Read Online More Than Friends (The Warriors) by Laura Taylor - Free Book Online
Authors: Laura Taylor
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He remembered, too, how the world had ceased to matter during those lost weekends composed solely of passion, conversation, and serenity.
"You always crave eggs Benedict when you sleep late," he told her. "I’m glad your appetite’s back. That’s a good sign."
"It’s returned in a big way," she confirmed as she sat down on the couch. "I’m starved."
"You look more rested this morning."
She nodded before taking a sip of her coffee. "I feel better." She grimaced as her taste buds embraced and then recoiled from the strong brew.
"You hate black coffee."
"No kidding."
"You use honey, whenever it’s available. You’ve never used cream."
"Thanks." She leaned forward and reached for the natural sweetener. Leah glanced his way after stirring honey into the steaming black liquid. "It’s kind of strange to realize that you know more about me than I do."
"I pay attention to the details," he admitted quietly as he revitalized his senses with the sight of her. His body responded a heartbeat later to a need so profound, molten heat cascaded into his bloodstream.
"Given your profession, I guess that’s not surprising."
His hunger eased, but it didn’t depart. It never would. Brett gave her a thoughtful look, but he didn’t press her for an explanation of her remark. Leah liked to conduct verbal fishing expeditions. He could handle her curiosity.
"Any residual pain?"
"The brass band is gone, if that’s what you’re asking."
"I’m asking for a more complete statement, Leah."
"I have a very mild headache, and my bruises are colorful. I doubt the former will last much longer, but I’m not as optimistic about the latter. Stop worrying, please."
He folded the section of newspaper and dropped it onto the stack already on the floor beside his chair. "Friends worry about friends."
Her smile faded. "Is that really what we are?"
"I hope so."
Leah looked away. He watched her concentrate on her coffee. He noticed that she flinched and her fingers strayed to her temple when a series of sharp knocks sounded on the door a few minutes later.
"Finish your coffee," he ordered. "I’ll take care of this."
Brett got to his feet and crossed the room, moving with the fluid stealth of a man accustomed to confronting and disposing of any threat he encountered. Alert to everything around him, he registered Leah’s silence as he greeted the room–service waiter at the door. He signed the check, thanked the young man, and then took control of a cart that held several covered dishes, a cloth–covered basket of muffins, and another large carafe of coffee. After closing and locking the door, he wheeled the cart into the room and parked it beside a small table.
"Eggs Benedict for two, a double side–order of hash browns, fresh–squeezed orange juice, extra muffins, and another pot of coffee."
Startled by her precise recitation of the room–service order he’d placed before she’d joined him in the sitting room, Brett stiffened for a moment before turning to look at her. "Where did that come from?"
She shrugged. "Somewhere out in the empty left field of my brain." She got up from the sofa, approached him, and helped him transfer the contents of the cart to the table.
"Do you…" he began, a mixture of hope and dread filtering into his heart.
"Nada. Not a blessed thing." She sat down and accepted the linen napkin he handed to her. After surveying the meal he’d ordered, Leah met his gaze. "Spooky, isn’t it?"
He joined her at the table, unfolded his napkin, and placed it across his lap. "I’d call it encouraging."
"Perhaps." The single word was her only concession as she ran her fingertip across the backs of the photos she’d placed facedown on the table beside her plate. "Even though I didn’t recognize anything in my luggage, I felt like I knew what I was looking for as I got dressed this morning."
He reached out and clasped her free hand, his need to reassure her intensifying the darkness of his gaze and tightening
"You always crave eggs Benedict when you sleep late," he told her. "I’m glad your appetite’s back. That’s a good sign."
"It’s returned in a big way," she confirmed as she sat down on the couch. "I’m starved."
"You look more rested this morning."
She nodded before taking a sip of her coffee. "I feel better." She grimaced as her taste buds embraced and then recoiled from the strong brew.
"You hate black coffee."
"No kidding."
"You use honey, whenever it’s available. You’ve never used cream."
"Thanks." She leaned forward and reached for the natural sweetener. Leah glanced his way after stirring honey into the steaming black liquid. "It’s kind of strange to realize that you know more about me than I do."
"I pay attention to the details," he admitted quietly as he revitalized his senses with the sight of her. His body responded a heartbeat later to a need so profound, molten heat cascaded into his bloodstream.
"Given your profession, I guess that’s not surprising."
His hunger eased, but it didn’t depart. It never would. Brett gave her a thoughtful look, but he didn’t press her for an explanation of her remark. Leah liked to conduct verbal fishing expeditions. He could handle her curiosity.
"Any residual pain?"
"The brass band is gone, if that’s what you’re asking."
"I’m asking for a more complete statement, Leah."
"I have a very mild headache, and my bruises are colorful. I doubt the former will last much longer, but I’m not as optimistic about the latter. Stop worrying, please."
He folded the section of newspaper and dropped it onto the stack already on the floor beside his chair. "Friends worry about friends."
Her smile faded. "Is that really what we are?"
"I hope so."
Leah looked away. He watched her concentrate on her coffee. He noticed that she flinched and her fingers strayed to her temple when a series of sharp knocks sounded on the door a few minutes later.
"Finish your coffee," he ordered. "I’ll take care of this."
Brett got to his feet and crossed the room, moving with the fluid stealth of a man accustomed to confronting and disposing of any threat he encountered. Alert to everything around him, he registered Leah’s silence as he greeted the room–service waiter at the door. He signed the check, thanked the young man, and then took control of a cart that held several covered dishes, a cloth–covered basket of muffins, and another large carafe of coffee. After closing and locking the door, he wheeled the cart into the room and parked it beside a small table.
"Eggs Benedict for two, a double side–order of hash browns, fresh–squeezed orange juice, extra muffins, and another pot of coffee."
Startled by her precise recitation of the room–service order he’d placed before she’d joined him in the sitting room, Brett stiffened for a moment before turning to look at her. "Where did that come from?"
She shrugged. "Somewhere out in the empty left field of my brain." She got up from the sofa, approached him, and helped him transfer the contents of the cart to the table.
"Do you…" he began, a mixture of hope and dread filtering into his heart.
"Nada. Not a blessed thing." She sat down and accepted the linen napkin he handed to her. After surveying the meal he’d ordered, Leah met his gaze. "Spooky, isn’t it?"
He joined her at the table, unfolded his napkin, and placed it across his lap. "I’d call it encouraging."
"Perhaps." The single word was her only concession as she ran her fingertip across the backs of the photos she’d placed facedown on the table beside her plate. "Even though I didn’t recognize anything in my luggage, I felt like I knew what I was looking for as I got dressed this morning."
He reached out and clasped her free hand, his need to reassure her intensifying the darkness of his gaze and tightening
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