Bruening
28
Her warm breath caressed his bare skin. Need erupted in him. He tried to disengage himself, but she clutched at him. Her body tightened along his. Her knee stroked him, scorched him through the denim barrier. His resolve weakened.
“Laurie.” Almost desperate, he gently shook her shoulder. “Wake up.”
Her eyelids fluttered and she tilted her head to stare sleepily at him. She looked like she absolutely belonged in his bed and in his arms. He wished she did. Her hair slid across his skin like silken rain. Surrendering to his urges, he rolled and pinned her to the mattress.
She stared at him, her eyes clouded with the lingering effects of sleep “Good morning,”
she murmured, her face flushed and her skin warm.
“Morning.” He lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her softly.
He stroked his tongue over her lips until she parted them. He explored, savored, and drowned in her taste. He drew back slowly and stared at her, searching her face for any indication that he should continue.
Awareness cleared the sleep from her eyes. She dropped her gaze with a guilty flush and murmured, “Sorry.”
The taste of her still lingered on his lips and tongue. With a deep, longing sigh, he rolled off her. The springs of the mattress creaked as she scrambled off the bed.
“I’m sorry, Damien.” Her nervous glance landed on everything but him. “I should have taken that book upstairs.”
“Don’t worry about it.” He left the bed and rummaged in his duffel bag for clean clothes.
Her involuntary glance at his bare chest scrambled his pulse. Blushing furiously, she fled to the loft. He chuckled wryly and watched her go, wondering how long she’d fight her desires and why.
How long could he keep his hands to himself if she continued to sleep in his bed? The memory of her snuggled next to him fired his blood. Teeth clenched, he dressed quickly, resolved to resist her temptation.
* * * *
Subdued and uncertain, Laurie led Stacy downstairs. Damien wasn’t there. A quick look out the window puzzled her. Damien was stacking sandbags at the far side of the clearing.
Watching him, she settled Stacy at the table with a bowl of cereal then poured a cup of coffee.
Curiosity sent her outside. She studied the man-high stacks of sandbags and arched an eyebrow.
“What’s this for?”
“Target practice.” Damien pulled a holstered gun from the back of his waistband. She recognized it as the one he had given her when they left her house. He slid the gun from the holster. “This is a Tokarov .9mm pistol.”
He pushed a small button on the grip. The magazine dropped into his waiting hand. He pulled the top piece of the gun back and another bullet fell out. He caught it deftly and shoved it into his pocket. He indicated the moveable piece. “This is the slide. Watch.”
Under Damien’s careful tutelage, Laurie learned to load and chamber the pistol. He made her repeat the actions several times. Though uncomfortable and leery of firearms, she soon relaxed until Stacy wandered, bored, outside. Jolted, Laurie lowered the Chinese rifle Damien had switched her to and stared at her daughter in alarm.
Obviously seeing her concern, Damien nodded for her to continue shooting at the rough red circles of paper on the sandbags. He kept Stacy well back from the firing line, patiently answering her questions. Laurie shot him a brief grin knowing full well Stacy would pester him with questions until someone stopped her. At noon, Damien called a halt to target shooting.
ALWAYS A WARRIOR Patricia Bruening
29
“Keep this gun with you,” he insisted, handing her the loaded pistol once more in the holster. “Wear it during the day. Keep it with you at night. Get used to it.”
“Can I try?” Stacy piped up, her eyes sparkling with fascination.
Laurie eyed the gun warily then glanced uncertainly at her daughter. Stacy exhibited a healthy child’s typical fascination with the unknown—in this case,
28
Her warm breath caressed his bare skin. Need erupted in him. He tried to disengage himself, but she clutched at him. Her body tightened along his. Her knee stroked him, scorched him through the denim barrier. His resolve weakened.
“Laurie.” Almost desperate, he gently shook her shoulder. “Wake up.”
Her eyelids fluttered and she tilted her head to stare sleepily at him. She looked like she absolutely belonged in his bed and in his arms. He wished she did. Her hair slid across his skin like silken rain. Surrendering to his urges, he rolled and pinned her to the mattress.
She stared at him, her eyes clouded with the lingering effects of sleep “Good morning,”
she murmured, her face flushed and her skin warm.
“Morning.” He lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her softly.
He stroked his tongue over her lips until she parted them. He explored, savored, and drowned in her taste. He drew back slowly and stared at her, searching her face for any indication that he should continue.
Awareness cleared the sleep from her eyes. She dropped her gaze with a guilty flush and murmured, “Sorry.”
The taste of her still lingered on his lips and tongue. With a deep, longing sigh, he rolled off her. The springs of the mattress creaked as she scrambled off the bed.
“I’m sorry, Damien.” Her nervous glance landed on everything but him. “I should have taken that book upstairs.”
“Don’t worry about it.” He left the bed and rummaged in his duffel bag for clean clothes.
Her involuntary glance at his bare chest scrambled his pulse. Blushing furiously, she fled to the loft. He chuckled wryly and watched her go, wondering how long she’d fight her desires and why.
How long could he keep his hands to himself if she continued to sleep in his bed? The memory of her snuggled next to him fired his blood. Teeth clenched, he dressed quickly, resolved to resist her temptation.
* * * *
Subdued and uncertain, Laurie led Stacy downstairs. Damien wasn’t there. A quick look out the window puzzled her. Damien was stacking sandbags at the far side of the clearing.
Watching him, she settled Stacy at the table with a bowl of cereal then poured a cup of coffee.
Curiosity sent her outside. She studied the man-high stacks of sandbags and arched an eyebrow.
“What’s this for?”
“Target practice.” Damien pulled a holstered gun from the back of his waistband. She recognized it as the one he had given her when they left her house. He slid the gun from the holster. “This is a Tokarov .9mm pistol.”
He pushed a small button on the grip. The magazine dropped into his waiting hand. He pulled the top piece of the gun back and another bullet fell out. He caught it deftly and shoved it into his pocket. He indicated the moveable piece. “This is the slide. Watch.”
Under Damien’s careful tutelage, Laurie learned to load and chamber the pistol. He made her repeat the actions several times. Though uncomfortable and leery of firearms, she soon relaxed until Stacy wandered, bored, outside. Jolted, Laurie lowered the Chinese rifle Damien had switched her to and stared at her daughter in alarm.
Obviously seeing her concern, Damien nodded for her to continue shooting at the rough red circles of paper on the sandbags. He kept Stacy well back from the firing line, patiently answering her questions. Laurie shot him a brief grin knowing full well Stacy would pester him with questions until someone stopped her. At noon, Damien called a halt to target shooting.
ALWAYS A WARRIOR Patricia Bruening
29
“Keep this gun with you,” he insisted, handing her the loaded pistol once more in the holster. “Wear it during the day. Keep it with you at night. Get used to it.”
“Can I try?” Stacy piped up, her eyes sparkling with fascination.
Laurie eyed the gun warily then glanced uncertainly at her daughter. Stacy exhibited a healthy child’s typical fascination with the unknown—in this case,
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