He moved until she lay under him, his hand on her breast. She stared into his passion-glazed eyes. Dangerous thrills spiraled through her. Her lips parted on a silent inhale of breath. His mouth covered hers, dominating her senses and demanding a response. Powerless to resist abruptly reawakened passions, Laurie kissed him back without restraint. He nudged her legs apart with his knee, hair-roughened skin sliding erotically over silky smooth skin. A raging flame threatened to consume her. Alarm bells clamored in her head. What the hell am I doing? This is insane! His kisses devastated, destroyed, logic and she struggled to hang onto self-preservation. Then why does it feel so damn good, a tiny inner voice goaded? Why are you enjoying it so much?
Damien dragged his mouth from hers, his lips sliding along the curve of her jaw. Her knees went weak. But self-preservation, fueled by fear, prevailed.
"Stop!” Laurie commanded, drawing a ragged, panicked breath as she pushed him away. She scooted to the edge of the bed, struggled to control her breathing and her traitorous body's senses. Damien rolled to his back, chest heaving, to stare at the ceiling. When he said nothing, Laurie bolted from the bed and turned to flee, the blanket bunched in her arms like a protective shield.
"It won't happen again."
No explanations. No excuses. He didn't even offer an apology, just that impersonal declaration. Laurie attempted to shrug it off, put on her pride like a cloak, and walked stiffly up the stairs. Why did his declaration bother her? After all, she wanted, needed, him to leave her alone. Didn't she?
Several minutes later, she went back down wearing loose-fitting jeans and an old faded T-shirt. Her long brown hair swung in its usual ponytail while she pushed small tendrils from her face. Her bare feet made no sound as she rummaged and rattled around the kitchen. The aromas of bacon, eggs, and coffee soon filled the cabin. She turned her back on Damien, struggling to ignore him and his early morning passion.
Sounds reached her ears. The creak of the flimsy bedsprings and the rustle of bedclothes drew an involuntary nervous glance over her shoulder. He sat up and the blanket dropped to his waist. Keenly aware of his bare chest, she wanted to touch him, to smooth her hands over all that glorious muscle. She still felt his electrifying touch—his hands on her breasts, his mouth on hers. She tensed under his penetrating stare as he tracked her every move around the kitchen.
Stacy rustled around in the loft and Laurie fled to help her daughter dress, glad to have a few minutes respite from Damien's dynamic, unnerving presence. When she returned, Stacy in tow, Damien sat at the table with a cup of coffee. He had dressed in black jeans and an old black sweatshirt with the sleeves ripped off, showing every rippling muscle in his arms as he moved. He looked so ruggedly, gloriously primitive, she stifled a groan of pure desire. His jet-black hair was combed, a few unruly strands curling around his ears. Brown eyes sparkled as he grinned at Stacy. She smiled brightly at him as she slid into the chair beside Laurie.
Laurie ate several bites, though everything tasted like sawdust and sipped her coffee before she looked across the table at Damien.
"Are we totally isolated here?” she asked in an effort to keep her mind off her newly rediscovered sex drive.
He glanced up from his plate. Though he didn't smirk, a faint hint of amusement twinkled in his eyes.
"Not quite,” he replied. “I have a short-wave radio for necessary communication. And my men are in the woods."
Disconcerted that he read so easily everything she wanted to keep hidden, Laurie tensed under his piercing regard. She noticed a brief puzzling flicker in his eyes, followed by a blank expression. A quick glance out the window revealed nothing except trees and shadows in the sunny morning.
"Where in the woods?"
"Don't worry. We have plenty of privacy.” He paused, his eyes full of speculation as his gaze lingered on her. “I have to place a call after breakfast so you'll have to go outside. It's classified."
Laurie arched an eyebrow in an expression that indicated she thought the time for secrecy had passed. However, she merely nodded acknowledgement and they finished breakfast in silence.
After she cleaned the kitchen, Laurie took Stacy outside, giving Damien his requested privacy. Though she had no other option, she did not want to be isolated with Damien for an undetermined period of time. Her peace of mind was threatened by something other than terrorists. How long could she hold her physical attraction at bay? He so obviously returned that attraction. He had aroused a desire in her that left her breathless and wanting, a desire stronger than any she had ever felt.
"Mommy,” Stacy broke into her thoughts. “There's nothing to do here."
Laurie sighed softly and grinned affectionately at her daughter as she wondered what to do about Damien. But children are never idle long. Laurie soon trailed after Stacy as she explored the small clearing. Discovering a tree near the side window, Stacy climbed it in a flash. Laurie laughed but kept a sharp eye on her daughter as she moved from branch to branch like a monkey.
"Come up here, Mommy!” Stacy yelled enthusiastically from above her head.
"Absolutely not,” Laurie replied firmly. “No way."
"Laurie,” Damien spoke quietly behind her.
Startled, gasping, she jumped and spun around to face him. “You scared me to death,” she accused trying to catch her breath as her heart pounded in her chest.
He glanced at her heaving breasts and she made a determined effort to control her breathing.
"Sorry,” he muttered, lifting his gaze to her eyes. “I need to talk to you."
She blinked at his serious expression and nodded slowly, her mouth dry with the sudden anxiety in the pit of her stomach.
Chapter Three
"What about?” she demanded anxiously as she followed Damien back into the cabin.
She yanked a chair from under the table and sat down and gripped the edge of the seat so tightly her knuckles ached. She shot glance out the window at Stacy still playing in the tree then looked back at Damien.
"As of two days ago, Crawford was still very much alive,” he stated tersely, “and still smuggling.” His face hardened and his eyes turned to brittle chocolate.
Laurie gaped at him. It was all still unbelievable despite the evidence she had seen with her own eyes. One day her father was dead—the next he was a very much a live terrorist. Fate demanded too much of her. She could not change the illusions of a lifetime in just a day.
"Laurie.” Damien snapped his fingers and she blinked. “Did your mother ever tell you anything besides that he was dead?"
"No.” She shook her head on a wave of anguish. “I never even saw a picture. You people know more about him than I do."
And it isn't supposed to be that way, she thought bitterly. Her father still lived. New feelings of abandonment and anger replaced the old sorrow and loneliness. Bitterness only scraped the surface.
"Where is he?” she demanded abruptly, clenching her fists at her sides.
"I don't know.” Damien, his voice harsh and his expression unyielding, admitted. “They've moved. We don't know where they went."
Laurie watched him, her hands once more curled around the edge of the seat. Barely controlled fury emanated from him. He gripped the back of a chair so hard tendons stood out on the backs of his hands and his knuckles turned white. Laurie instinctively flinched back from his fury and eyed him nervously. He stood ramrod straight, every muscle rigid, and glared at her. Anger blazed in his eyes.
Her voice barely above a whisper, she dared ask, “What happened?"
He did not reply immediately so she let the silence linger and tore her anxious stare from him to watch Stacy through the window.
"I don't know,” Damien finally ground out through clenched teeth, “but when I find out—.” He broke off, forcing the rage down. There had been a breakdown in communication and his source had disappeared. He could not tell Laurie that but if he had to train her to fight, he would damn well make sure she fought well. Without current knowledge of
the terrorists’ movements, they had to be ready for anything. He was damned if he would be caught flat-footed with an untrained civilian on his hands, especially since Laurie had to play a part in the capture of Crawford.
"Damien."
Her tentative tone broke into his thoughts and he focused on her. Her face pale, she regarded him solemnly. Fear lurked in the depths of her eyes despite her best efforts to hide it. He blinked, almost surprised. She was beautiful. Just looking at her was a sucker punch to his hormones. She tangled him in knots without even trying. Watching her, he shoved lust aside and wondered if she was up to the violent confrontation awaiting them. He remembered what she had done to the terrorist they removed from her house and smiled grimly.
"What now?” she asked quietly. Only the slight waver in her voice betrayed her apprehension.
"I teach and you learn.” His expression tolerated no argument.
"Learn what?"
"To fight and to kill,” he shot back harshly, glaring at her.
Silence descended around them. Laurie detected no compromise in his rigid demeanor. He meant every word he said. His sharp glare pinned her in place, though his face somehow remained expressionless. She forced herself to look out the window at her daughter, her reason for living and the only reason to follow every one of Damien's orders.
Stacy had left the tree to chase a butterfly across the clearing. She stopped at the edge of the woods, shoulders slumped in disappointment, and then trudged back to the cabin. Laurie sighed. If only her world could be as simple as her daughter's. She looked back at Damien and squirmed under his intense stare.
The situation suddenly overwhelmed her. Terrorists—her father was still alive. Conflicting emotions flooded her. My father is still alive! The thought pounded in her skull. Elation, anger, and fear fought inside her. He was alive, all right, and dragging her and Stacy into his violent, traitorous world. Screams bubbled in her throat but her father was not there to scream at. Without a single word, she fled to the loft to sort out her thoughts and emotions and the tangle of lies and illusions her life had become.
Tears streamed from her eyes but she made no effort to stop them. She buried her face in the pillow and sobbed in silent heartache. Sorrow and abandonment ran their twisted courses. Why? Her mind and her heart screamed in unison until finally only raw anger twisted her gut into knots. Her life had been turned upside down by a man who was supposed to be dead and a woman who had not loved her enough to tell the truth.
"Laurie,” Damien said softly as the mattress dipped under his weight. “Are you okay?"
She rolled onto her back and looked up at him through her tears. “I will be.” She sniffled and swiped a trembling hand over her eyes. “I'm so confused. Why all the lies?"
"I don't know. You'll have to ask your mother.” He took her shaking hands in his. His thumb rubbed idle circles over her wrist.
Her heart skipped a beat as she met his dark gaze. His touched warmed her heart and soothed her soul.
"Come here,” he ordered softly as he tugged her up until her breasts grazed his chest.
All too aware of him, Laurie knew she should move away, but she did not want to. She inched closer and his presence enveloped her. Heat radiated from him to warm her cold heart. His arms slid around her, wrapping her in the security she craved. Gradually the need to cry subsided but she only snuggled closer. If felt too good just to be held. She did not remember the last time a man, or anyone, had simply held her.
"It's hard. I know,” he sympathized quietly. “You can deal with this."
His finger under her chin prompted her to look up at him. “The only other option is to curl up and die."
Laurie peered deeply into deep brown eyes that held her as captive as his arms. “You speak from experience,” she mused aloud.
He gave a brusque nod. The hard glint in his eyes ended further questions. She let out a troubled, shuddering breath and gripped his shoulders.
"My life is a lie,” she said flatly. “What am I supposed to do about that? Nothing?"
"Your life is what you made it,” he countered firmly. “No one did it for you."
"I know that. It's just.... “She stopped.
Unable to explain her own feelings, she rested her head on his shoulder. One arm clung to his waist and the other hand flattened on his chest. He was hard and warm beneath her palm. She longed for his strength, his obvious confidence. His heart thudded in her ear. The steady rhythm soothed her and she pressed closer, felt his heat pour into her.
The security of his embrace was a luxury. The sensation of his hard body pressed to hers was a delicious temptation. She tilted her head, her gaze skimming over his throat, his face. Mesmerized, she stared into dark eyes until reality dissolved around her. He drew her to him in a way that defied understanding. It was more than gratitude. Gratitude did not leave a person weak in the knees and craving more. Swamped in sensual intimacy, she admitted she wanted him. She craved his touch the way an addict craved drugs.
He stiffened, tried to draw back from her, but she tightened her hold and only moved closer. The contact scorched her through two layers of cotton. Her breasts pressed firmly to his chest so her nipples tingled and hardened until she ached for his touch. I shouldn't, she told herself weakly. But she surrendered to her needs, her desires. Her fingertips raked his nipples through his sweatshirt with light, provocative strokes.
His breath hitched. She smoothed her hand over his shoulder to the back of his neck. The silky texture of his hair at her fingertips tantalized her. She tangled her fingers in his hair, holding him to her. She pressed her mouth to his throat. Her tongue glided over salty skin, teasing and tormenting herself and, she hoped, him. His taste exploded in her mouth, salty and musky, uniquely Damien.
A low, deep groan, music to her ears, erupted from his throat. He jerked back and covered her mouth with his, forcing her lips apart with the demanding thrust of his tongue. The sheer male sex appeal, the strength of him, dragged her under. Her heart melted and her body burned for him. She strained closer, her breasts crushed to his chest. Like steel bands, his arms molded her to him as his mouth ravished hers.
Sensation after sensation slammed into her. Violence, terrorists, revelations—all were forgotten when she clung to him, devoured him. Her tongue dueled with his, her lips rubbing frantically over his as she strained to get even closer, to get inside his skin, to have him.
Lowering her to the mattress, he left her mouth to blaze searing, sucking kisses along her jaw and down her neck. His body covered hers, a glorious comfortable weight pressing her into the mattress. She sucked in a harsh breath, speared her fingers in his hair. Passion, unleashed, controlled her. She welcomed it, reveled in it. He made her feel wanted, needed—everything that made her whole. She arched, offering him easier access and his mouth slid, tongue licking, along the curve of her neck to her shoulder.
He tugged her T-shirt from the waistband of her jeans. Fast and lethal, his hands streaked under her shirt to cup her straining breasts. Blood rushed to her head. A low moan shuddered from her throat. His fingers teased her nipples, his thumbs flicking the hard peaks.
"Mommy?” Stacy's hesitant plea doused passion like ice water poured on a fire.
Laurie froze. Damien jerked back from her. She felt almost abandoned and wished, just for a selfish instant, that Stacy had been asleep downstairs. Cool air blew across her stomach and she guiltily tugged her shirt down and looked at her daughter. Stacy stared at her and Damien, her green eyes wide with fear and confusion. Throbbing with unappeased hunger, Laurie let out a fragmented breath. Damien jumped from the bed with a frustrated groan. Laurie felt his withdrawal like a slap in the face.
"I heard a noise under the stairs,” Stacy whined. “What is it?"
"Damn,” Damien muttered as he strode across the wood plank floor. He glanced over his shoulder, his face an impenetrable mask. “I apologize.” He disappeared down the stairs.
That emotional retreat hit her harder tha
n his leap from her bed. It carried the sting of rejection. Inwardly cursing herself, Laurie made no effort to explain to Stacy what she had interrupted. Stacy climbed into her lap and clung. Laurie rocked her gently, murmuring soothing nonsense as she took her own comfort in her daughter's unconditional love.
Downstairs several minutes later, Laurie stared out the window. Stacy was sprawled on the floor with crayons and coloring books. Laurie made a valiant effort to banish desire, though she knew in her heart it was a hopeless task. Restless, she prowled the cabin. Noting the time, well past three in the afternoon, she started an early dinner to keep herself busy. But her sensual attack on her ‘bodyguard’ played in her mind like a film loop. Her skin burned for his touch. Her nipples hardened at just the thought of his mouth. She shook her head firmly but the images stayed in her mind. She wanted him—desperately.
She was setting the table when Damien emerged from a small hidden room under the stairs. It was obviously where he kept the radio. She forced herself not to question him. It could only be bad news and she couldn't take any more. Her gaze followed his every tense move as he prowled the room. So nervous she wanted to throw a dish at him, she just clenched her teeth and finished cooking dinner.
"Laurie,” he finally called from across the room.
She flinched and turned slowly from the stove. He stood next to end of the sofa, his gaze rooted squarely but impersonally on her. “We'll talk after dinner."
The only sound during dinner was Stacy's chatter. Laurie often found herself watching Damien, the afternoon's passion uppermost in her mind. Memories played havoc on her imagination and her senses. Strictly physical, she reminded herself firmly. She had lost her mind for a little while under the emotional storm of the situation, but she could easily get over a strong physical attraction if she did not give in to temptation again.
Always a Warrior Page 4
