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Damien leaped like a panther from behind the tree and fired three quick shots. Caught flatfooted, the terrorists fell, dead before they hit the ground. Damien lunged forward and jumped behind the steering wheel. Laurie ran and launched herself into the back of the jeep, barely missing the machine gun. She banged her knees and elbows and clamped her teeth on her lower lip to stop the whimpers from the sharp, radiating pain. She would not be a whiny wimp and complicate the situation further. The rifle she miraculously still carried clattered loudly on metal.

Damien started the engine and the jeep lurched forward. Laurie clutched the rifle and struggled to sit up. Damien drove around the trees until he found the road leading to the terrorist compound. He turned in the opposite direction. Laurie crouched in the back of the jeep, aiming the rifle to the rear.

Later, confident they were not being followed, Laurie climbed into the front passenger seat. Damien navigated the narrow bumpy road expertly. Laurie leaned back in the seat with a ALWAYS A WARRIOR Patricia Bruening

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heartfelt sigh of relief. Gradually her breathing slowed and her heartbeat steadied but she trembled with adrenaline let down. She took one look at Damien’s forbidding expression and wisely remained silent.

That evening Damien stopped the jeep in a small village. Fluent in Spanish, much to Laurie’s surprise, he got them a room over a local bar. Grim-faced, he led her through the rough, seedy bar and up the stairs to their room. He shoved her inside, followed, and slammed the door shut with a resounding crack.

Laurie stumbled, caught herself on the edge of an old dresser, and turned slowly to face Damien. He looked furious. He stood just inside the door, arms crossed over his broad chest, pistol on his hip, rifle slung over his shoulder, and stared at her. Trembling, she clutched her rifle to her chest and wondered what he might do to her for causing him to be left behind. His eyes widened in astonishment. His expression softened slightly and he shook his head.

“She runs through a gun battle and shoots down armed terrorists, then cringes in fear when we’re finally safe?” he said softly as he tossed his guns onto the bed.

Laurie warily tracked his every move as he crossed the room and rounded the corner of the bed. He sat on the floor, his back against the side of the bed. She squirmed under his piercing regard. The room was so small she could touch him if she wanted. And she did want to touch him but kept her two-handed grip on the rifle as though it were a lifeline.

Delayed reaction slammed into her. The rifle slipped from her hands and she sank to the floor, her back against the rough wooden wall. She drew her knees up to her chin, wrapped her arms around her legs, and cried. Tears streamed from her eyes. Racking sobs shook her shoulders but she did not make a sound.

Damien’s arms slid around her and he pulled her onto his lap. She had not heard him move. Sobbing silently, she cuddled up to him. He rocked her gently until her sobs subsided and she sagged in his embrace, clutching his shirt. His finger under her chin, he urged her to look up at him. She reluctantly lifted her spiked, damp lashes and met his gaze.

“Hey,” he said lightly. “You did good.”

He stroked his thumb over her lips. That slight contact warmed and soothed her. She offered him a shaky smile and wiped the remaining tears from her face.

“I want to go home.” Longing rang in her voice, echoed in her ears, and put an ache in her heart.

“You will,” he promised. Then he simply stared at her, curiosity darkening his eyes.

“Why didn’t you get in that helicopter with Neal?”

She hesitated, her teeth clamped on her lower lip. She had asked herself the same question during their long silent jeep ride. Only one answer circled in her mind. The desperate urge to make sure he was unharmed made her realize she still loved him—but she dared not admit it.

“You could have escaped,” he persisted.

She dropped her gaze from the hard gleam in his eyes, unable to formulate a response without admitting her feelings.

He cupped her face in his hands, tilted her head so she looked into his eyes. His piercing brown stare riveted her. “You killed for me.” He paused. His breath hitched. “Not to protect Stacy or yourself but for me. Why? You could have left me there for whatever you felt I deserved. Damn it! Why?”

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The need to know, to understand, burned fierce in his eyes. She swallowed hard and could not look away. Her feelings meant nothing to him. Tears filled her eyes again. She took the coward’s way out and gave him only part of the truth.

“They would have killed you,” she whispered raggedly. “I didn’t want to watch you die.”

His gaze roamed slowly over her face then he lifted his eyes once more to hers. His expression softened and he released her face but kept her in his lap. He traced the faint tracks of her tears with his finger then stroked the curves of her lips. That once familiar warmth stole over her.

“Laurie.” His tone was low but full of wonder and disbelief.

She cringed at the knowledge that he had read her emotions so easily while she read nothing of his. Except physical desire, she had no idea if he even felt anything for her. But his touch scorched her senses. Her skin tingled and her pulse raced just from the simple contact of his fingertips. Her lips burned for his kisses. Her gaze dropped to his mouth and a sudden fierce craving shot into her. Need clawed her gut. Lifting her gaze to his, she let the hunger rage.

She plowed her fingers into his hair and dragged him to her, frantic for his kisses.

Suddenly cold, she craved the feel of him to prove they both still lived. Her mind knew. Heart and body wanted physical proof. With a low ragged groan, he fastened his mouth to hers and kissed her deeply, hungrily. She parted her lips on a shuddering breath and eagerly welcomed the invasion of his tongue. His touch and those deep, drugging kisses ignited a raging explosion of desperate passion.

More
, she demanded mentally, wanting only the friction of skin gliding over skin. She shoved him backward onto the floor, slithering frantically over him, kissing him voraciously.

Blood rushed and roared in her veins. Her pulse thundered in her ears. His arms tightened and he rolled her beneath him. Frantic for more, always more, she scrambled to unbutton that hated terrorist jacket then impatiently shoved it over his shoulders.

He dragged his mouth from hers, yanked off jacket and T-shirt, and then came down on top of her. He took her mouth again, hard and passionate and as desperate as she. Laurie kissed him back, as demanding as he. She gloried in the weight of him pressing her to the floor. They explored each other in a frenzy of mouths and hands, lips and tongues, somehow shedding their remaining clothes. She loved the slick feel of his body covering hers, his skin sweaty and damp from rising passion. She wanted more, craved everything he gave her, clutching and clinging to him as though to a lifeline dangling over a cliff.

“Now, Damien, please,” she demanded hoarsely, urgently, and lifted her hips to him.

His fingers interlaced with hers, he pinned her hands above her head. Her heart pounded in her ears. His mouth sought hers again, his tongue surging between her lips as he plunged hard and deep into her. A ragged gasp escaped her, swallowed by him, and she raised her hips to take all of him.

In the life-affirming, adrenaline-draining frenzy, she met his every wild thrust until the universe exploded around them in brilliantly violent release. He released her hands and slumped onto her, his face buried in her wildly tangled hair. She took his weight gladly, clamping her arms around him. He shifted to his side and they held each other in a fierce mutual embrace.

Their harsh raspy breathing mingled and filled the room. His heart beat as fast as hers.

The rhythms mingled and finally slowed. Reality intruded and pulled them awkwardly apart.

They dressed in utter silence. Laurie glanced around, looking at everything but him. Confused by a passion that refused to acknowledge deception, she struggled to rationalize her actions.
Stress
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release,
she told herself,
gratitude, life, adrenaline
,--she convinced herself of every excuse available to avoid her heart.

Sitting on the edge of the bed in the cramped room, she squirmed under Damien’s intent stare as he pulled on his boots. She kept her eyes on the dirty wall and refused to look directly at him. Then she abruptly remembered the computer disks in her pocket and dug them out.

“I guess it’s asking too much to find a computer in this one-horse village.” She carefully examined the three disks for damage. They were slightly curved from being sat on but otherwise intact.

“What’s that?” Damien demanded tersely.

He stepped across the room and held out his hand. The mattress dipped under his weight as he sat beside her. She handed him the disks then scooted to the center of the bed and stretched out on it. Her head hit the thin pillow as a loud yawn escaped her.

“I took them from a room in the armory,” she said, struggling against the urge to sleep.

“They had a computer. One disk was still in the drive. It had lists of dates and targets. I took all the disks I saw.”

With a low whistle of admiration, he turned his head to face her. “Damn. What’s on the other ones?”

“I didn’t take the time to look.” Her sleepy gaze drifted over him and she managed a tired shrug.

“Amazing,” he murmured, his eyes on her as he slipped the disks into the breast pocket of his jacket.

Exhausted, she didn’t even flinch when he reached toward her. His knuckles skimmed the curve of her jaw and his face softened.

“Get some sleep, honey,” he ordered softly, his eyes warm as his gaze traveled over her.

“We’ll be out of here soon.”

Laurie drifted into deep sleep as that last endearment echoed in her mind. She barely felt the ratty blanket he covered her with but her lips tingled with the light kiss he dropped on her mouth.

* * * *

Damien watched her sleep though he stayed alert for potential trouble. The General still lived and was no doubt furious. Damien dared not lower his guard until he and Laurie were safely in the United States. He leaned the chair against the wall, keeping a sharp eye on the door and the grimy window. His gaze strayed often to Laurie sleeping soundly in the middle of the bed. No matter how tempted, he did not dare join her. He could not relax his vigil just yet. If he stretched out on the bed beside her, he’d be asleep in seconds with her wrapped in his arms.

He tried to shake the image, the memories, from his mind but only succeeded in pushing them to the back of his mind. He heaved a weary sigh. His mission would not be over until he was debriefed. Then, after a few days leave if he chose to take them, he would be back on active duty.

The story of my life
, he thought bitterly—then blinked. The bitterness startled him.

Though far from conventional, his life had always satisfied him. His career was enough, especially after the loss of his family. If he wanted a woman, he found one. And every single woman he took to bed knew the rules—sex with no strings attached.

He glanced once again at the woman in the bed near him. After knowing Laurie and Stacy, if only briefly, he suddenly wondered if he could fit them into his life. He caught himself watching the slow rise and fall of her breasts. The purely male reaction of his body to female ALWAYS A WARRIOR Patricia Bruening

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flesh was instant and painful. He stifled a groan of desire but could not tear his gaze from her.

Did she want to fit into his life? She fit in his arms, in his bed, and in his heart. Though he had not allowed her to verbalize the love that shone in her eyes the first time he made love to her, he knew she did.

He scowled fiercely at her sleeping form. Hate and contempt had blazed in her eyes when she woke on that cot, when she looked at him. But her lovemaking just now, in this very room, had been frantic and urgent, as though time was running out. Adrenaline rush, he wondered. She had still looked at him with love in her eyes. But this time, she made no effort to say the words.

Had he simply seen what he wanted to see?

He scowled again, disgusted with his useless thoughts. It didn’t matter anyway. Neither love nor hate fit in his life.
No way
, he thought firmly. There was no room in his volatile life for an emotional entanglement. No matter how well they meshed physically, their hearts did not belong together. He was better off without her. She was certainly better off without him. He had allowed old notions, old wants and needs, to resurface. He dragged his gaze from her and stared at the ceiling until he buried all of those old parts of the Great American Dream he had once wanted. He could never have them.

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Three days later, Damien drove silently on eastbound interstate ten toward Wilcox, Arizona. He concentrated on the road while Laurie stared out the window wanting him to say something, anything. She needed to hear his voice. She remembered all of his apologies. What exactly did he regret? Making love to her? Caring even a little for her? All of the above? Her heart twisted at the thought.

She knew she had made a monumental mistake, but she could not convince herself to be sorry she had made love with him. Neither did she attempt to delude herself anything might come of it. After all, he had used her like a tool. She did not want to know if their relationship, if it could be called that, was part of his deception. She cast him a surreptitious glance. Just the sight of him scrambled her pulse.

Damien McAllister—consummate Navy SEAL, highly trained, deadly, cool and professional—but there was nothing personal. He focused on the road. Fierce longing, physical and emotional, turned her blood sluggish.

Despite her admittedly feeble protest, he had insisted on taking her home after the helicopter returned for them. She had endured constant questions for several hours, and then spent the night alone in an admittedly very nice hotel room. She had lain awake until nearly dawn but Damien had not come to her. She wanted just a little more time with him. Damien had turned the computer disks over to his superiors and endured his own much more extensive debriefing. And he still had not visited or even called her at the hotel until it was time to leave.