The Hero She Needs (Unbroken Heroes Book 1)(12)

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.