

She snuggled closer, her lips brushing against his bare shoulder yet again, her hands skimming up and down his spine, the muscles rippling beneath her fingertips. She felt him tremble before he tightened his embrace. Leah shifted against him, her insides already throbbing and quaking with need. She sighed.

The sound of her sigh was softer than a gentle breeze on a warm spring day, but Brett still heard it. He forced their bodies apart, gripped her upper arms, and peered down at her face. "What’s wrong?"

"Nothing. I’m just…"

He slid his hands up to her shoulders, curving his fingers over the slender width. "Your skin’s on fire."

"All of me is on fire. I get that way whenever you touch me… or talk to me… or look at me."

"Leah…"

She heard the start of a warning. "No, don’t say it, and don’t push me away again, please. I want you." She saw disbelief and shock reflected in his dark eyes. She stopped him from speaking by placing her fingertips against his lips. "Please don’t say no to me again."

He didn’t. He muttered a curse, but she heard no anger in the word. Instead, the hard word seemed to echo with reluctant capitulation.

"Love me, Brett, if only for tonight. Please love me," she whispered against his mouth before quickly sucking his lower lip between her teeth and bathing it with the tip of her tongue.

He groaned into her mouth as their lips mated. He traced the seam of her lips until they parted and then the even line of her teeth, his hunger for her revealed even before he thrust his tongue into her mouth. He explored her with deep hard kisses, as if compelled to consume her with an intimate greed that stunned and thrilled her.

Leah opened to him completely, willing to relinquish control, willing to be anything he desired, willing to completely surrender. Too eager, too starved for the taste of him to care who dominated their intimacy, she savored his possession and delighted in the skillful way in which he ate at her lips and delved into the heat of her mouth.

Eager to be free of any barriers between them, she released the catch on her bra, shrugged free of it, and tossed it aside. She pressed her breasts against his chest, inhaling the tortured sound Brett made as they shared the purest sensory pleasure, exhaling the answering echo of her utter relief.