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“What are you doing down here?”

She swiped her tongue over her dry lips. “I couldn’t sleep. Sorry I woke you.”

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“You didn’t. I haven’t slept either.” He left the bed and came to her. “I think we both know why.”

She could not move if her life depended on it. Nor did she have the ability to keep her eyes on his. White briefs molded to his body like a second skin. His very evident arousal brought a warm flush to her skin. He stood so close his heat enveloped her. The very air shimmered with a sensuality that suspended time.

“Laurie.” Her name was a seductive whisper that snapped her eyes back to his.

Her lips parted on a silent inhale. He lifted a hand, cupped her cheek, and stroked his thumb over her lower lip. He lowered his head until his warm breath washed over her face.

She floundered in his dark gaze for an eternal second then jerked back and fled. Her heart pounded in her ears as she ran up to the loft. In bed once again, she yanked the covers to her chin and curled into a ball, congratulating herself for not losing control. But it was a hollow, miserable victory.

* * * *

The next day Laurie tried to stay as far as possible from the temptation Damien presented. That proved extremely difficult in the small cabin. Damien drilled her in the use of firearms in the morning and taught unarmed combat skills in the afternoon. That, of course, required physical contact which severely tested her self-control. It also involved physical exertion well beyond her ordinary daily activity. At the end of the day, stiff and sore, she limped back into the cabin. She didn’t bother to move Damien’s supportive hand from the small of her back, either.

“I hurt in places I didn’t know existed,” she complained as she slid carefully into a chair at the table.

Stacy ran to her, anxiety in her eyes. “Are you okay, Mommy?”

“I’ll be fine, honey,” Laurie assured her despite the aches and pains gnawing at her.

Stacy skipped off, eagerly watching Damien cook canned spaghetti and make salad.

Laurie refused to move. She leaned on her elbows on the table and tried to catalogue all the aches. She gave up. It was easier and quicker to say what didn’t hurt. Feeling like an overused punching bag, she ate slowly and in silence.

By the time she finished her meal the pain had eased some. But that was only the eye of the storm. Agony exploded across her shoulders as she pushed her chair back to take her plate to the sink. A groan escaped her and she went still.

“I’ll get it, Mommy!” Stacy raced around the table and snatched up the plate. A second later the piece of plastic clattered in the bottom of the sink. Stacy cleared the rest of the table then dashed up to the loft.

“Are you all right?” Damien demanded from across the table.

She lifted her head and met his concerned gaze. She stifled another moan. “I feel like the football after the Superbowl is over.”

He studied her for a moment then smiled. Approval lit his eyes. “You learn quickly.”

Shooting him a fierce glare, she rubbed her aching back. “Then why am I the one who was always on the ground?”

He chuckled. “You should have seen me when I first started martial arts training. It takes a while to get used to such intense exercise.”

“Count me out tomorrow.” She grimaced. “I’ll be too stiff to move.”

Stacy bounded downstairs with a drawing pad, pencils, and crayons. She spread everything over the table and turned wide green eyes on Damien.

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“Want me to draw you a picture?” she demanded with childish confidence.

“Sure. Draw your mom.”

Startled, Laurie stared at him. His brown eyes twinkled as Stacy pushed a few pages across the corner of the table.

“You draw one, too,” she insisted, excitement lighting up her face.

“Yes, ma’am,” he conceded with mock formality.

He took the pages and picked up a pencil. With a good-natured grin, he sketched steadily for the next several minutes. Stacy concentrated fiercely, her small pink tongue stuck out the corner of her mouth. Laurie watched them and her heart melted even as her gaze lingered on the man at the end of the table.

He surprised her so often. Who was he? All day long he barked orders, portraying a harsh taskmaster. Now, he sketched alongside Stacy with the air of an indulgent father. Looking at them both, her heart melted again. She wished she had the notebook she had left upstairs. This was a family scene that demanded description. Her vision blurred at the edges, softening and framing the scene. The pain had faded slightly so she stayed in her chair. That scene would stay in her mind, in her heart, forever.

“I’m done!” Stacy announced, jolting Laurie out of her reverie.

Stacy ran around the table and thrust the drawing at Damien.

“Keep it,” she ordered cheerfully.

“I will.” He took the page and pretended to examine it critically. His eyes gleamed with teasing mischief as Stacy stared expectantly at him. “Let me see now.” He paused and let the silence linger. “Yes, I think so. It’s very good. Where shall I put it?”

“In your wallet,” Stacy replied with a child’s knowing air. “You always put people’s pictures in your wallet.”

“I believe you’re right.” Damien grinned and his eyebrows rose over the amused gleam in his eyes. He folded the paper and put it in his wallet. Laurie knew he would remove it at the first opportunity. He simply indulged Stacy for the moment.

Laurie interrupted their by-play. “It’s time for bed, young lady.”

“Okay.” Stacy submitted without whining to stay up longer. “Can Damien tuck me in?”

He stiffened and shot a startled glance at Laurie. As surprised by the request as Damien, Laurie only stared at her daughter then glanced at him.

“Please?” Stacy pleaded, peering at him through anxious eyes.

Not eager to move her aching body, Laurie shrugged and left the decision to him. Damien nodded hesitantly and grinned at Stacy.

“Come on, short stuff. Bedtime.”

He stood as Stacy darted around the table, planted a quick kiss on her mother’s cheek, and raced back. Damien swung her into his arms and carried her, squealing in delight, up to the loft.

Relieved to be left alone for a few minutes, Laurie pushed her chair back inch by aching inch. With a low groan, she forced her body to stand up. Moving was pure hell. Agony exploded in every muscle. Tears welled in her eyes but she blinked them away. Trembling, she staggered.

Her knees buckled and she clutched the table for support.

Like a silent miracle, Damien was there. She never heard him come down the stairs. He slipped an arm around her back and the other under her knees and lifted her effortlessly off the floor. She wrapped her arms around his neck and clung as he strode toward the sofa, where he ALWAYS A WARRIOR Patricia Bruening

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lowered her with infinite care to the mattress. He crawled onto the bed and knelt beside her. She stared up at him and tried to roll away. Pain ripped her raw.

“Ow!” she moaned and lay back down. “No, Damien.” She shook her head wildly.

Agony stabbed her neck and her back. She bit back another groan.

“Laurie.” He expelled her name in a sharp breath. “If I had a tub here, I’d make you soak in it. But all I can do is a full body rub. Strip.”

“Damien!” she protested in disbelief.

“If I don’t you won’t be able to move tomorrow, let alone sleep tonight. It will only get worse,” he insisted, his expression unrelenting, despite the sardonic gleam in his eyes. “Don’t worry. I won’t ravish you.”

Sitting up, she groaned and flushed hot at his perception then struggled to take off her shoes. Impatient now, he shoved her fumbling hands aside and deftly removed her shoes and socks.

“I’ll be right back. Get your clothes off.” He disappeared into the tiny bathroom that held only a toilet, sink, and small shower.

Amid grunts and groans, her fingers trembling, she slid off her jeans and pulled her Tshirt over her head. Still in sports bra and panties, she rolled onto her stomach. The mattress dipped and the springs creaked under Damien’s weight. He knelt beside her with an open tube of mentholated muscle rub cream. Strong enough to nearly clear her sinuses, the menthol aroma teased her nostrils.

“Works better without clothes,” he said ironically.

“Improvise,” she shot back weakly. His knee pressed against her hip and his thigh snuggled with hers.

“Afraid?” he taunted.

She said nothing, more afraid of herself than him. He didn’t move and Laurie wondered what he read in her silence. Then the mattress shifted again.

“This is going to hurt at first,” he warned and straddled her hips. He kept his weight off her but warm denim brushed her bare skin.

“Can’t hurt more than it already does,” she countered breathlessly.

He moved her hair aside, exposing the back of her neck. The sharp smell of eucalyptus stung her nose and made her eyes water as his hands covered her shoulders. She flinched, as much from his touch as the lingering throb in her muscles. With fingertips only, he slid the straps of her bra down her upper arms. His palms pressed into her flesh, kneading and prodding. White-hot pain lanced through her. She nearly screamed in agony but clamped her teeth on her lower lip. Tears filled her eyes and she buried her face in the pillow beneath her.

His hands moved lower, slow and sure, pressing and kneading. Sharp bursts of pain exploded everywhere he touched. It took every ounce of will power she possessed not to scream or swear at him. She did mentally curse him to hell and prayed the agony would end soon. But gradually his firm, patient fingers worked magic. His hands glided over her skin, wreaked havoc on her senses, and lulled her into a pleasantly drowsy state. Enjoying his touch, she didn’t want him to stop.

Gripping her shoulder, he rolled her to her back and started all over again. But the pain was gone, his touch more sensual. Eyes closed, she concentrated on the pure pleasure of his hands roaming over her. He shifted position, his denim-clad thighs sliding along her bare legs.

His hands bracket her ribcage, his thumbs just touching the undersides of her breasts. His touch scorched her skin through the thin cotton of her bra.

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“That’s enough.” He stopped abruptly, his words harsh as he jerked his hands from her heated flesh.

Her eyes snapped open and she peered up at him. Desire smoldered deep in his dark eyes and she flushed, filled with pure feminine triumph at putting that hunger in his eyes. He moved off her, glared at her, but said nothing. Cool air across her stomach jerked her back to reality. She swallowed the sudden nervous lump in her throat as his stark gaze raked over her.

“If you don’t move now, I won’t let you go,” he threatened huskily.

Anticipation exploded through her and she sucked in a sharp breath. She stared at him, caught between passion and self-preservation. He was dead serious. She scrambled off the bed, snatched up her clothes, and fled.

* * * *

Damien fell back on the bed, his chest heaving with every ragged breath. He had given hundreds of massages, both therapeutic and sensual, but never experienced anything so erotic.

His heart still pounded in his ears. The blood rushed through his veins. Sliding his hands all over her nearly naked body had sorely tested his self-control and left him painfully aroused. He had tried to stay clinically detached but all that soft smooth skin under his hands had stirred a raging fire in him.

He scowled on a flood of disgust and frustration. No woman had ever gotten so far under his skin. Not even his ex-wife stirred him so much. Why Laurie Crawford? Why now? What was it about her that drew him? Sure, she was gorgeous. But he’d had gorgeous women in his bed.

What made her different? Why did she tie his gut into knots of pure lust?

He glared at the ceiling. Maybe it was the fact that he had not fucked her yet. He had to force himself to think of her in crude terms before he found himself caught up in things he never allowed himself to want.

“Damn her,” he muttered as he left the bed and stalked across the room. He slapped his hand on the light switch and plunged the room into darkness. The stove grate squealed as he yanked it open. He stoked the fire, the flames spitting sparks as he closed the grate. But even the fire did little to soften to black of night or his mood. Heavy clouds hid the moon so he didn’t even see shadows.

But he remembered the seductive picture she had made in his bed. All of that dark brown hair spread over his pillow, like strands of silk. His pillow still carried the faint hint of strawberry mixed with something else, something uniquely Laurie.

Again painfully aroused, he jerked onto his back and ground the back of his head into the pillow. He closed his eyes and forced himself to breathe slowly, deeply, evenly, until he finally slept, his dreams full of darkly sensual images.

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Over the rest of the week, they settled into a simple but intense routine. Laurie dragged herself out of bed every morning, gulped several cups of coffee for breakfast, and struggled to ignore her growing feelings for Damien. Mornings were spent target shooting. She concentrated on her aim rather than Damien and soon became a crack shot.

Afternoon martial arts sessions, however, were infinitely more difficult. They required physical contact, which tested her powers of concentration to the limits. Damien’s touch, no matter how impersonal, distracted her. When his arms closed around her, she struggled to remember what she was supposed to do. When he had her on the ground, she looked into his implacable eyes and wished he was making love to her instead of teaching her to break holds.

As if the days weren’t hard enough, the nights drove her insane. While Stacy was awake, Laurie played with her or read at the table. Damien often sprawled on the sofa bed, ostensibly reading. She often caught his enigmatic gaze on her and hastily looked away.