More Than Friends (The Warriors) Page 8

  "You will. I’m just part of a temporary lapse."

  "I want to believe you, but sometimes I wonder if my past is permanently gone."

  "Trust me, Leah. You’ll get it all back."

  She nodded, even though she didn’t share his optimism. When he tugged her forward, she eagerly moved back into the harbor of his arms. Leah pressed her cheek to his hard chest, realizing with a flash of insight that she was falling in love with him.

  Again? she wondered. Or had she always loved Brett Upton?

  6

  "I’m feeling really cooped up," Leah confessed several hours later. "Since it’s raining, why don’t we take a cab over to Fisherman’s Wharf? We could have supper at one of the restaurants there and then take a long walk. I might see something familiar that will stimulate my memory. God knows, nothing else has so far."

  Brett glanced up from the road map he was studying, his expression a combination of caution and regret. "No can do, I’m afraid. I’m expecting a call from Washington."

  "Then use call forwarding and take your cell with you," she suggested.

  "That’s one idea."

  "I really need a run, but I’m not up to it right now." As she reached for a magazine, she froze and stared at him. "I’m a runner."

  "You certainly are. It’s how you start every day."

  "I finally remembered something."

  He nodded, his expression neutral. "Yes, you did."

  "Because…" she began.

  "…because you didn’t try to force it. It happened naturally."

  She exhaled and pushed up to her feet. "I’m going to take a walk downstairs. The hotel probably has several boutiques. I can window–shop for a while, and you can join me after you’ve finished with your call."

  Heading for her bedroom to collect her purse, she hesitated when Brett set aside the map, left his chair, and blocked her path. She thought she saw a flicker of concern in his eyes, although he quickly hid it in favor of a more benign expression.

  "You’re not quite ready to declare your independence and go charging off on your own. How about we have a picnic supper on the balcony, instead?"

  "A picnic supper on the balcony and then a leisurely stroll around the hotel lobby?" she countered. "I really need to get out of this suite before I start climbing the walls."

  "We have a plan." Brett walked to the desk on the opposite side of the room and picked up the room service menu that rested next to the telephone.

  "Are you always like this?"

  "Like what?" He returned to her side and handed the menu to her.

  "So… deliberate. I certainly wouldn’t want to accuse you of manipulation, however subtle it might be at times."

  "No." He met her gaze, but he didn’t say anything more.

  "That’s it?"

  He shrugged. "You asked, I answered."

  She smacked his chest with the menu.

  He grinned. "Sorry, I couldn’t resist."

  "In the future, give it your best effort."

  "Nah. You’ve always had the shortest chain in captivity, and I like yanking on it every once in a while."

  "So happy I can be a source of amusement for you."

  "You are, but in all the right ways. I’ve missed it… and you." He sobered then, as if realizing what he’d just said. He tapped the menu Leah still held. "Why don’t you order for us? You love seafood, and so do I."

  She gripped the menu. "I really want to get out of here. I must be mildly claustrophobic, and I’m on edge because of it."

  "You have a few reasons to be on edge. Relax. You said it before… right now you’re just feeling cooped up. If you can hang in there, a little patience on your part will go a long way. We’re leaving tomorrow morning. The only reason we’ve stayed this long is because the doctor said the first forty–eight hours were a critical time for you. She’s the expert, so I’d be more comfortable if we bow to her judgment in this situation. Alright?"

  Leah nodded reluctantly. She knew Brett was just trying to protect her, but she still chafed at the necessity of such behavior. "Agreed."

  Brett smoothed his knuckles down the side of her face. "That’s my girl."

  Leah didn’t think. Instead, she instinctively turned her face and pressed her lips to his knuckles. She felt a tremor pass through his fingers. Glancing up at him, she thought she saw hunger and desire flash in his dark eyes. Leah let the menu fall to the floor. She caught his hand, which had become a clenched fist, before he could withdraw it, pried open his fingers one by one, and pressed a gentle kiss into his palm.

  "Leah…"

  "Don’t say anything. It’s my turn to talk, so just listen to me for a moment." Looking up at him, she searched his face for understanding, but she glimpsed only raw need before he finally nodded. "All I have right now are my instincts. When I touch you, it feels normal and good. Sometimes, almost too good. When I try to restrain myself, it’s as though something has been broken inside of me. You’ve been very understanding and gentle with me," she continued. "You’ve also provided me with a safety net I wouldn’t otherwise have if I tried to deal with my memory loss alone, but I think you’ve discovered feelings in yourself for me that you aren’t sure how to handle, so you’re denying your own emotions in an effort to help and protect me. Please stop doing that. It’s driving me crazy, and it’s not fair to either one of us."

  His expression turned bleak. "You don’t understand what you’re saying."

  "You’re wrong. I know exactly what I’m saying, so quit being so circumspect about everything you say and do. And stop trying to think for me. There’s no need. I may not have memories, but I have a brain and I know how to use it. I will never criticize you or condemn you or accuse you of taking advantage of me, regardless of what we share or don’t share, and whether or not my memory returns. Clear?"

  She didn’t turn away from his gaze. She simply waited for him to accept or reject what she’d just said. She knew she had no other choice. And if there was a woman in his life, she needed to know that, too. He owed her the truth. If not, then he owed them both the honesty of his own emotions. As she watched him, she hoped she’d conveyed the depth of her sincerity.

  He said, "I meant it when I told you I didn’t want you ever to reach a point when you considered me a mistake in judgment. I care enough about you to want you to have the happiness you deserve."

  "What about you?" she asked. "What would make you happy?"

  "You make me happy, Leah. You always have."

  She moved forward into his arms, which encompassed her with startling speed. Molding herself to his body, she rested her cheek against his shoulder. "Is there someone else?" She held her breath and waited for his answer.

  He gripped her upper arms and gave her a little shake.

  Surprised, she glanced up at him. "Can I take that as a negative reply to my question?"

  "How can you even ask?"

  "Duh! I don’t read minds."

  He exhaled his apparent frustration.

  "Now, pay attention. Stop shying away from me when I touch you, and stop fighting your feelings, whatever they are," she whispered. "When you push me away, I feel empty inside."

  "I’m still not going to take you into my bed for the wrong reasons and under the wrong circumstances," he warned. "There are too many things you don’t remember about me. Things you deserve to know. I’m not such a bastard that I’d deprive you of the right to make an informed decision about the kind of man I am, Leah."

  "You’re a man with a conscience."

  "I thought so a long time ago, but I know better now."

  "You’re way too hard on yourself."

  "No," he ground out. "I am not."

  Fueled by inner determination, she stepped away from him and bent down to retrieve the menu from the floor. "I guess I’ll have to prove you wrong, won’t I?"

  "Good luck with that."

  Leah watched Brett rake careless fingers through his thick hair as he turned away and returned to his chai
r. Slouching down in it, he grabbed the map he’d discarded earlier and proceeded to stare at it.

  Leah dialed the number for room service, aware that she’d finally made a dent in his constant restraint. Instinct, not simply the emotions Brett stirred in her, compelled her to dismantle the walls he’d built around himself, the same walls constructed to keep them apart. She didn’t intend to fail. She’d also just discovered something crucial about herself—she was stubborn. All–day–long stubborn. With Brett, she decided, she would need to be.

  ** ** **

  An hour later, a waiter delivered a room service cart filled with covered dishes that contained crabmeat cocktails, a Caesar salad for two, broiled lobster tails with drawn butter, jasmine–scented rice, corn on the cob, sourdough bread, and an array of desert selections.

  Brett barely allowed the bewildered young man to step into the suite before collecting the check, signing it, and sending him on his way with a generous tip. The waiter was still offering to uncork a bottle of white wine from a well–known Napa Valley vintner that Leah had ordered when Brett closed and locked the suite door.

  "I don’t like sharing you," he told Leah when he noticed her chagrined expression.

  "You’re hopeless."

  "When you’re concerned, that’s truer than you know."

  She considered the various meanings of his remark as they adjourned to the awning–covered balcony. Using the misting rain as an excuse, he pulled a small table and two chairs away from the railing and created a new arrangement against the exterior wall of the suite after mopping up the dampness with a towel.

  A sniper, even one with a powerful night scope, would be hard–pressed to turn Leah into a target once he seated her in the most protected spot on the balcony. He felt satisfied that she would be able to see the cloud–filled sky and a periodic star, while no one would see her. Attired in heavy sweaters to ward off the chill of the damp night air, they settled in to enjoy their meal.

  "I think we should kidnap the chef," she commented after groaning her pleasure over their meal.

  Brett winced at her innocent remark. He pushed aside the plate that held his dessert, what remained of his appetite disappearing. Sinking back in his chair, he absently sipped his wine.

  "You’re very quiet all of a sudden," Leah said after eating the last bite of her cheesecake.

  Brett voiced the first thought that entered his head. "I was thinking about how different we are."

  She smiled. "I assume you’re speaking of things other than the obvious anatomical differences."

  He nodded, but he didn’t return her smile. Instead, he pondered the contents of his wine glass, his thoughts centered on Leah and what it would be like to experience her passion again after so many years. His body reacted almost immediately, and desire streaked through him like hot lightning.

  "Tell me about your family," she encouraged. "You’ve hardly said a word about your past, and you promised you would."

  "There’s nothing to tell," he said, his tone abrupt.

  "Of course, there is."

  "I didn’t have a family, at least not like yours. I was placed in foster care before I was old enough to walk. I grew up in a variety of homes, some good, some not. I lucked out with the last family that took me in while I was in high school. They were retired Navy. My grades and athletic ability were above average, so Bob Stone, my foster father, helped me to apply to the Naval Academy. Much to everyone’s amazement, I received a Congressional appointment. The rest, as they say, is history."

  "History I don’t know." She set aside her empty wine glass. Curling her legs beneath her, she studied him for a long moment. "What happened to your birth parents?"

  "I don’t know anything about them. I was abandoned shortly after birth." Brett shrugged. "Whoever they were, they gave me life and a name that was written on a slip of paper and pinned to my blanket. I took it from there."

  Leah looked stunned. "You must have been terrified."

  "Not really. I was too young to know that my life wasn’t normal when I was being passed from one foster family to another. By the time I did figure it out, I was old enough to realize that there are some things you can’t change."

  "You really do understand just how disconnected I feel, don’t you?"

  Brett nodded and kept his facial expression neutral. "I have a pretty good idea."

  "Is the lack of emotional security in your childhood one of the reasons you like my family so much?"

  Unsettled by her question, he decided not to dodge it. "I’ve always envied the closeness of the Holbrook clan." Had he ever been this truthful with Leah before? Probably not, he realized. "To be honest, I’d never seen or experienced anything like them. At first, I didn’t believe they were real."

  "What convinced you?"

  "Being welcomed into the Holbrook family circle without question or hesitation," he answered simply. "Your parents treated me like one of their own. Amazingly enough, they still do." And I’ve repaid their kindness, he recalled with no small amount of self–disgust, by abandoning their daughter and turning my own son into a bastard.

  "You said we met in D.C. courtesy of my eldest brother, right?"

  "Yes. I’d been to Seattle with Micah a few times during our Naval Academy days, but you were always away at school during those visits. You stayed with Micah while you completed a political–science internship as a congressional aide for a few months during your senior year of college. You were offered the same job when you graduated, and you moved into one of the spare rooms at his condo." He recalled then the immediate and intense chemistry they’d both experienced when they’d finally come face to face after having heard about each other for more than a few years.

  She asked. "Politics in D.C. to a Monterey flower shop… that’s quite a leap. How exactly did that happen?"

  "I don’t know all of the details, but you wanted a change," he said carefully. "You don’t suffer fools easily, Leah. You never have. You once told me you loathed having to deal with the power brokers who worked in the upper echelons of government. Sarah Kelly’s husband died a few years after you accepted the job with Congressman Hardiman. She was in danger of losing the shop, and she needed a partner to keep it solvent. You’d had enough of backroom politics and the sleazy crowd you had to deal with on Capitol Hill, so you took your savings, packed everything you owned, and made the cross–country move. You left a note for Micah, because he and I were in Europe on assignment at the time. You didn’t look back."

  "I sound very decisive, but it can’t have been that simple."

  He smiled grimly. "It wasn’t, but you’ve always been decisive. The people who know you and understand you don’t expect you to change. As for the decision you made to leave Washington, everything happened within the space of a few weeks."

  "Were we… good friends even then?" she asked.

  "The three of us, plus whoever Micah happened to be seeing at the time, spent all of our off–duty time together. Trips to the shore, picnics, skiing in the winter, concerts… that sort of thing."

  He saw her frown. Although he sensed that she didn’t believe his cursory description of their past, he didn’t intend to provide her with a detailed description of their affair or broken engagement.

  "Sounds… busy."

  "It was a great time." He kept his emotions shielded behind an even expression. Listening to the rain intensify in force, Brett recalled Leah’s penchant for long walks in the warm summer rain, usually after they’d spent a lazy Sunday afternoon making love in the privacy of his Arlington, Virginia apartment.

  "You obviously work in some capacity in law enforcement. Do you like what you do?" she asked.

  He blinked and refocused on her. Once again, he proceeded with caution. "I’m on the move a lot, both in the U.S. and abroad."

  "That must mean you’re in federal law enforcement… must be fascinating and perhaps a little dangerous."

  He passed a hand across his eyes, his fingertips lingering at the b
ridge of his nose as he massaged the ache there. "I really can’t talk about it, except in general terms. Most of what I do is highly classified. The people I deal with aren’t your run–of–the–mill criminals. They don’t rob corner banks or knock over liquor stores on the wrong side of town. They mount revolutions, subvert legitimate governments, and take over countries, and they don’t give a damn how many lives they destroy in the process."

  Leah leaned forward, rested her elbows on the edge of the table, and propped her chin in her palms. She studied him for a long moment. "I don’t mean to pry, but chasing criminals around the globe has to wear a person down after a while. Doesn’t it get to you? I can’t even begin to imagine what it must be like for you to be constantly alert to any possible threat that might come your way."

  Leave it to Leah, he thought, to pinpoint and articulate an important part of his frustration with the violence–filled world he inhabited. "It’s not quite that intense, but there’s damn little down–time."

  "You must be good at your job," she observed.

  "Why do you say that?"

  "You’re alive. And for the record, it sounds very intense to me."

  Brett shrugged, got to his feet, and walked to the edge of the balcony. After peering first left, then right, he studied the lighted rooftop of the building situated across from their hotel for anything that looked amiss. And as he stood there, he gripped the railing with both hands and tried to banish the images of death and destruction that filled his mind. He’d seen far too much of both, and he was bone–weary from so many years of it.

  While he’d once derived satisfaction from tracking down and either jailing or executing his quarry, he now felt emotionally bankrupt from the years he’d spent crawling through the cesspools of evil across the globe. And because he’d periodically had to play the role of a gun for hire or an extremist capable of murder, he knew he carried the taint of those years and all of its collective ugliness. He suspected he always would.

  "How can it not be?" Leah asked. "Intense, I mean. If these people are as deadly as you’ve implied, then you’re at risk all of the time, aren’t you?"