Alone, he knew. Cold, he understood. This warmth, he wanted to keep it for as long as she’d let him have it.
“If you’re going to say that was a mistake, prepare for a throat punch,” Kinsley said, her firm voice filling his dark room.
“Since I take that threat seriously, I won’t say it was a mistake.” He slipped into bed and she turned around to face him, snuggling in closer. “You want to be here, Kinsley,” he told her, “then be here.” Tonight, he couldn’t be stronger than his needs. And he needed her.
He lay his head back against the pillow and shut his eyes, feeling the welcome quiet wash over him. “We should, though…” He swallowed against the dryness in his throat.
Kinsley placed her hand on his chest, easing the tightness there. “I know what this was. I know what you can give and what you can’t. Stay in the moment, Rhett. I’m fine. This is fine. Everything’s okay.”
The surety in her voice surprised him, especially considering how she’d found him in the shower. He shifted onto his side, resting his head on his arm. She lay facing him, the moonlight from the window giving him a sudden view that had him hardening again. The line from her ankle to her hip was damn near appetizing. Her skin was so smooth, so perfect, and he remembered how he’d stroked every inch and how she’d moved with every touch he gave. His cock twitched, need overwhelming him as he took in the curve of her hip, the slightly rounder breasts than he remembered in the tropics, and her rosy nipples. But as he looked up into her face again, his eyes finally adjusting to the darkness, he saw her eyes under the moon’s beam. So bright, and full of life…Christ, this woman unraveled him. And the truth was, he wanted to believe her words, that everything would be okay. He brushed the hair off her face and muttered, “You’re a fiercely strong woman, Kinsley.”
“I know.” Her smile was sweet and soft and everything he expected from her.
But then that smile faded. “How often do you have nightmares?” she asked.
Well aware he owed her some answers after the condition she’d found him in, he answered, “There’s no rhyme or reason to them.”
Most women wouldn’t push. Of course, Kinsley did. “What are they about?”
He debated avoiding the question, but she saw him at his worst tonight. He needed to explain. “Afghanistan.”
Her pause lasted awhile, telling him she was mulling something over. “Well, I guess that’s to be expected,” she finally said. “Anyone coming home from war won’t just have physical scars, but emotional ones too.”
He let his silence be his answer. She was right: War left wounds, and not just physical ones.
“So, is it a recurring real dream?” she asked, breaking the silence again. “Or is it like a fictional thing?”
“Past memories.”
Again, she hesitated. “Can you tell me about the dream you had?”
He leaned back against his pillow, staring at the shadows on his ceiling. The sound of helicopter blades cutting through the air took him back to that day where the guy he once was died and someone else took over.
The heat was nothing he’d ever felt before. It not only scorched the body, but hurt with every breath. Rhett held his weapon steady, moving quickly through the cement structure. Once maybe, the place had been used as a house; now it had been long empty. He exited a small room, quite possibly an old bedroom, then came upon a garden where he found a girl, maybe twelve years old. Beside her was her mother, the woman who had been helping Rhett and his team locate her husband. “Target found, one deceased.”
“Roger, moving out,” Matthews said.
Rhett rushed forward toward the girl, dropping to his knees next to her. “Who did this?” he asked the daughter, who stared and trembled at her deceased mother.
Rhett took the girl by the arm and shook her. “Who did this?” he asked again.
“My brother,” she whispered, tears rolling down her cheeks. “You said they wouldn’t know. You promised to keep us safe. You lied. She’s dead. My mother is dead.”
Her mother had traded information in exchange for keeping them safe from a world she wanted to run from. One that would secure the protection of her daughter. But last night, while a unit drove them from the secure location to the airport to fly them to safety, the ve
hicles had taken on heavy fire, and the mother and daughter had gone missing. Six soldiers were killed. Four hours later, intel had led them to this location.
Over the communicator tucked into Rhett’s ear, his fellow Army Ranger, Collins, said, “Movement on the south.”
Rhett grabbed the girl by the shoulder. “Stay behind me. Hold on to my shirt. Stay close.”
She nodded, fear shining in her eyes.
He covered the girl with his body, a shield to protect her where they’d failed to do so for her mother, and he raised his weapon. He moved swiftly and quietly through the building, when suddenly he caught movement to his right. A boy, no more than eight years old, held an assault rifle aimed at Rhett.
“Dear God, what happened after that?”
Rhett blinked, and he was reminded that he wasn’t in that hot, dry place, and that the heat he felt came from Kinsley’s body. She curled into him, and his body trembled slightly. Fuck, he had no idea what he told her. He cleared his throat, breathing deep, trying to settle the rapid beat of his heart. “I got shot.”