More Than Friends (The Warriors)

  More Than Friends

  by

  Laura Taylor

  An Updated Edition of the Loveswept Classic

  Please visit Ms. Taylor’s website: www.authorandeditor.com

  On Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/laura.taylor.50309

  On Twitter: https://twitter.com/AuthorLTaylor

  Copyright ©2012 by Laura Taylor

  Published in the United States by Blue Jay Media Group

  ebook ISBN–13: 978–1–936724–17–8

  Cover design ©2012 Blue Jay Media Group

  Copyright ©1993 by Laura Taylor

  ISBN–10: 0553443674, ISBN–13: 978–0553443677

  Bantam Loveswept

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book, whether in print or electronic format, may be duplicated or transmitted without written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law.

  Other Books by Laura Taylor

  available at Amazon.com

  Intimate Strangers

  Fallen Angel

  Desert Rose

  The Warriors Series, Book 1

  Midnight Storm

  The Warriors Series, Book 2

  Heartbreaker

  The Warriors Series, Book 3

  More Than Friends

  The Warriors Series, Book 4

  Wilder’s Woman

  Troubled Waters

  Wildflower

  Jade’s Passion

  Starfire

  Promises

  Winter Heart

  Lonesome Tonight

  Seduced

  Dangerous Surrender

  Slightly Scandalous

  Cloud Dancer

  Anticipation

  The Christmas Gift

  Smoke and Mirrors

  Honorbound, hard cover and paperback

  To Sue & Chris Simmons—for all the right reasons.

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title

  Other Books By

  Copyright

  Dedication

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  1

  The woman moaned as she shifted atop the examining table in the Urgent Care clinic. Her thoughts resembled a clump of tangled yarn, and she sensed that she was in the throes of the worst migraine of her life. She gingerly moved her head. The brass band playing in her skull grew deafening. She exhaled, allowing her body to go limp.

  She flinched when she heard a deep voice mutter a harsh–sounding word. A heartbeat later she felt the possessive grip of what could only be a strong male hand as it encompassed her smaller one.

  She struggled to open her eyes. She succeeded in squinting up at the man who towered over her. Glimpsing the worry etched into his rugged facial features, she experienced a moment of genuine panic. But something in his eyes told her that he posed no threat to her—not this dark angel of a man who seemed to be stationed at her side like a sentry unwilling to abandon his post.

  "What…" She tried once again to lift her head. Made dizzy by her efforts, her senses swam and nausea threatened.

  "Take it easy. You’re going to be alright," he promised.

  "Don’t… lie." Trumpets blared and drums pounded in her skull. "Tell… me… what… happened. Please." She squeezed her eyes shut. Trembling, she clung to his hand and drifted on a sea of pure agony.

  Brett Upton couldn’t take his eyes off Leah Holbrook. He realized that the years—years they’d spent apart—had only enhanced her delicate beauty. Although pale and bruised from the kidnapping attempt he’d managed to foil, Leah represented every memory of love he possessed. She’d also become his personal symbol of light and hope in the midst of the darkness and chaos that dominated his world.

  Amazed even now by the warm, silky feel of her skin, Brett stroked the inside of her arm in an attempt to soothe her. The knowledge that she had been hurt because of him gnawed at his soul, and he silently vowed that no further harm would come to her. He would protect her—with his life should the need arise.

  Footsteps sounded in the hallway. Brett glanced up, his hand sliding automatically to the weapon tucked against the small of his back. Concealed from view beneath his leather jacket, the gun was part and parcel of the dark side of his life. When the doctor who’d examined Leah and then ordered a series of X–rays stepped into view, Brett let his hand fall away from the gun.

  "How’s our patient doing?"

  The patient winced in reaction to the sound of the high–pitched female voice. She brought her free hand up to massage her temple, groaning when she made contact with a walnut–sized lump just above her hairline.

  Brett carefully smoothed Leah’s hand away from her wound. Clenching his fist when he saw the droplets of blood that still dotted her forehead beneath wispy golden bangs, he managed to answer the doctor’s question with a steady voice. "She’s awake, but she’s still groggy and in a lot of pain."

  "That’s not surprising, Mr. Upton," observed the doctor, sliding a sheaf of X–rays onto a nearby table. "She slammed her head into a slab of concrete when she fell. Just be thankful she’s no longer unconscious, because that would certainly be cause for concern."

  "Does she need to be hospitalized?" he asked.

  "I don’t believe that will be necessary."

  "What about the X–rays?" His voice resembled granite as he prepared himself for the worst.

  "Good news on that score. I’ve studied them, and I don’t see any abnormalities."

  Brett exhaled, his relief obvious.

  "Head… hurts," Leah whimpered. She opened aquamarine–colored eyes swimming with tears, peered up at the doctor, and pleaded silently for relief.

  The doctor patted her shoulder. "Of course, it hurts, my dear, but your headache should be gone by morning."

  Feeling responsible for what had happened to Leah, frustration resonated in his voice when he demanded, "Can’t you give her something for the pain?" He gripped her hand even more tightly.

  "I could, Mr. Upton, but I’d rather not. It’s best not to drug a patient with a head injury, but something tells me you already realize that, don’t you?"

  He nodded, the gentleness in the doctor’s voice shaming him. He didn’t have to like it, but his experience on the battlefield and his emergency medical training assured him the doctor was right. Brett also knew Leah was strong enough to get through until morning on sheer grit if she needed to. Although he’d purposely kept his distance from her, he’d spent the last six years acquiring a healthy respect for her courage, so he didn’t expect her to cave in on him now.

  "I do empathize with your concern for your friend, but unless she experiences bouts of dizziness, blurred vision, slurred speech, or recurring headaches, she should be just fine. I do expect you to keep a very close watch on her, though." The doctor made a final note in Leah’s file before closing it and placing it atop the sheaf of X–rays. "Now, I believe you mentioned something about packing for a vacation in the Pacific Northwest when Miss Holbrook fell."

  "We can cancel the trip." He concealed his desire to remain on the move in order to guarantee Leah’s safety.

  "Actually, I’d advise you to go ahead with your plans," the doctor remarked, "but keep the schedule light and undemanding for the first forty–eight hours or so. Miss Holbrook needs plenty of rest and relaxation right now, and she shouldn’t have to deal with stress of any kind."

  "I do?" she whispered. Rest from what? she wondered, feeling both vulnerable and disoriented.

  Not knowing how to deal with the
violent images of the enraged men wielding knives and guns that filled her mind each time she closed her eyes, she concentrated instead on the strength of the callused, long–fingered hand still gripping hers. She found comfort in his touch, although some deeply–placed instinct told her that those sturdy hands were capable of things other than reassurance.

  "There’s also the very real possibility that she won’t ever remember her fall," the doctor continued, "and she may experience other memory lapses, but don’t be alarmed unless the situation persists for more than a few days. I trust you won’t hesitate to take her to a hospital should she experience any unusual changes in her motor skills."

  "Of course not, Doctor."

  Brett fervently hoped that Leah would never remember the men who’d tried to kidnap her because of their vendetta against him, but he suspected she would. And then she would blame him for what had happened. He would deserve her anger, and he would accept it. How could he not?

  "I… feel… invisible," Leah muttered through gritted teeth. "Want to… get up. Now."

  The doctor smiled sympathetically and patted her shoulder again. Brett’s guilt flashed in his eyes, but he didn’t say a word. There were none. After all, how did a man apologize to a woman for placing her life in jeopardy?

  Leah pushed herself upright to a seated position. When the doctor made no attempt to stop her, Brett glanced at the older woman, an obvious question in his eyes. She shook her head in warning and returned her gaze to Leah, watching her with an intensity that suggested she was evaluating her patient’s efforts from a strictly medical perspective.

  Leah heard the discordant blare of trumpets in her head as she sat there and tried to catch her breath. She suddenly swayed to one side. Strong hands reached out to steady her.

  A full minute ticked by on the wall clock behind the doctor. And then another. Leah carefully slid off the examining table. She felt as though someone had pitched her off the side of a steep cliff. Her legs crumpled beneath her, but Brett grabbed her before she hit the floor.

  She smothered a cry of surprise when he wrapped his arms around her. She inhaled his musky male scent, felt the sturdiness of his solid thighs, lean hips, and flat belly, and willingly accepted the haven provided by his encompassing embrace. Her senses swam, and her pulse picked up speed.

  "Doctor…" Brett began, his voice sharp with alarm.

  "She’s fine. Just let her get her bearings."

  "What… happened… to me?" she asked as her head started to clear.

  His expression strained, Brett glanced down at her. "We can talk later."

  "You apparently fell on the sidewalk in front of your home while you were packing for a trip, but I don’t want you to worry… you haven’t done any lasting damage to yourself," supplied the doctor before she gave Brett a stern look. "Don’t coddle her, Mr. Upton, and always answer her questions. Her reactions will help you gauge her awareness of the world around her. That’s going to be particularly important for the next few days."

  He nodded, jaw tightening as he ground his back teeth together.

  Leah, who peered up at him with undisguised curiosity, frowned as she studied his hard–featured face. The worry in his expression confused her. He actually seemed to care about her well–being. She wondered why.

  "How do you feel?" His tone of voice sounded roughly intimate.

  She rolled her eyes, her weak laugh turning almost instantly to a groan. "Don’t… ask."

  "I suspect that you feel as though a marching band has taken up residence in your head," the doctor said.

  Leah nodded, then she wished she hadn’t. Her brains felt even more scrambled, her head throbbed fiercely, and the tenderness of her ribs and hip hinted at having been flogged. "Something for… the pain, please?"

  "I truly empathize with your discomfort, but I’m very reluctant to prescribe painkillers. You’re better off getting through the next twelve to twenty–four hours without any artificial assistance. You’ve got contusions along your rib cage and right hip, and I expect they’ll become quite colorful over the next few weeks, but they’ll fade with time." The doctor tugged a penlight from her lab coat pocket, took Leah’s chin in hand, and said, "Focus on the light for me."

  She cooperated, but the effort involved only heightened her pain. A soft moan escaped her.

  "Very good. Now follow my finger with your eyes."

  She again did as instructed. The doctor finally turned off the penlight and slipped it back into the breast pocket of her lab coat.

  Leah closed her eyes, seeking refuge from the intense pain. She found it as she burrowed into Brett’s arms. Focusing on the warmth and security he provided, she barely heard the doctor’s next comment.

  "You two can be on your way now. When you get back from your vacation, let me know how you’re feeling."

  Leah felt like a drunk as he escorted her out of the examining room and down a long hallway. Resting her head against his shoulder, she kept her eyes closed as much as possible as they walked. Even blinking hurt.

  They paused briefly at the reception area while Brett paid the bill, then he guided Leah out of the small Monterey urgent care facility. He paused just beyond the front doors to scan the poorly lighted parking lot with the intensity of a hunter. When she swayed, he tightened his hold on her. "Lean on me."

  "Already… am."

  "Yeah," he muttered, leading her to a bench. "Wait here while I get the Jeep."

  She grabbed at him. "No! Don’t… leave me," she whispered. A rush of panic and pain nearly overcame her. "Please."

  Her fear startled him. He drew her into the shelter of his arms, one hand cupping the back of her head, the other fixed firmly at her waist. "Relax. I’m not going anywhere without you," he said, knowing he’d rather die than abandon her ever again.

  She lifted her head from his hard chest and looked up at him. Unshed tears glittered in her eyes. "I can… keep up. Really."

  Ignoring the caution flags waving in his mind, he leaned down and pressed his lips to her forehead. "I believe you. You’re the most stubborn woman I’ve ever known."

  Stubborn? She blinked in confusion.

  Brett smiled at her then, a tender, regret–filled smile. Fascinated by the change in his features, Leah tilted her head and studied him.

  Absently touching the sides of his face with her fingertips, she completely forgot that staring was rude and touching without an invitation was even ruder. She gently traced his high cheekbones and square jaw, but she hesitated when she reached his lips. Her fingertips lingered at the corner of his mouth, the sensual shape of his lips mesmerizing. She sighed, the sound tremulous.

  Brett turned his head and pressed his lips to her fingertips, his hot breath bathing her skin. She jerked in shock, and then she experienced a sudden flash of lucidity. Instinct assured her that little could ease the harshness of the angular lines and strong bones of his face. Sometimes, though, an unexpected smile would soften the ferocity of all those hard angles and make him less dangerous–looking.

  "Ready?" Once again, he scanned the parking lot through narrowed eyes.

  "Yes."

  Her headache returned with a vengeance the instant she moved, but she knew she had no choice. Standing on the sidewalk in front of the medical clinic for the remainder of the night wasn’t an option.

  She appreciated the supportive arm he slipped around her waist before they stepped off the curb together and slowly crossed the parking lot. When she stumbled, Brett caught her and lifted her up into his arms.

  "Better?" he asked, his breath ruffling the wispy bangs at her forehead.

  "Much." She closed her eyes and gingerly massaged her temples as she huddled against his chest. "Safer, too," she murmured, not giving a moment’s thought to her remark.

  His heartbeat stilled, and he frowned. "Safer?"

  Tires squealed nearby. Brett stiffened. He turned abruptly to search the darkness for the source of the sound.

  His sudden movement sent a laser–like
shaft of pain into the center of Leah’s skull. She started to protest, but her words died unspoken when he surged forward into a teeth–jarring jog across the parking lot. The unexpected flash of headlights bore down on them even as she registered the furious sound of a highly revved truck engine and the squeal of tires.

  "Hold on to me!" Brett shouted as he hurled their bodies through the air.

  They crash–landed atop the hood of a parked car, Brett managing to cushion her fall with his body. He swiftly rolled over, sprawled across her, and reached for his weapon.

  She felt the impact right down to her soul when the truck slammed into their perch. She clutched at Brett, her fingers digging into his shoulders, her face pressed against his neck as he crouched over her, and a scream of pure terror trapped in her throat.

  Brett’s physical strength and his absolute determination to protect Leah kept them atop the hood when the truck slammed into it a second time. He fired several rounds into the windshield of the vehicle. Someone shrieked in pain. The truck hurriedly backed up, tires squealing once again as it exited the parking lot at high speed.

  Brett, gathering Leah even more securely into his arms, took a moment to catch his breath. He felt an unexpected rush of arousal streak into his veins. With his hips lodged between her parted thighs and his chest pressed against her high, full breasts, he remembered the volatile passion they’d once shared. But he also remembered the intervening six years, empty years filled with violence and secondhand stories about her life.

  Breathless and trembling, she closed her eyes and held her head with both hands. When she could finally speak, she muttered, "Blasted… drunk… drivers."

  Forgive me, Leah, he begged as he held her, forgive me for making you vulnerable to men who seek your death in retribution for my actions.

  Shoving his gun into the front waistband of his jeans, Brett didn’t tell Leah that the men in the truck were terrorists, not drunks. She wasn’t in any shape to absorb the reality of her situation. Nevertheless, his conscience twitched. It also cautioned him to be more honest with himself. And the truth was simple—he dreaded her reaction when she learned why someone had tried to kill her.