More Than Friends (The Warriors) (9 page)

"Can’t we do something about it?" she whispered.

He shook his head, his denial of the hunger for her he’d felt for so many years automatic. "Your job right now is to reclaim your memories and your life. My job is to help you. There’s no time or space for anything else, Leah. If you’re honest with yourself, you’ll admit I’m right." He clasped her hand more securely when she tried to draw back from him. "We both know you’re reaching out to me for the wrong reasons. If you want me when you have your identity back, I’m yours, but not until then. If I take you into my bed and we make love, I don’t want to be remembered as a mistake in judgment. That happened to me once, a long time ago. I won’t allow it to happen again."

Leah nodded, eased free of his grasp, and got up from her chair.

Brett watched her slowly walk to the bedroom door, pause, and then glance over her shoulder. After staring at him for a long moment, she disappeared from sight. He remained seated at the table, the food in his stomach turning to lumps of stone as the sound of Leah’s bedroom door being closed echoed in the now too quiet sitting room of their suite.

And, yet again, he felt shut out of her life. He loathed the all too familiar feeling.

Leah retreated to the privacy of her bedroom, her thoughts and emotions in turmoil. She spent the ensuing hours searching the dark corners of her mind for her past, studying the photographs she’d found in her wallet, and reflecting on her attraction to Brett.

Unable to sit still, she alternated between bursts of pacing and short naps, but she found neither comfort nor answers in either endeavor. Leah stayed in her bedroom for the rest of the day, throughout the night, and well into the next day, emerging only once to share a silent evening meal with Brett in the sitting room. His patience with her self–imposed isolation surprised her.

Grateful that he didn’t seem to expect an explanation of her behavior during their meal or when he periodically checked on her, Leah concentrated on summoning the strength to accept the reality that she might have to face the future without ever regaining any knowledge of her past. She knew that people the world over faced greater tragedies on a daily basis, but that knowledge didn’t lessen her fear. Praying that she wasn’t deluding herself, she lost count of the number of times she assured herself that she possessed the ability to confront the unknown.

Her longing for Brett also refused to remain at bay. If anything, it escalated with each passing hour. She both appreciated and resented his restraint. He was, she realized almost grudgingly, a man of conscience—a man who refused to use a woman simply to satisfy a sexual need, a man honest enough to admit that he didn’t want to be used, either.

Even though he moved through the rooms of the suite with his usual predatory silence, Leah always felt his presence. He became the one constant in the sea of her unease. She began to count on his regular forays into her room, although no words passed between them.

She derived courage from his quiet strength, despite the worry she glimpsed in his dark eyes when he watched her. Leah mentally applauded him for not making her feel as though she needed to apologize for requiring a healthy chunk of alone time. And she appreciated the fact that he didn’t seem inclined to judge or to fault her emotional fragility.

Leah slept restlessly, when she slept at all, her dreams filled with faceless men who spoke a language she didn’t understand. Alternately drenched in perspiration or chilled to the bone, she awoke often. Each time she escaped the torment of sleep, she found Brett watching over her, his hands skimming up and down her arms as he tried to soothe her. When she tried to apologize for disturbing him, he shook his head and pressed a fingertip against her lips to silence her.

She attempted to stay awake, but fatigue claimed her even as he sat beside her in the semi–darkness of her bedroom. She didn’t admit that the safety and security of his presence faded once her dreams reclaimed her. There were some battles she was destined to fight alone.

As she showered and then dressed at lunch–time on the second afternoon of their stay in San Francisco, Leah recalled the feel of Brett’s fingers sweeping up the side of her face and across her forehead. Her memory of the gentle way in which he pushed aside her bangs and checked the shrinking bump near her hairline had the power, even now, to send heat streaming into her veins and make her heart thud wildly in her chest.

She recalled closing her hands into fists, determined not to touch him or to make him uncomfortable. In truth, all she’d really wanted to do was to sink her fingers into the dark mat of hair that covered his bare, muscled chest and explore every centimeter of his body at her leisure.

She wanted his unique taste on her lips, his tongue intruding into her mouth with tantalizing stabs, and his hands roaming the hills and hollows of her naked body. She craved everything about him—his sturdiness, his heat, the tender strength she knew she would find in his arms, and the promised pleasure of his sex buried deep within her body.

Shaken by the images flooding her mind and stimulating her senses, Leah closed her eyes. She gripped her hairbrush until her fingers ached. When her breathing finally slowed to a normal cadence, she wondered if she’d ever felt so aroused by the mere thought of a man.

Several moments passed before she regained her composure. Leah glanced in the mirror, inspecting her reflection as she set aside the hairbrush. Despite having grown familiar with the image that stared back at her, she still felt like she was looking into the face of a stranger.

Squaring her shoulders, she turned away from the sink and left the bathroom, once again clad in jeans, a cropped cotton top, and deck shoes. She crossed the bedroom, paused to draw open the drapes, and then collected from the bedside table one of the photographs she’d studied on and off for the preceding thirty–six hours. Something deep inside her soul ached with response every time she looked at the photo. Now, she intended to discover why.

Leah spotted Brett the instant she walked into the sitting room. Standing in the threshold of the open French doors that led out onto the awning–covered balcony of their suite, he appeared to be enjoying the view of the bay despite the cloud–dotted spring sky.

When he turned to look at her, she saw relief and something she couldn’t quite name in his eyes. Forcing a smile to her lips, she announced, "I’ve decided to quit hibernating. Whatever happens in the days and weeks ahead, I’m ready to deal with it."

He met her in the center of the spacious sitting room. She experienced a moment of guilt for having subjected him to long hours of silent brooding, but she sensed that he understood. She welcomed the power she felt in his large hands and long, blunt–tipped fingers as he gripped her shoulders. Looking up at him, she trembled beneath his touch.

"Welcome back, Leah Holbrook. You finally sound like your old self."

"Old or new, I’m tired of hiding."

"You weren’t hiding. You were just coming to terms with what’s happened to you. In fact, you’ve handled this situation the way you’ve handled tough times in the past. You got off the merry–go–round and gave yourself a chance to clear your head, because you’ve always been smart enough to realize that fear will eat you alive if you don’t confront it head–on."

She laughed at his summary of her supposedly rational behavior. "You’re giving me much more credit than I deserve."

"No way," he disagreed. His fingers curled over her shoulders, his eyes darkening to midnight pools as he looked down at her.

"I know I might never remember my life, but I want to try. I’ll need your help and your memories."

"Anything else?"

She nodded, tears unexpectedly stinging her eyes. "A lot of hugs, a ton of patience, which you obviously have, and the answers to a thousand and one questions."

She went willingly into his arms as he gathered her close, her need to be enveloped in his embrace eclipsing everything else for the moment. Sighing, she savored the power of his large, muscular body molded to hers.

"Are you sure you’re up for this?" she asked several minutes later.

"Stupid question," Brett muttered as he eased his hold on her and brought his hands up to frame her face. "There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for you. All you have to do is ask, and it’s yours."

She couldn’t speak. The tears stinging her eyes pooled and blurred her vision. She turned away from him and wandered in the direction of the couch. Sinking down onto it, she took a moment to harness her emotions. "Sorry. My feelings are quite close to the surface right now."

"Don’t apologize, Leah. It comes with the territory, I suspect. Does your head still hurt?" He joined her on the couch, tugged her to his side, and encircled her shoulders with his arm.

Leah heard his worry and could have kicked herself for acting like such a big baby. "The headache’s gone, and my bruises are even more colorful now. Despite the sporadic way I’ve been sleeping, I actually feel pretty good."

"That’s what I wanted to hear."

"Are you always so patient?" she asked, still amazed by his willingness to treat her with compassion and understanding. "This would be a whole lot easier for you if you turned me over to my family and let them deal with my problems."

"I’m not that patient," he muttered.

"I’ve been a royal pain in the ass, and you know it."

"Well, maybe, but you’re usually pretty pulled together. You’re allowed periodic lapses."

"Do we have to stay here much longer?" she asked.

"Of course, not. You aren’t a prisoner, Leah. I just wanted to make sure you had a chance to rest. Now that your headache’s gone, we can leave anytime. Tomorrow, in fact, if you’d like."

"I’d like," she said enthusiastically.

"Don’t care for the accommodations, huh?" he groused.

"The suite is beautiful, and you know it. I just hate feeling like a shut–in."

He chuckled. "You’ve always had a craving for wide–open spaces."

"Then I’m behaving in character?"

"Looks and sounds that way to me."

"That’s encouraging, isn’t it?"

She twisted her torso into him in order to get a better view of his face. Her breasts immediately plumped against his chest, her nipples tightening into pointed buds. Fascinated by his reaction, her eyes went wide with surprise. She held her breath, her attention fixed on the muscle that ticked in his jaw as his fingers dug into her shoulder. Even his angular face appeared more dangerous looking than usual.

She finally found her common sense, but Brett stopped her as she tried to ease back from him. He jerked her against his chest and held her still, leaving her senses to bask in the flex and flow of the muscles in his upper body and the slamming of his heart against his ribs.

Leah stared at him, her own senses enflamed. She felt seared by the hot glow of his dark gaze. She’d been ready to go up in flames during their first few hours together, and this frozen moment brought it all flooding back in scintillating color.

He muttered a low, lethal–sounding word, and then he warned, "Quit rubbing up against me like a cat that craves petting, or you’ll get more than you bargained for. I like the feel of you in my arms, just as I’d like nothing better than to strip you naked and bury myself in your hot little body. If you keep this up, Leah, all of my good intentions will go up in smoke, and we’ll both live to regret it."

She said nothing. She simply nodded. She wanted to be close to him. She wanted to feel his strength and tap into his seemingly bottomless well of courage. She also needed the reassurance she experienced when he held her. She quelled her desire for anything more, although she didn’t expect her longing to experience him sexually to ever end. Not when his desire for her appeared to be just as profound as her own for him.

Brett leaned his head back and closed his eyes. Leah heard him exhale raggedly as she rested her head against his shoulder. Several minutes ticked by before she felt the tension start to drain from both of their bodies.

"Were we ever married?" she asked unexpectedly.

Brett flinched as though he’d been struck. "No, Leah, never."

She frowned, oddly disappointed to realize that they weren’t lovers and had never been married. The strong emotional currents that flowed between them convinced her then that Brett was keeping something very important from her. She made a silent vow to continue her exploration of their complex relationship.

"I want to know everything about you, Brett."

"Not that much to tell."

She heard a note of wariness in his voice and decided to pursue it. "But it might help to trigger memories of my own life if you familiarize me with things about yourself that I’ve no doubt heard before."

"Sounds like a roundabout way of getting to the truth, but I’ll tell you anything I can."

"Good. We’ll tackle that side of the situation later. Right now, though, I need to know about one of the children in the picture taken at Yellowstone."

She produced the photograph in question and showed it to him, waiting while he inspected it.

"Have you remembered something?" he finally asked.

"Nothing, but the little boy seated beside me in the photo is the one child I keep zeroing in on, despite the fact that there are more than ten children gathered around me. He’s so serious–looking, almost as though he’s worried that I won’t remember him. My heart breaks every time I look at him. The link I feel to this child is just too strong to ignore, Brett, even though I can’t offer a rational explanation of why I feel so connected to him."

"You know him quite well."

"I do?"

"He’s my son, Leah."

"My God! I should have guessed. He looks like a miniature version of you. He’s a very special little boy, isn’t he?" She smoothed shaking fingertips down the side of the photograph. "Am I close to him?"

"Extremely."

"How old is he? What’s his name?"

"Matthew is going to be six on his next birthday."

"I keep feeling the need to put my arms around him every time I look at this picture," she confessed. "It’s as if he’s a very important part of me."