Boone woke to a warm weight resting on top of him.
He frowned, and realized he was lying on his back on the couch, with Gemma lying on top of him.
Damn. She was warm, her face in profile where it rested against his chest. She looked relaxed. She had really long eyelashes.
His cock responded to the feel of her, lengthening.
Shit.
He liked this. Liked her. Too much. Gemma Newhouse was not for him.
He was just keeping her safe. That was it.
Slowly, he shifted, and she made a cute, sleepy sound, and rubbed her cheek on his bare pec. His cock got harder.
Closing his eyes, he moved a hand to nudge her off him…and touched skin.
Oh, hell. He slid his hand over her. He realized her shirt had ridden up, baring her ass.
She wasn’t wearing any panties.
His fingers tightened on lush skin. He froze and counted to ten. He opened his eyes…and saw his dog glaring at him accusingly from beside the couch.
Jesus. Cursing in his head, Boone maneuvered. He slid Gemma onto the couch and stood.
She turned, snuggling into the cushions. He hesitated, then tucked the blanket around her.
He turned and shot his dog a look. “What are you looking at?”
Atlas gave a low woof.
Jaw tight, Boone headed for the front door. He flexed his fingers.
He really needed a distraction.
Stretching, Gemma opened her eyes and smiled.
She felt well rested and relaxed.
Warm, aged, golden wood came into view. Oh. Boone’s cabin. Everything rushed in on her.
The abduction. The men after her.
Ugh. Suddenly, she didn’t feel so great.
Although, the memories of being held tight in Boone’s arms as they’d slept on the couch were good.
She sat up. There was no sign of him, even though it was still early.
She rose and pushed her tangled hair back. She could hear a rhythmic thwack, thwack, thwack that she now recognized.
Peering out of the window, she spotted Boone at the woodpile. She almost swallowed her tongue. He was shirtless, with just gray sweatpants riding low on his lean hips.
Holy moly. She felt like a sugar rush had just hit. He was ripped. He had hard muscles and delineated ridges at his abdomen. She’d seen plenty of in-shape guys in California, but she knew for Boone, these muscles were hard earned. They were ones he used in real life, not just in the gym.
He’d clearly been at it for a while. His skin was sheened with sweat.
He looked like he was working off his demons. She remembered a few of the things he’d shared the night before.
She knew that it must just be the tip of the iceberg. Whatever he’d seen and done and endured, even if it was for the greater good, had left scars.
She wanted to do something nice for him.
In the kitchen, she hummed to herself as she made some hot chocolate. She found two stainless-steel travel mugs and poured the drinks. It was her own special, ultra-chocolatey recipe.
She wrapped the blanket around her shoulders and slipped her feet into a pair of Boone’s boots at the door. They were huge, and she knew she must look ridiculous.
But abducted women pulled from rivers couldn’t be choosy.
Holding the two mugs, she nudged the door open, then headed in Boone’s direction. The air was crisp and fresh. So different from California.
His back was to her, all those muscles flexing. The light flutters in her belly turned to liquid warmth.
She’d seen videos on social media like this—hot mountain men chopping wood. At the time, she hadn’t entirely understood the appeal.
She bit her lip. Now she did. She spotted Atlas in the distance, sniffing around some trees. Boone sensed her and slammed the axe into the wood. He turned his head in her direction.
Now the liquid heat inside her spread everywhere. His gaze drifted down her body, then jerked back to her face.
“Morning.” She held out one mug. “Hot chocolate. My own secret recipe.”
“Thanks.” He took it.
She tried not to notice when his fingers brushed hers. But the tingles were outrageous. She watched him take a sip of his drink.
“It’s good,” he said.
She smiled at him, then sipped her own. She made a hum of pleasure.
When she looked up, Boone was looking at her mouth. Then he looked away, staring at Atlas. “I’m sorry I woke you last night.”
She took a deep breath. “I’m not.”
His head turned. His eyes looked like molten gold today.
Gemma shrugged a shoulder. “It’s the best sleep I’ve had in a long time. And I don’t just mean since I was taken.” She looked at the trees, the beautiful riot of colors. “Thanks to my father’s success, I find it hard to trust. And I often feel like a target.” She met Boone’s gaze. “You don’t make me feel like that.” She quickly sipped again. “I’m sorry for what you went through when you were deployed. It makes me realize that my problems pale a lot in comparison.”
“You can’t compare. Everyone has something to deal with.”
“True. And Boone, I don’t want apologies for the kisses, either. They were the best kisses of my life.”
His face turned unreadable.
She’d said her piece. She’d leave him to chew on it. Turning, she wandered toward the old farmhouse. It was rundown, with its white paint faded and peeling, and several windows boarded up. But she could see the charm, with its classic peaked roof and large porch. She’d put a swing on it so she could sit and look at the trees while she sipped her hot chocolate.
There was a red barn not far from it, which looked like it was in good repair. She guessed the barn was of more use to Boone than a large farmhouse.
Atlas bounded her way, and she smiled.
“My uncle said the farmhouse needed too much work. And was too big for him.”
Boone’s voice came from right behind her.
“Makes sense. It looks like it needs a family.” She walked up the sagging porch steps and looked in one grimy window. Oh. She saw a kitchen with an old-fashioned stove and a large farmhouse sink. The room was filled with dust, but light poured into the space. With some love and attention, and probably a big budget, it could be stunning.
She turned.
Boone stood with one boot resting on a step, an unbuttoned flannel shirt now on his body, and he was coiling some rope between his hands.
She stared at the rope and a sudden memory cut across her consciousness.
Rough hands tying her up. A wave of nausea. Feeling the prick of a needle at the back of her neck.
Her mug fell from nerveless fingers. It hit the porch, hot chocolate spilling.
“Newhouse won’t be able to stop us.”
“Yes. She’ll give us exactly what the boss wants.”
“I hope she fights. I hope we get to hurt her.”
Fear was like a deluge—cold and paralyzing. It left her heart racing.
“Gemma. Gemma!”
Strong hands gripped her arms. Her skin felt so cold.
“Gemma?”
She looked up into Boone’s face.
“You’re safe.” He cupped her cheeks. “Look at me.”
She focused on him. He had a small scar on one eyebrow, and she wondered how he’d gotten it.