More Than Friends (The Warriors) Page 12

His heart thundered in his chest as he fought for the control he needed not to take Leah and plunge into her sweet, hot depths. His sex, still pulsing with need, felt a heartbeat from exploding, and rivers of molten desire seared his veins.

  Brett exhaled, summoned his strength, forced himself up to a position at her side, and gently gathered her against him. He felt profound relief that Leah came willingly into his arms, but he silently cursed himself for making her weep. He knew her tears had been born of her frustration with his denial of his own need.

  He didn’t blame her for her last–minute struggle against him. She’d wanted their bodies merged for a shared climax. He craved the same, just as he craved a life with her, his thoughts and senses focused even now on what it would have been like to be sheathed by her wet heat, her arms around him, and her legs circling his hips as they shared the same breath, the same heartbeat. He shuddered, his fantasies about reaching fruition with Leah pure torture. His flesh throbbed, his soul felt mortally wounded, and his heart ached for what might have been had Fate been a less cruel mistress.

  He trembled beneath her fingers as they roamed over his back and chest. She tugged free of him without warning and curved her hand over his erection. The air in his lungs stilled. Although clad in trousers and briefs, his clothing provided little protection against the arousal that still streaked fire through his body. Leah was both purveyor and symbol of that fire. She was his ultra–sensual fire goddess.

  "Why?" she whispered, the single word rife with disappointment. She stroked him, her fingertips skimming up and down the hard length of flesh until he thought he might go insane. "Why, Brett?"

  He jerked beneath her evocative touch, hungering for her with a physical and emotional need that only she could satisfy. Trying to find a way to answer her question, Brett discovered that neither his conscience nor his integrity offered solace or assistance.

  "I can feel how much you want me." She lifted her head to peer up at him.

  He saw her confusion. He took her hand and raised it to his lips. Pressing a kiss into her palm, he admitted in a strained voice, "I do want you, more than anything in the world, but you deserve to be protected."

  She looked blankly at him for a long moment, but understanding soon dawned in her eyes. "There are other ways. You need…"

  "I can wait."

  "But I want to…"

  He gathered her even closer. "Go to sleep. You’re exhausted."

  A soft laugh escaped her. "And whose fault is that?"

  "Guilty as charged, ma’am."

  She sighed, tucked her head beneath his chin, and closed her eyes. "We’ll stop at a store tomorrow."

  He held her then, aware that he could correct her misinterpretation if he wanted to. But he didn’t.

  He didn’t tell her that he had condoms or that he would have used them to protect her, because he never intended for her to face another unplanned pregnancy on her own. With or without her understanding, he also intended to protect her from himself.

  Brett chalked up yet another lie to his already tattered conscience, leaned back, and closed his eyes. With Leah cradled against his body, he told himself yet again that he was content simply to care for her when she was vulnerable, but his body and the desire still raging through it made a liar out of him.

  After holding her for several hours while she slept, he left her shortly after dawn to shower, shave, and dress in warm clothing suitable for the inclement weather still buffeting the Pacific Northwest coastline.

  He paused beside Leah’s bed, placing a hastily scrawled note on the night table to explain his absence if she wakened while he was gone. His fingers trembled as he nudged aside the thick strands of golden hair that had fallen across her cheek. He froze when she turned her face into his touch. She sighed softly in her sleep, her warm breath washing across his hand. He covered her exposed shoulders with the edge of the comforter before he stepped back.

  Retrieving his weapon, he exited their room, locking the door securely behind him as he glanced up and down the corridor to make certain that no one observed his movements. He forced his thoughts from Leah to the day ahead as he conducted a thorough inspection of the lodge’s oceanfront property. Then, he made the decision that they would linger for another day and night at the Seaside Lodge. A selfish decision, he knew, but he needed just a little more time with Leah—time to acquire a few more memories for what would certainly be a solitary future.

  As he strode the resort property, he found no sign of the pick–up truck that had followed them the previous day. Neither did he see any hint of surveillance being conducted. After stopping in the restaurant for a cup of coffee, he persuaded the lodge’s owner to open the gift shop earlier than usual.

  Confident that Leah would resent being confined all day in their room, Brett purchased warm, waterproof down jackets and knit caps to offset the cold temperatures and drizzly rain. He intended to use the weather as an excuse for donning the heavy outerwear, although his true motive was to shield Leah’s distinctive mane of golden hair from further notice. After calling Washington for an update and learning of Micah’s progress in the capture of several additional members of the targeted terrorist faction, he ordered a picnic brunch basket and requested that it be delivered by room service.

  Brett heard the shower running when he returned to their room. He set aside his purchases, added logs to the low fire still burning in the fireplace, and opened one of the containers of coffee he’d brought back to the room.

  Standing in front of the fireplace, his expression reflective, he watched the jets of flame consume the newly placed logs. His thoughts turned yet again to the stunning volatility of Leah’s passion. His eyes closed, and his body re–ignited with unresolved hunger for her.

  A short while later he looked up from the blazing logs to see her emerge from the bathroom. Clad in jeans and a body–hugging turtleneck and with her hair wrapped in a towel, she smiled shyly and accepted the coffee he handed to her.

  She took a sip of the steaming liquid, her smile widening when she tasted the honey he’d used to sweeten it. "Thanks. You read my mind."

  Battling his desire for her, Brett gave her a lazy salute and then settled into the loveseat in front of the fireplace to drink his own coffee. She took a seat at the edge of the hearth, set aside her cup, and tugged free the towel that covered her head.

  Studying Brett as she ran a brush through her wet hair, she let her gaze travel slowly from his face to his broad shoulders and down his flat stomach. She then took in his long muscular legs and the snug fit of his jeans across the cradle of his narrow hips.

  Desire flooded her body, her blood racing hotly through her veins. She’d wanted him, she recalled, with an almost frantic desperation the previous night. In truth, she still did. The depth of her desire for him startled her, as did her memory of their incomplete lovemaking.

  As she’d showered and washed her hair, she’d even wondered if he’d been truthful with her about his inability to protect her. She’d discovered no evidence in her overnight bag to indicate that she owned any birth control measures.

  Didn’t she care enough to protect herself? she wondered. Or had she forsaken intimacy with all men? If the latter was true, what could have happened to her to make her feel that way?

  Doubt and confusion still nagged at her, although she didn’t know exactly why. She wouldn’t know, she realized, until her memories were completely restored. The most recent of her returning memories assured her that Brett had not been honest with her about their shared past.

  Leah hated finding fault with him, especially now. She thought of the almost excruciating pleasure he’d given her, not simply the skillful manner in which he’d driven her to a release that had sapped her strength and left her in even greater emotional disarray. He knew her, she felt certain, in ways that no other man ever had or ever would.

  Her pleasure had been his focus. When she added that fact to her memory that they’d been lovers many years ago, she now foun
d his restraint both frustrating and inexplicable. She sensed that they’d once been soul mates, but something had driven them apart. What, damn it!

  She started when he sat down beside her and took her hairbrush from her. She didn’t resist when he began to brush her hair with long, measured strokes. This felt familiar. Shockingly familiar, as if he’d performed this service countless times when they’d been lovers in the past. She sat there, warmed by the fire, delighted by his gentleness, aroused by his touch, and fighting the hunger that urged her to turn into him and return tenfold the pleasure he’d given to her the previous night.

  "Couldn’t you sleep, or did you think I’d take advantage of you if I found you in my bed this morning?" she asked more bluntly than she intended.

  Brett paused, set aside the brush, and ran his fingers through her damp hair. It trickled through his fingers like warm silk. "I needed to run a few errands."

  Leah turned and looked at him with troubled eyes. "Are you sure you weren’t running away from me?"

  Brett frowned and returned the hair brush to her. He closed his hands into fists and lowered them to his sides. "That’s not something I’d do."

  "I’m not sure I believe you."

  He got to his feet and crossed the room. Removing the jackets and knit caps he’d purchased from the shopping bag, he glanced in her direction. "How about a walk on the beach?"

  She blinked in surprise. "We aren’t leaving?"

  "We’re on vacation," he countered. "I thought we’d stay another day or so, despite the weather."

  "We’ve taken holidays together in the past. Long weekends at a bed–and–breakfast inn somewhere on the Atlantic coast, ski trips to New England, that sort of thing."

  He nodded, caution in his dark eyes and wariness in the taut lines of his powerful body. He remained on the opposite side of the room.

  "We were lovers during my senior year of college, when I lived with Micah in D.C."

  "That was a long time ago. You asked if we are lovers, present tense."

  "You’re splitting hairs, and I don’t understand why. Didn’t we become lovers again last night?"

  "Last night shouldn’t have happened. It wasn’t fair to you."

  "It wasn’t fair to you!" she exclaimed, seizing on the obvious fact.

  Leah abandoned her perch on the edge of the hearth. Lifting her hands, she deftly braided her almost–dry hair as she paced in front of the fireplace. She felt Brett’s gaze. Tension rolled off of him in waves as he watched her through narrowed eyes, but her own tension was too great for her to feel much, if any, sympathy for him.

  "I don’t understand how you can say it wasn’t fair to me. You made love to me, for God’s sake. It was… I can’t even begin to describe how you made me feel."

  "Trust me," he suggested bitterly. "It wasn’t fair or right."

  "You’re wrong," she disagreed forcefully, tears stinging her eyes at his denial. "Last night was beautiful. It would’ve been perfect if you’d let me love you back."

  "I was selfish," he ground out. "I couldn’t be near you any longer without touching you and feeling your heat."

  "The heat’s still inside of me, waiting for you, wanting you. I need to warm you with it, and you need its warmth," she whispered. "Whatever heat I possess belongs to you, Brett. It always will."

  He abruptly turned away from her, yanking the tags from the jackets before tossing the smaller one on the end of Leah’s bed. "Don’t forget your vest."

  She approached him, placing her hand on his shoulder. She felt him flinch beneath her fingers. Her heart nearly shattered, but she held her ground, willing to fight for him even if he wouldn’t, or couldn’t, fight for himself and his place in her life.

  Brett kept his back to her. "It’s cold out. You’ll want to bundle up."

  "Why are you being so…"

  He suddenly lifted his head, as though scenting the wind like an animal that knows someone or something has violated its territory. Confused by his strange behavior, she fell silent.

  "Not now, Leah. Go over by the fireplace."

  He turned to glare down at her when she didn’t move. Then he simply waited, eyes as hard as cold black granite, his expression settling into implacable lines.

  She let her fingers slide off his shoulder and grudgingly followed his order, despite her resentment that he kept behaving like her jailer. She watched him approach the door, eyes widening with surprise when he lifted up the back edge of his sweater and rested his fingertips on the gun positioned at the base of his spine. After jerking open the door, he let his hand fall free.

  A waitress, her hand raised to knock on the door, stood in the hallway in front of their door. Obviously startled by Brett’s scowl, the woman opened her mouth to speak. Her lips moved, but she failed to utter a sound. She closed her mouth when Brett handed her several bills, took the picnic basket she held, and thanked her before closing the door in her face.

  "Brunch," he announced, his voice winter cold. "Why don’t we get out of here for a while? I need to stretch my legs and get some fresh air. You do, too."

  Leah simply stared at him as he placed the basket on a table near the door. He looked at her for several silent seconds and then turned his gaze to the fire. She realized then that he intended to ignore her shock.

  Too filled with disbelief to say a word, Leah nodded, tugged the knit cap over her head, donned her Dragonskin vest, and then slipped on the jacket he’d purchased for her. He was right about one thing, she realized angrily. She needed to get out of this room. It was too damned small right now for the two of them.

  9

  Silent as they strolled along the beach, Leah reflected on the confusing array of emotions Brett continued to inspire in her. She didn’t understand his behavior and decided it was time to demand an explanation from him. She also felt increasingly conflicted about the dream she’d had the previous night, especially since certain images had already intruded into her consciousness since she’d awakened that morning.

  Although Brett spoke to her several times, she ignored him in favor of her thoughts. She barely noticed the gusting coastal winds, the turbulent dark clouds overhead, or the spattering rain.

  Pausing at the water’s edge after nearly an hour of walking, she stood with her back to Brett. His presence distracted her from the images reasserting themselves in her mind, so she urged, "Go on ahead. I’ll catch up."

  "I’ll be close by if you need me."

  "I needed you last night, and I needed you a little while ago," she remarked evenly. "I don’t have the impression that what I need actually matters to you."

  She heard a hard word slip past his lips, but she didn’t apologize for criticizing him, nor did she bother to meet his gaze. Instead, she assumed that he intended to continue up the beach.

  Leah concentrated on the disturbing images that had returned to play through her mind. As in the dream she’d had the night before, she saw herself in a hospital delivery room, people rushing around her, Micah forcing her up when she didn’t have the strength to sit up on her own.

  And once again she heard a harsh voice shout, "Give me one more push, Leah! One more!"

  Something twisted deep inside her body. Placing her hands over her stomach, she stared at the surging, white–capped ocean waves without actually seeing them, her attention focused inward on the scenes unfolding in her mind.

  Leah watched herself, fascinated and stunned by the clarity of her vision. Clad in a hospital gown, drenched in perspiration, and sobbing because she felt so exhausted, she was struggling through the final minutes of childbirth. She pushed with what remained of her strength, straining all the while to overcome the pain splintering inside her.

  Eventually collapsing against the pillows that Micah had stacked behind her, she grew more and more anxious for the sound of her baby’s first cry as the seconds ticked by. Leah sank down to her knees, oblivious to the cold, damp sand, the intensifying force of the rain, and the man who stood several yards behind h
er in a shallow cave, a picnic basket and folded blanket at his feet, an expression of alarm etched into his hard features as he watched over her.

  Leah held her breath for what seemed like forever. She felt the sting of tears gathering even now in her eyes as she saw herself weep with relief when she finally heard her baby’s first outraged wail.

  A sob rippled through her as she knelt in the sand. She glimpsed his tiny hands and feet waving in the air as a nurse carried him to her. She saw herself marveling over him, counting toes and fingers, savoring his warmth, exclaiming over his perfectly shaped head, and soothing his cries of distress. She also heard the rich sound of Micah’s laughter, and she noticed the tears that filled her older brother’s eyes before he blinked them away.

  "I had a baby," Leah whispered in disbelief. "I have a son."

  Strong hands suddenly clamped down on her shoulders. Leah flinched, trying to jerk free, desperate to stay focused on the images in her mind, but they started to fade almost instantly.

  "Leah, the tide’s starting to come in."

  She dodged Brett as he reached for her a second time, arms flailing and fists clenched as she batted his hands away. She blinked and focused inward, determined to see her son’s face one more time, but his image faded. She moaned in frustration.

  Leah slowly turned her head and peered up at Brett, accusation in her eyes. Reluctantly allowing him to pull her to her feet, she remained silent as he led her away from the cold ocean froth advancing up the beach.

  She needed time to think, Leah told herself, time to come to terms with her growing conviction that she was a mother of a little child. Her heart raced with sudden alarm. Where was he? Had he been taken from her? Had he… No! She would not allow herself to imagine the worst.

  She scrambled mentally, ransacking her limited memories for some indication of what had happened to her baby son while Brett guided her into a shallow cave that offered protection from the wind and rain. She knew only frustration as she struggled to fill in the gaps surrounding his birth.

  Was she fantasizing? she wondered as she smoothed away the mix of raindrops and tears dampening her face. Had she really delivered a son with Micah’s help? She answered her question with an instinct–driven feeling of utter certainty that only a mother could understand. Yes, she had a son! But where was he?