Free More Than Friends (The Warriors) by Laura Taylor Page B

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.

5
    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