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Authors: Laura Taylor
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his jaw. He saw her surprise in her widening eyes and the flush that tinted her cheeks. When he felt the faint tremors that shook her fingers, he sensed that she, too, was remembering what they’d shared just before dawn.
"Your instincts are taking over. That’s the first step, Leah. Don’t fight the process. Just let yourself roll with it."
She withdrew her hand from his grasp and picked up her knife and fork. "I’m trying."
He watched her, his gaze steady. Tension rose up inside him when she suddenly let her silverware fall from her fingers. Leah sank back in her chair, her expressive features troubled.
"Talk to me," he urged.
She studied him for a long moment. "You’re very protective of me. When someone knocks on the door, you tell me to stay put. Last night I thought it was funny, but now I get the oddest feeling that you’re trying to shield me from something or someone. Why?"
"I care about you. If our positions were reversed, I’d like to think you’d feel protective of me."
"As a friend?"
He heard the edge in her voice, not just her disbelief. "As a friend," he agreed calmly. "Let’s declare a truce, why don’t we? I’m not the enemy."
"Is a friendship all you want from me?"
"That’s an unfair question right now."
"I don’t think it is, but I can’t force you to say things you don’t want to say. Fair warning, though, because I intend to keep asking that particular question until I get a decent answer."
Sighing in obvious frustration, she straightened in her chair and reached for a blueberry muffin from the basket in the center of the table.
"Leah…" he began.
She shook her head. "Don’t! Do not say a word. Just listen." When he nodded, she continued. "I apologize for trying to back you into a corner. The stress of not remembering anything about our relationship or my life is really getting to me. I know I sound suspicious and paranoid. I don’t mean to, but I can’t help it."
"Apology accepted." Aware that she had every right in the world to be suspicious of him, Brett picked up the carafe and refilled both coffee cups.
As if by mutual agreement, they concentrated on their food. Brett silently applauded Leah’s enthusiastic consumption of her meal as he grew relaxed enough to enjoy the companionable calm they shared while they ate.
"Perfection," she announced twenty minutes later. After blotting her lips with her napkin, she poured herself a cup of coffee. "Absolute perfection. So, do I always eat like a farmer about to spend the day doing hard labor in his fields, or is this something new?"
Brett smiled. For such a petite woman, Leah had the appetite of a prize fighter four times her size. "It’s definitely not new. The scientific community would probably love to study your metabolism. You’ve been like this for as long as I’ve known you." He reached for the last muffin in the basket.
Leah met his gaze, curiosity lighting her eyes. "And how long is that?"
"About eight years. Your brother introduced us."
"My brother?"
"Micah Holbrook."
"One of the Vikings?" she asked, her tone speculative.
His smile faded, surprised that she’d chosen the call–sign Micah used when sending classified message traffic to the Pentagon brass or to the various intel teams. "That’s a pretty good description of Micah, Jake, and Gavin, as well as your father."
She grinned. "I actually have three brothers?"
He smiled back at her when he saw her delight. "And two sisters. Carrie and Diana. Micah’s the oldest of the Holbrook tribe, and you’re fourth in line."
She extracted one of the pictures from the stack beside her plate and handed it to Brett. "When did this wedding take place?"
When we were still together
,
he remembered, his smile departing as he glanced at the photo.
When we were happy.
He managed to bite back the words
.
"Quite a long time ago. Diana, the bride, has five–year–old twin boys now. You and Carrie were her bridesmaids. Your brothers were ushers." He returned the
"Your instincts are taking over. That’s the first step, Leah. Don’t fight the process. Just let yourself roll with it."
She withdrew her hand from his grasp and picked up her knife and fork. "I’m trying."
He watched her, his gaze steady. Tension rose up inside him when she suddenly let her silverware fall from her fingers. Leah sank back in her chair, her expressive features troubled.
"Talk to me," he urged.
She studied him for a long moment. "You’re very protective of me. When someone knocks on the door, you tell me to stay put. Last night I thought it was funny, but now I get the oddest feeling that you’re trying to shield me from something or someone. Why?"
"I care about you. If our positions were reversed, I’d like to think you’d feel protective of me."
"As a friend?"
He heard the edge in her voice, not just her disbelief. "As a friend," he agreed calmly. "Let’s declare a truce, why don’t we? I’m not the enemy."
"Is a friendship all you want from me?"
"That’s an unfair question right now."
"I don’t think it is, but I can’t force you to say things you don’t want to say. Fair warning, though, because I intend to keep asking that particular question until I get a decent answer."
Sighing in obvious frustration, she straightened in her chair and reached for a blueberry muffin from the basket in the center of the table.
"Leah…" he began.
She shook her head. "Don’t! Do not say a word. Just listen." When he nodded, she continued. "I apologize for trying to back you into a corner. The stress of not remembering anything about our relationship or my life is really getting to me. I know I sound suspicious and paranoid. I don’t mean to, but I can’t help it."
"Apology accepted." Aware that she had every right in the world to be suspicious of him, Brett picked up the carafe and refilled both coffee cups.
As if by mutual agreement, they concentrated on their food. Brett silently applauded Leah’s enthusiastic consumption of her meal as he grew relaxed enough to enjoy the companionable calm they shared while they ate.
"Perfection," she announced twenty minutes later. After blotting her lips with her napkin, she poured herself a cup of coffee. "Absolute perfection. So, do I always eat like a farmer about to spend the day doing hard labor in his fields, or is this something new?"
Brett smiled. For such a petite woman, Leah had the appetite of a prize fighter four times her size. "It’s definitely not new. The scientific community would probably love to study your metabolism. You’ve been like this for as long as I’ve known you." He reached for the last muffin in the basket.
Leah met his gaze, curiosity lighting her eyes. "And how long is that?"
"About eight years. Your brother introduced us."
"My brother?"
"Micah Holbrook."
"One of the Vikings?" she asked, her tone speculative.
His smile faded, surprised that she’d chosen the call–sign Micah used when sending classified message traffic to the Pentagon brass or to the various intel teams. "That’s a pretty good description of Micah, Jake, and Gavin, as well as your father."
She grinned. "I actually have three brothers?"
He smiled back at her when he saw her delight. "And two sisters. Carrie and Diana. Micah’s the oldest of the Holbrook tribe, and you’re fourth in line."
She extracted one of the pictures from the stack beside her plate and handed it to Brett. "When did this wedding take place?"
When we were still together
,
he remembered, his smile departing as he glanced at the photo.
When we were happy.
He managed to bite back the words
.
"Quite a long time ago. Diana, the bride, has five–year–old twin boys now. You and Carrie were her bridesmaids. Your brothers were ushers." He returned the
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