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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.
