hair as he turned away and returned to his chair. Slouching down in it, he grabbed the map he’d discarded earlier and proceeded to stare at it.
Leah dialed the number for room service, aware that she’d finally made a dent in his constant restraint. Instinct, not simply the emotions Brett stirred in her, compelled her to dismantle the walls he’d built around himself, the same walls constructed to keep them apart. She didn’t intend to fail. She’d also just discovered something crucial about herself—she was stubborn. All–day–long stubborn. With Brett, she decided, she would need to be.
** ** **
An hour later, a waiter delivered a room service cart filled with covered dishes that contained crabmeat cocktails, a Caesar salad for two, broiled lobster tails with drawn butter, jasmine–scented rice, corn on the cob, sourdough bread, and an array of desert selections.
Brett barely allowed the bewildered young man to step into the suite before collecting the check, signing it, and sending him on his way with a generous tip. The waiter was still offering to uncork a bottle of white wine from a well–known Napa Valley vintner that Leah had ordered when Brett closed and locked the suite door.
"I don’t like sharing you," he told Leah when he noticed her chagrined expression.
"You’re hopeless."
"When you’re concerned, that’s truer than you know."
She considered the various meanings of his remark as they adjourned to the awning–covered balcony. Using the misting rain as an excuse, he pulled a small table and two chairs away from the railing and created a new arrangement against the exterior wall of the suite after mopping up the dampness with a towel.
A sniper, even one with a powerful night scope, would be hard–pressed to turn Leah into a target once he seated her in the most protected spot on the balcony. He felt satisfied that she would be able to see the cloud–filled sky and a periodic star, while no one would see her. Attired in heavy sweaters to ward off the chill of the damp night air, they settled in to enjoy their meal.
"I think we should kidnap the chef," she commented after groaning her pleasure over their meal.
Brett winced at her innocent remark. He pushed aside the plate that held his dessert, what remained of his appetite disappearing. Sinking back in his chair, he absently sipped his wine.
"You’re very quiet all of a sudden," Leah said after eating the last bite of her cheesecake.
Brett voiced the first thought that entered his head. "I was thinking about how different we are."
She smiled. "I assume you’re speaking of things other than the obvious anatomical differences."
He nodded, but he didn’t return her smile. Instead, he pondered the contents of his wine glass, his thoughts centered on Leah and what it would be like to experience her passion again after so many years. His body reacted almost immediately, and desire streaked through him like hot lightning.
"Tell me about your family," she encouraged. "You’ve hardly said a word about your past, and you promised you would."
"There’s nothing to tell," he said, his tone abrupt.
"Of course, there is."
"I didn’t have a family, at least not like yours. I was placed in foster care before I was old enough to walk. I grew up in a variety of homes, some good, some not. I lucked out with the last family that took me in while I was in high school. They were retired Navy. My grades and athletic ability were above average, so Bob Stone, my foster father, helped me to apply to the Naval Academy. Much to everyone’s amazement, I received a Congressional appointment. The rest, as they say, is history."
"History I don’t know." She set aside her empty wine glass. Curling her legs beneath her, she studied him for a long moment. "What happened to your birth parents?"
"I don’t know anything about them. I was abandoned shortly after birth." Brett shrugged. "Whoever they were, they gave me life and a name that was written on a
Leah dialed the number for room service, aware that she’d finally made a dent in his constant restraint. Instinct, not simply the emotions Brett stirred in her, compelled her to dismantle the walls he’d built around himself, the same walls constructed to keep them apart. She didn’t intend to fail. She’d also just discovered something crucial about herself—she was stubborn. All–day–long stubborn. With Brett, she decided, she would need to be.
** ** **
An hour later, a waiter delivered a room service cart filled with covered dishes that contained crabmeat cocktails, a Caesar salad for two, broiled lobster tails with drawn butter, jasmine–scented rice, corn on the cob, sourdough bread, and an array of desert selections.
Brett barely allowed the bewildered young man to step into the suite before collecting the check, signing it, and sending him on his way with a generous tip. The waiter was still offering to uncork a bottle of white wine from a well–known Napa Valley vintner that Leah had ordered when Brett closed and locked the suite door.
"I don’t like sharing you," he told Leah when he noticed her chagrined expression.
"You’re hopeless."
"When you’re concerned, that’s truer than you know."
She considered the various meanings of his remark as they adjourned to the awning–covered balcony. Using the misting rain as an excuse, he pulled a small table and two chairs away from the railing and created a new arrangement against the exterior wall of the suite after mopping up the dampness with a towel.
A sniper, even one with a powerful night scope, would be hard–pressed to turn Leah into a target once he seated her in the most protected spot on the balcony. He felt satisfied that she would be able to see the cloud–filled sky and a periodic star, while no one would see her. Attired in heavy sweaters to ward off the chill of the damp night air, they settled in to enjoy their meal.
"I think we should kidnap the chef," she commented after groaning her pleasure over their meal.
Brett winced at her innocent remark. He pushed aside the plate that held his dessert, what remained of his appetite disappearing. Sinking back in his chair, he absently sipped his wine.
"You’re very quiet all of a sudden," Leah said after eating the last bite of her cheesecake.
Brett voiced the first thought that entered his head. "I was thinking about how different we are."
She smiled. "I assume you’re speaking of things other than the obvious anatomical differences."
He nodded, but he didn’t return her smile. Instead, he pondered the contents of his wine glass, his thoughts centered on Leah and what it would be like to experience her passion again after so many years. His body reacted almost immediately, and desire streaked through him like hot lightning.
"Tell me about your family," she encouraged. "You’ve hardly said a word about your past, and you promised you would."
"There’s nothing to tell," he said, his tone abrupt.
"Of course, there is."
"I didn’t have a family, at least not like yours. I was placed in foster care before I was old enough to walk. I grew up in a variety of homes, some good, some not. I lucked out with the last family that took me in while I was in high school. They were retired Navy. My grades and athletic ability were above average, so Bob Stone, my foster father, helped me to apply to the Naval Academy. Much to everyone’s amazement, I received a Congressional appointment. The rest, as they say, is history."
"History I don’t know." She set aside her empty wine glass. Curling her legs beneath her, she studied him for a long moment. "What happened to your birth parents?"
"I don’t know anything about them. I was abandoned shortly after birth." Brett shrugged. "Whoever they were, they gave me life and a name that was written on a
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