She moaned. The kiss turned hot, fast. It was even better than the first one. She needed this. Him.
Their tongues stroked, explored. He kissed her like the world was about to end, like he needed her. She plowed her fingers into his hair and pulled him closer.
It was just getting really good, when all of a sudden, he released her.
She felt dazed. She blinked and gripped the counter so she didn’t topple over.
“I’m sorry,” he gritted out.
Then he turned and stalked out like a predator was on his tail.
Gemma blinked again. What just happened?
She touched her lips. A kiss had never made her feel so lightheaded and giddy and…hungry.
She glanced at Atlas. “Well, your dad can kiss.”
Atlas wagged his tail.
She blew out a breath. The only problem was the bit where he’d raced out like she had the plague. Oh, and the bit where he’d apologized for the best kiss ever.
There was a loud thwack from outside.
She walked to the window and nudged the curtain aside. Boone stood with an axe in his hand, chopping wood. She watched him swing the axe, muscles flexing.
Gemma moaned a little and pressed a palm to her belly. She was outrageously attracted to Boone Hendrix.
Most importantly, he made her feel safe in a way that she hadn’t felt for a long time. She had no idea what to do with that.
Well, Boone liked to chop wood, but when things got stressful for her, she baked.
“Right, Atlas. Let’s find some dog treats I can make for you.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Tugging the blanket up, Boone turned on his side on the couch.
He muttered under his breath. The couch was perfectly fine for sitting on in front of a football game, but not designed for a six-foot, three-inch man to sleep on.
He turned onto his back and listened to the low crackle of the fire. He’d seen how much Gemma liked it, so he’d lit it again. The light flickered on the ceiling.
He thought of her lying in his bed. Only one room away.
“Shit,” he murmured.
He knew she was just wearing one of his T-shirts, lying on his sheets, her thick, brown hair on his pillows.
With a groan, he threw an arm over his eyes. The memory of those kisses slammed into him.
Her warm, pliant mouth. Her taste. The sounds she’d made.
He blew out a breath and pulled the blanket over his bare chest. He was only wearing a pair of old sweatpants and he felt too damn hot. He drew in a deep breath and realized the cabin smelled like chocolate cake.
Every little thing made him think of Gemma.
Finally, sleep crept over him. As often happened, the nightmares crept in, too.
“Bogey on the roof. We’re taking fire.”
Julio’s voice on the radio.
“I’m coming,” Boone responded.
“There are too many.” Miles sounded frantic.
“We’re surrounded!” Charlie yelled.
The sounds of gunfire.
His team was under attack. His brothers.
“Hold on,” Vander’s cool voice. “We’re incoming. We’re two klicks out.”
“Charlie is down!” Julio yelled. “Fuck.”
A jumble of old images filtered through his brain. His racing heart as he ran into the village. Seeing the Taliban fighters attacking his friends.
Then a bullet winged his arm and he fell. A Taliban fighter stood over him, with a rifle aimed at his face.
It had only gotten worse from there. The four of them in a cage, stripped of their gear.
The group’s leader standing at the bars, his eyes soulless. “You will tell me everything about your team, your mission, all military information.” He looked at Miles. “Start with that one.”
No. No.
Shouts echoed around Boone as they’d dragged Miles from the cell and strung him up. He felt helplessness choke him hard.
Why hadn’t they taken him?
“No.” Boone couldn’t breathe. Guilt tasted like dirt and ash.
“Boone?”
His brows creased. It was a female voice.
“Boone, wake up.” A cool hand touched his shoulder.
He jerked awake and heard a gasp.
It took his brain a second to process. He was in his cabin. On his couch. His hand was clamped on Gemma’s delicate wrist.
He heard her swallow. “You were moaning. Having a nightmare.”
He released her quickly. “Did I hurt you?”
“No.”
He shifted, sat up, and scraped his hands over his face. “Sorry I woke you.”
She was silent. Just a dark shadow in the room. Then she moved and sat down beside him.
“You get them a lot?”
His chest tightened. He didn’t talk about it. Ever. “Not every night, but I get them. You woke me before the worst of it.”
Because he knew from experience just how much worse it got.
“They’re about when you were in the military?”
He stared straight ahead. This pretty woman with her smooth skin, curves, and delicate hands couldn’t ever understand. Hell, he didn’t want her to understand. “Yeah.”
“You’ve…talked to someone?”
It felt like something squeezed his throat. “Yes. Had a therapist when I got out.” He’d talked until he couldn’t talk anymore.
She leaned into the cushions. “What branch were you in?”
“I joined the Army. I ended up in Delta.”
“Special forces. Wow.” She paused. “You worked with Vander.”
“He was my commander.”
“That man is a whole lot of scary.”
“He is. Makes him good in the field.”
She tucked her legs up under her. “My father said Vander was in some special program. Ghost Ops.” She paused. “You were, too?”
“I can’t talk about it.”
Ghost Ops took the best of the best from all the special forces to make elite teams. Teams that went to the worst places to do the worst, most impossible missions.
“You must’ve done some dangerous jobs.”
His fingers curled into his palm.
“And seen some terrible things,” she whispered quietly.
“I got out. I’m alive.”
“But others didn’t?”
“No, they didn’t. Good men. With families.”
“I bet their families are proud of them. Boone, thank you for your service. Because of men like you, and your friends, who fight for us, protect us, I’ve never seen terrible things.”
The ever-present pressure inside him eased just a little. It was why he’d served. He was good at it, but he believed in protecting his country. Protecting innocents from the bad in the world.
“Thanks, Gemma.”
She nudged him. Her warm body was so close to his.
Lock it down, Hendrix.
“So, what else do you and Atlas watch on TV? Apart from Cake and Bake?”
“Football.”
“Mm. What’s your favorite team?”
“The Packers.”
“I’m a Broncos girl, myself.”
“Not the Rams?”
As they talked, he eased into the cushions, his body relaxing. The last grip of the nightmare leaked away. He liked her voice. It had a low, sexy undertone to it.
Somehow talk of football turned to favorite foods, favorite movies, then Boone sharing about living in small town Vermont.
But before he knew it, Gemma was leaning into his side, tucked up against him. He felt her shiver and wrapped his arm around her. He pulled the blanket over both of them.
They kept talking. And for Boone, the world just disappeared.
In that quiet moment in front of the fireplace, there was no bad stuff in the world, no wars, no old scars, and no nightmares.