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“Time for bed, Stacy,” she told her daughter and inwardly cursed the smoky, husky edge to her voice.

Stacy gave her a quick peck on the cheek then ran to Damien. She threw her arms around his neck, taking him by surprise. He flinched but hugged her firmly. She planted a wet, noisy kiss on his cheek, said a cheerful good night, and dashed up the stairs.

As she cleaned the kitchen, Laurie felt Damien’s relentless stare bore into her skull. He tracked her every move until her neck prickled and blood roared in her ears. Nerves popped and sizzled under her skin until she wanted to scream or hide.

“We need to talk.” It was totally unfair that he sounded so calm, so cool, when she was nothing but a writhing mass of nervy, edgy hunger. And it was entirely his fault!

“After I finish,” she muttered, scrubbing the saucepan with fierce strokes that sloshed water over the edge of the sink.

“Leave the damn dishes!” Damien suddenly shouted.

The edge of frustration in his voice thrilled her. At least, she wasn’t the only one suffering the agony of self-denial. His booted feet pounded the wooden floor as he stormed across the room. The stomping sounds were a balm to her nerves since he normally moved without sound. His fingers curled around her arm as he yanked her around to face him.

She blinked, gulped, and stumbled back a step. Her heart pounded frantically at the ferocity of his dark eyes. He must have seen her apprehension because he swore viciously as he glared down at her. His hold loosened, though he did not release her.

“Damn it, woman, I’m trying to keep you alive!” he snarled.

Anger sliced through her fear. She wrapped her fingers around his thumb and jerked that thumb back. He winced and she slid his hand from her arm.

“By manhandling me?” she snapped furiously and rubbed her arm for added emphasis.

“Besides, doesn’t that job fall to someone else now? You’re leaving. Remember?”

She turned from him, fixed her gaze out the window over the sink. Anger drained rapidly and she clutched the edge of the sink. She could not deny she already missed him though he had yet to leave. Just the knowledge of his departure clenched her heart and sparked fear for his life.

But she refused to admit it to him.

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Damien let out a ragged breath behind her. His hands settled on her shoulders, tightened for a moment, then turned gentle and comforting. He stood so close his breath stirred her hair and warmed her ear. Goosebumps erupted on her skin as need tightened her gut into knots. The heat of him spread through her, fanning the already raging flames of desire. She closed her eyes in self-denial. She knew what he wanted and struggled to find the strength to refuse herself as well as him. Fighting her heart’s treacherous inclinations, she moved away from him, her gaze riveted to the window.

“Talk to me.” The accompanying crack of thunder nearly stopped her heart but neatly punctuated his quiet command.

A single flash of lightening lit the clearing in stark black and white. Jolted, she curled her hands tightly around the edge of the counter.

“I have nothing to say. You’re leaving.” Putting that hard won but false calm in her voice cost her. All she wanted to do was cling to him and beg him to stay.

With another crack of thunder and a jagged flare of lightening, the storm raged on top of them. Wind-driven rain beat the glass panes. Her reflection wavered. Wind howled through the trees and the clearing. Windows rattled in the insane power of the storm. Damien’s arms slid around her. She flinched at the unexpected embrace, cringed at the heat that shot straight into her.

“Shhh,” he murmured in her ear. “It’s okay.”

The next explosion of thunder had her digging her fingers into his arms across her waist.

Her head reeled. Thunderstorm—it was only a thunderstorm. Damien held her, sheltered her.

The sudden bolt of lightening nearly blinded her. Abruptly, the room plunged into darkness.

Stunned, she blinked rapidly trying to get back her sight. She heard the furious storm and her own frantic heartbeat. She wasn’t blind. The storm had knocked out the generator.

“Shit,” she muttered, berating herself. “Paranoid—it’s only a storm.”

“Check on Stacy,” Damien suggested quietly in her ear as he reached past her to a drawer by the sink. “She might be scared. I’ll check everything else.”

With a shaky breath of relief, she pulled away from him. He grabbed a flashlight from the drawer, switched it on, and handed it to her. Pathetically grateful for the distraction, Laurie took the battery-powered light and carefully picked her way up to the loft. In the glow of the flashlight, she saw that Stacy slept peacefully. The storm had not disturbed her in the least.

Laurie pulled the blanket and the quilt to Stacy’s shoulders, tucked her favorite stuffed dog into her loose embrace, and then sat on the edge of the twin bed. The storm outside drew her unwilling gaze to the dark window. Thunder cracked again and lightening split the night. In the resulting spooky dark, the storm seemed a portent of things to come.

“Knock it off,” she ordered her wayward imagination. “Reign in your imagination.” Her voice was barely a whisper in the inky darkness.

She left the bed, turned, and gaped at the soft flickering glow from downstairs. At the top of the stairs, she let her gaze roam. Flickering flames from candles on either side of the sofa bed softened the dark shroud of the storm. A single large kerosene lamp in the middle of the table threw more shadows into the eerie corners. Laurie turned off the flashlight. That harsh glare did not belong in all that soft light.

Damien stood at the bottom of the stairs, his head tilted back slightly as he watched her.

She descended, slowly, awestruck by the inadvertent ambience provided by the raging storm. He lifted his hand, held it out to her. She noted the bright gleam in his dark eyes.
Candlelight
, she wondered, entranced,
or simply the man?

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She hesitated, staring into his eyes, then put her trembling hand in his. He tugged her toward him as she descended the last two steps. At the bottom of the stairs, she tried to pull free but his grip tightened. Peering up at him, the painful twinge across her neck and shoulders distracted her. She rubbed her hand across the back of her neck and shoulders in an effort to ease the aches.

“Are you all right?” he asked, his voice gruff with concern.

“Nothing a good night’s sleep won’t cure,” she said, breathless and sorely tempted by his close proximity.

“Turn around,” he ordered quietly and his voice wrapped around her heart.

This was not the man who had treated her like a clumsy recruit all day. She obeyed his quiet command and turned her back to him. Anticipating his touch, her breath caught in her throat. His hands settled on her shoulders, his fingers pressing firmly into muscle. His thumbs rotated over the base of her neck, slid to the base of her skull. His hands were lethal. She admired his skill.

He swept those killer hands down her back, his thumbs and fingers pressing into flesh along her spine, then back up to her shoulders as he kneaded the aches from sore muscles. His touch did not scorch but warmed gently. Her nerves hummed. Her pulse sang in her ears. Blood turned sluggish in her veins.

“I’m sorry I pushed you so hard,” he whispered, his breath making warm little puffs over her ear. “I wanted to make sure you had a chance to survive what’s coming.”

His fingers, patient and firm, worked the tension from her neck before sliding into her hair to massage her scalp. The very air thickened as he weaved a sensual spell around her.

Could she resist him? Tonight, of all nights, did she even want to resist him? The savage storm heightened the tension, crackling with sexuality, around them. The romantic glow of the flickering flames softened the urgency.

“I can’t tell you what’s going to happen,” he admitted, that deep husky tone sending tremors of need through her. “But I wanted to make sure you survive it.”

“What?” she muttered and lost herself in him, his touch, and his very presence.

“Shhh.” He soothed minor aches with confident fingers then pulled her back against his chest. His arms slid around her and he simply held her close.

Knowing she should move away, Laurie gave in to the rightness of his embrace and leaned on him, enveloped in a warm, hazy blanket of exquisite sensation. Her deep sigh of contentment was almost a purr. She turned her head slightly and his heart beat steadily in her ear.

“I can’t do this to you,” he muttered darkly in her hair. His arms tightened fractionally as he tensed behind her. “There’s got to be another way.”

That stark ambiguous statement managed to penetrate the sensual fog around her brain.

Puzzled, Laurie turned in his arms and peered into those dark glittering eyes.

“Do what? What are you talking about?” The storm and the soft glow of the flames demanded she lower her voice so it was only a shaky whisper.

He blinked, then looked down at her with what looked like surprise. His eyes went even darker with a flicker of something she had seen before but had yet to define.

“I meant I can’t just walk away from you—not like this.” He paused and let out a ragged, possibly frustrated, groan. “Damn it. I don’t have time for this.”

Her inner danger alert clanged rudely in her head. She flinched and his arms tightened a little more.

“Damien?” she said on a squeak of uncertainty.

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“I want you. You want me,” he stated without preamble.

Struck momentarily speechless by that blunt statement, Laurie only gaped at him. Her jaw went slack. Her mouth dropped open. Her pulse spiked then raced. Her heart stopped then started again with a painful thud. She shook her head in automatic denial of what she knew to be true. Her unsteady gaze dropped to his chest and she tried to pull away but his embrace did not allow escape.

“Lust, Damien?” She mentally cursed her weak breathless voice. “I told you. I can’t do that again. I don’t want to make another mistake.”

You already did
, her inner voice snidely reminded her. You fell in love with him.

She clutched his upper arms, just above his elbows, and pushed. He loosened his hold but did not release her.

“Please, Damien,” she continued weakly. “Don’t ….”

“Shhh,” he murmured as he lifted a hand to cup her cheek. He kept his other arm firmly around her waist, holding her against him.

“The jerk left you pregnant,” he deduced, his expression grim. But his eyes carried only compassion as his gentle fingers stroked the curve of her jaw.

Reluctant to admit her gullibility, she sighed but lifted her eyes to meet his steady gaze.

“It was a one night stand, Damien—what he intended from the start. I was stupid enough to want more but he was gone the next morning. I never saw him again. I found out later I was pregnant.

He never knew.”

“I’m not him,” Damien stated firmly. Those dark eyes glittered and drew her in. He paused, his expression thoughtful. “You never told him? You could have made him take responsibility.”

She tried for an indifferent shrug but only shuddered. “No. I took responsibility. He wanted sex. He didn’t want me. And in the end, I didn’t want him. He had no right to my daughter.” She lifted her chin to a stubborn angle. “He didn’t deserve her. He didn’t deserve me.”

“I don’t want a one night stand,” Damien told her sternly then lowered his voice to a slow persuasive drawl. “But one night might be all we ever have.”

He stroked her lips with his thumb, building a fire in her gut until her lips parted on a shaky breath.

“I’ve missed you in my bed,” he continued in a husky whisper. “Missed waking up with you.”

He let out a slow breath and stepped back from her. A cold shiver rippled through her and she felt inexplicably bereft and abandoned. Missing his warmth, she followed him to the sofa bed without conscious thought. He sat on the edge of the bed and leaned forward, his elbows on his thighs, his hands dangling between his knees. That dejected posture had her joining him. She sat beside him but kept her hands to herself despite the almost overwhelming urge to hold him and the fierce need to be held by him.

Though she didn’t look at him, every fiber of her being, heart and soul, was very aware of him. That awareness hit her like a hammer blow. Rational thought scattered. The bed creaked as he shifted position. His knee brushed hers and she jolted. Her breath stopped. Even the storm seemed to take a back seat to Damien’s dynamic presence.

She jumped off the bed, stared at the flickering flame of the kerosene lamp on the table.

There was something she needed to remember to protect herself. Dragging her gaze from the lamp, she moved to the window and stared into the raging inky blackness. The back of her neck ALWAYS A WARRIOR Patricia Bruening

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prickled and she knew he watched her, gazed at her. No, it wasn’t just a gaze. It was an intense stare. She almost felt him willing her to speak. She considered ignoring him but could not. He was too entrenched in her heart.

“Laurie.” His voice was low and tender, and wrapped her in warmth.

She inhaled deeply, slowly, and then exhaled just as slowly. Her breath fogged the window, a smoky circle against the noisy dark. Lightening split the dark into jagged black and white shards. The clearing, the surrounding trees, all glared in stark black and white for a split instant then vanished. Her reflection wavered under driving sheets of angry rain. Tension once again crackled around her.

“Honey.” His voice again drew her to him.

That low husky drawl of his seduced her but she did not turn from the window, did not give in to the tremendous urge to go to him.

“It was hard,” she finally said, making no effort to talk over the storm.

He heard her anyway. “What was hard?”

Though quiet, the question cut through the rain hammering on the window. Tears filled her eyes and blurred her vision. Memories streamed through her mind—one room kitchenettes, a crying infant, working two sometimes three jobs to pay bills and babysitters. And she had bitter memories of her mother’s scathing refusal to help.