CHAPTER FIVE

      WHEN BRETT WOKE up, the pain in his leg and back hit him straight away. He was all crooked from lying flat, and when he tried to move, he realized he couldn’t. Because the woman he’d just been having an erotic dream about was still attached to his chest, her long hair splayed out across him, arm slung down low, cheek to his heart.

      He shut his eyes again, remembering how uncomfortable it had been carrying a hundred-and-fifty-pound pack when he was on patrol with the SAS. At least Jamie was warm and... He swallowed away that particular thought. Now he just had to hope that she didn’t wake up for a little bit longer, so she didn’t have to wonder if it was a gun or if he was just pleased to see her when she realized where her hand was resting.

      But...he’d slept. He’d dreamed about Jamie. And he wasn’t wet with sweat. Which meant that last night was the first night he’d actually slept through, without nightmares, since that day.

      When Brett opened his eyes again, Bear was staring back at him, his nose right beside his face, as if he’d just been waiting for them to wake up.

      “Hey, buddy,” he whispered, receiving a giant lick in reply.

      Jamie groaned then and wriggled closer against him, her arm flinging across his chest. He kept one hand on her to keep her in place, not wanting her to fall off the sofa if she stretched the other way. Another low groan told him she perhaps wasn’t a morning person, or that her head was starting to thump.

      “Want some pain meds?” he asked, keeping his voice low.

      She went still, then put her palm flat on his chest and pushed up. Her hair was all messy, curlier than he’d ever seen it, and her eyes were smudged. She looked lazy and sexy all rolled into one.

      “I slept on you.”

      He chuckled. “We still have our clothes on, so don’t worry.”

      She didn’t smile, so he was guessing his joke wasn’t in the best taste, but she did flop back down on top of him, face buried in his chest again.

      “My head kind of hurts,” she muttered. “And don’t even try to tell me I don’t look like crap, because I know I do.”

      He laughed. “You actually look pretty good.”

      Funny how he could go from freaking out to joking with her in two seconds flat, and he wasn’t lying, either.

      “Warmed-up crap,” she muttered. “That’s even worse than straight crap, right?”

      Brett pushed her gently off him and stretched, being careful to flex his leg before standing up. He’d missed a few physical therapy sessions since he’d been back, and the last thing he needed was to do damage to his just-recovered leg because he was too lazy to stretch.

      “I’m going to get you a glass of water and something for your head. Where do you keep the meds?”

      “In the bathroom,” she mumbled.

      Brett stood and crossed the room. If he were going to pretend like he was here just to protect her, to look after her, he may as well do something to actually be helpful.

      * * *

      Jamie excused herself, went up to her bathroom and took a long shower. She just stood there under the burning hot water, letting it pour down her face and hair. Her head had stopped pounding, thanks to the tablets she’d just swallowed, but she was still feeling a lot less perky than she usually did.

      She forced herself to step out of the shower and wrapped a massive towel around her small frame, using a different one to dry her long hair. After what had happened last night she was in no hurry to rush back downstairs to Brett, not after she’d gone ahead and kissed him. Her only hope was that maybe he thought she’d been too drunk to remember it. She wished.

      Jamie rubbed moisturizer onto her body, then applied some makeup, smoothing on some foundation, then mascara, blush and lip gloss. She didn’t want to look like she’d gone to too much effort, but then she didn’t want him to see her looking hungover with no makeup on, either.

      She heard a noise behind her and jumped, but it was only Bear. The last thing she needed was Brett walking in on her naked, wearing only a dog tag around her neck. The dog tag that was supposed to remind her, no matter what, that a certain friend of her husband’s was out of bounds.

      “Hey, buddy.” Bear was staring at her with his head cocked to the side, and she was pleased to think about something other than her behavior the night previous. “You hungry?”