More Than Friends (The Warriors) (5 page)

A few minutes later, her shoulders slumped in defeat, because she saw nothing familiar in the face of the woman who peered back at her. Nor could she recall the fall she’d apparently taken earlier that night.

Who am I?
she wondered yet again. She bowed her head and pressed her fingertips to her aching temples.
What kind of person can’t remember her life?

Leah straightened and glanced once more at her reflection, this time registering the trim, high–breasted body that came with the fair complexion and waist–length hair. While she couldn’t deny the comfort of the faded nightshirt that she’d found in the luggage Brett had carried into her bedroom, she felt as though she had dressed for bed in someone else’s clothing. Too unsettled to continue her inspection of herself, she stepped away from the mirror and crossed the bathroom on bare feet.

Leah tugged open the door. She hesitated in the doorway when she noticed Brett, who stood near the head of the bed that dominated the bedroom. Time seemed to shift into some sort of odd state of suspension as they stared at each other.

Despite her exhaustion and the late hour, Leah’s senses responded to the unguarded hunger she saw in his eyes. She felt shaken right down to her toes by the quickening taking place deep inside her own body, just as she felt a fatalistic acceptance of Brett’s ability to arouse her by simply looking at her with dark, penetrating eyes that spoke volumes about his skill as a lover. She wanted him, and that wanting was founded on pure instinct.

She mustered the courage to cross the room. She watched Brett as she approached him, never taking her eyes from the hard–angled contours of his face as her heart rate picked up speed. Pausing just a few inches from him, she discovered that she didn’t possess the strength or the will to end their eye contact.

She felt seared by the heat emanating from his gaze and his body. It seemed to encompass and then consume her until her knees went weak and her pulse raced.

She reached out to him, but he deflected her hands before she could touch him. Stung by his rejection, she remained motionless. She suddenly realized that he knew just how close she was to surrendering to instincts that urged her to discard every ounce of common sense she possessed and simply go with the moment.

"Feel better?" he asked.

She found her voice. "Yes, much better. Having a shower helped me to relax."

"You’ll be able to sleep now."

Brett stepped past her. He jerked back the bedcovers and shoved aside all of the pillows but one. Alarmed by his abrupt behavior, Leah placed her hand on his arm. He turned to look at her. The light from a nearby lamp cast shadows across his face and enhanced the strain etched into his hard features. She searched his expression with worried eyes, desperate to understand both his changed manner and his current state of mind.

"Leah…"

"Don’t be angry with me. I’m not sure what I was thinking before. It’s just that touching you feels… right."

Air gusted out of him in a harsh–sounding exhalation. "I’m not angry." He muttered a word so hard and coarse, Leah flinched. He shoved the fingers of his free hand through his thick hair in a gesture of frustration. "I’m just worried about you. You didn’t eat much, and you need to keep up your strength. Especially now."

"I guess I wasn’t that hungry." For anything but you, she realized with a jolt.

He nodded and moved around her, his hands closing into fists at his sides. "Do you need anything else?"

She shook her head. Then, she winced, instantly regretting the back and forth motion. "I’m fine."

"Get some rest. You’ll feel better in the morning."

"Wait, please."

He paused. She sensed his reluctance to linger when he looked at her and then glanced away.

"I may not understand everything that’s happening, but I trust you, Brett."

She didn’t expect his stunned look. Before she could question him, he reached out and tugged her forward so that she stood beside the lamp. Neither did she protest when he framed her head between his broad palms and tilted her face upward. If anything, she felt relieved that he wanted to put his hands on her.

Closing her eyes, Leah basked in the possessive feel of his touch. She swayed, her slender body brushing against him. He shifted away from her, but not before she felt the hard ridge of his aroused sex—a clear betrayal of his hunger for her.

"Look at me."

Already startled by the condition of his body and the charged currents of desire arcing between them, she froze. Her eyes snapped open. She stared at him, too shocked by the answering desire bursting to life inside her to protest his harsh–sounding order. Her attention stayed riveted on him, and she remained motionless as he inspected her eyes.

"How’s your headache?" He shifted his hands and carefully worked the tight muscles at her nape with strong fingers. "Is the pain finally letting up?"

She felt her muscles start to unravel, just a second before her insides began to turn molten. She sighed, the sound as faint as butterfly wings brushing up against the petal of a flower.

"It’s manageable now."

Her head tilted sideways, all of the muscles in her body going slack. She peered up at him through half–lowered lashes, fascinated by the intensity she saw in his dark eyes and character–filled face, as well as stunned by the potency of his body and his touch.

Leah welcomed the weight and strength of his big hands when he briefly settled them atop her shoulders. As he slid them down the length of her arms, she had the impression that he was fighting some fierce inner battle. She also sensed that she bore some responsibility for it. She fought her own inner battle then, torn between the emotional chaos of not knowing her identity and the feelings he evoked.

"If you need anything, just call out to me. I’m a light sleeper."

"I will," she promised. "I honestly didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable before. It’s just that my emotions are really out of control right now. I’d like to think I’m not some clingy female, especially not the kind who doesn’t have two brain cells to rub together and can’t function without a man to lean on."

Brett managed a tight smile. "Trust me, you aren’t some clingy female, not even on your worst day. You never have been, and you never could be. For the record, I’m not sorry you reached out to me, Leah, but you’re not yourself right now. Taking advantage of you is at the top of my list of things not to do tonight. We’re… friends. I care enough about you to observe all of the rules that go along with friendship."

Color spotted her cheeks. Embarrassed, she slipped free of him, climbed into bed, and drew the covers up to her chin. She pretended to be calm and in control, but her body continued to clamor for his touch even as heat streamed through her veins like unfurling ribbons of flame.

Brett turned off the bedside lamp. Leah caught his hand before he stepped away from the bed. She felt his gaze sweep over her like a brushfire in the semi–darkness, and she scrambled to remember the question she wanted to ask.

"Will you tell me about my life tomorrow?"

"I’ll tell you everything you need to know, but only if you get some sleep."

She gave him a troubled look. "I can’t remember the people in the photos I found in my wallet, but they’re my family, aren’t they?"

"Most of them," he conceded, his voice a low, rough rumble.

"Do you really think I’ll get it all back?"

Brett released her hand and tucked it beneath the covers. "If I have anything to say about it, your life will be back to normal as quickly as possible."

"I don’t know how to thank…"

He leaned down and kissed her forehead. "Then don’t, because there’s no need."

"Yes, there is," she whispered. She fought back tears, not simply the urge to wrap her arms around him and just hold on until the current storm passed. She extended her hand and gently stroked the side of his face. Her fingertips tingled, and her hand began to tremble. "This would be a total nightmare if you weren’t here to help me deal with it."

Still bent over her, he cradled her hand and pressed her palm to his strong jaw. She felt the prickle of a beard that needed shaving, the warmth of his skin, and the tantalizing strength in his long, narrow fingers. She breathed in the faintly woodsy scent of his skin, and then she exhaled. A shudder rumbled through him. She heard the ragged sigh that followed, and she felt certain now that he’d told her the truth. They were, or they’d once been, more than friends. Much, much more.
But why not
now?
she couldn’t help but wonder.

Brett straightened, his spine rigid as he stepped back from the bed and crossed the room. He hesitated near the door. "You aren’t alone, and I have no intention of leaving you alone. I’ll be with you every step of the way, Leah. That’s a promise. Now, close your eyes and rest. I’ll be in and out while you sleep in order to check on you."

Exhausted, Leah closed her eyes and sank back against the pillow. As she drifted into a restless doze, she questioned Brett’s reluctance to deal with the obvious chemistry between them. She was attracted to him, and she knew he wanted her. Why, then, she wondered, would he deny the obvious?

** ** **

I trust you.

Her words echoed in his head like a repetitive accusation. Brett laughed mirthlessly as he paced the sitting room. He didn’t deserve Leah’s trust. Christ! He’d never deserved it. Or her, for that matter.

He couldn’t relax, and he didn’t even try to sleep. When he wasn’t pacing in an effort to tamp down the fever heating his blood and relieve the desire that throbbed in concert with his every pulse beat, he periodically checked on Leah in the hours that followed. He hated to wake her, but he knew the necessity of making sure that she hadn’t relapsed into the semi–conscious state of the evening before.

Brett repeatedly cursed himself for having placed her in jeopardy even as he used the quiet night hours to plan the route they would take into the Pacific Northwest once she was rested enough to travel. He also struggled, on a minute–by–minute basis, against remembering the passion and love they’d once shared. He failed. Completely. He would never be able to discard the memories that had haunted him during their years apart.

He still craved her tenderness. He always would, especially in the face of his escalating dissatisfaction with the cold, violence–filled world he’d inhabited for most of his adult life.

Brett slipped into Leah’s bedroom shortly before dawn. Clad in a pair of snug, unfastened jeans, he padded barefoot through the semi–darkness to the side of her bed. He hated to disturb her again, but neither one of them could avoid the reality of her head injury.

After switching on the bedside lamp, he sat down on the edge of the mattress. He reached for her as he reminded himself that her memory could return at any moment.

Leah opened her eyes.

Brett saw the clarity and focus of her gaze, and he realized she was wide awake. "You should be asleep."

She smiled and stretched. As she raised her arms, her breasts swelled against the aged cotton of a t–shirt he’d given to her a thousand and one memories ago. He longed to fill his hands with her silky flesh. Instead, he forced his gaze to her heart–shaped face and kept his hands to himself.

"So should you," she countered as she lowered her arms. She frowned at the expression on his face. More tension than earlier, she realized. "You’re tied up in knots. What’s wrong?"

He cleared his throat twice before he answered her. "Nothing. I just wanted to make sure you’re alright."

"Were you a doctor in another life?" She smiled as she pulled herself up into a half–recline against a mound of pillows. "Or maybe a compulsive mother hen?"

He chuckled at her good–humored teasing. "Not that I know of, but I’ve had emergency first–aid training courtesy of the navy."

"Nice sound, by the way," she said, referring to his low chuckle. "You should do that more often."

"I love it when a woman quotes me."

She grinned.

"Nice teeth."

Her grin turned to laughter. "You’re horrible. Next thing you’ll tell is that I used to have braces."

"I took an oath long ago never to discuss your braces. Can’t break it now."

"So I did have braces."

"No comment." His smile faded. "Now, answer my question."

"I’m fine. Really. I’ve just got a lot of thoughts racing around my head that keep waking me up."

"What kind of thoughts?"

She heard his quiet concern. "Nothing in particular. Definitely nothing to worry about, so you can stop scowling at me." She smoothed her fingertips across the top of his clenched fist until he opened his hand and let her lace their fingers together. "I’m glad you’re here."

"Ditto. How’s your headache?"

"Not too bad." She gave him a conspiratorial grin. "Why are we whispering?"

"Probably because most of the world’s still asleep."

"Brett Matthew Upton."

"That’s me." He silently applauded her memory of their earlier conversation.

"I like the sound of your name. It’s sturdy and reliable, like you."

Brett sobered. He knew the truth, and she would soon remember it. She hadn’t been able to rely on him when she’d needed him most. He’d failed her, and he didn’t ever expect to be able to undo the damage of his actions. And when she recalled his failure, she would reject him. So, repairs were a moot point.

She looked away from his intent gaze. "I’ve been dreaming about you."

"Why?" His voice sounded hoarse. He was almost afraid to hear her answer.

"I’m not sure."

"Any nightmares?"

"None that I recall."

He said a silent thank you for that small favor. He hated the possibility that she might be haunted by night terrors caused by the men who’d tried to kidnap her.

She dropped her gaze to their laced fingers. After studying them for several silent seconds, she whispered, "Would you stretch out beside me and hold me for a little while?"

Rendered motionless by her request, he sat there and worked at concealing both his surprise at her request and his hunger for whatever physical contact that she felt inclined to allow. "Now?"