Wyatt's War: Hearts & Heroes, Book 1 by Myla Jackson

Somalia. As he lay with Fiona gathered in his arms, he could almost imagine a normal life. Waking up in the morning to sweet kisses from a beautiful redhead after making love, followed by a restful night’s sleep. A life in which he could lie by his lover’s side and forget all the tragedy he’d witnessed, maybe even get past the nightmares that had plagued him since his liberation from the Somali militants.
    But he couldn’t allow himself to relax in a woman’s arms. His dreams had been so violent he’d hurt himself before he could awaken. What would happen to Fiona if he allowed himself to fall victim to the horrific nightmares? Unwilling to risk it, he eased his arm out from under her, pressed a feather-soft kiss to her lips, the simple gesture sparking desire anew. Forcing back his longing, he left her bed.
    Too wound up to sleep, he paced until his craving subsided and he could lie still. Stretching out on the rollaway cot, he stared up at the ceiling, longing to crawl back in bed with Fiona.
    At one point, she stirred and moaned softly.
    Wyatt gave an answering groan and turned away. Until he could control his nightmares, he was no good for Fiona or any other woman. Tomorrow he’d see about getting a different room. The temptations were too powerful while he was alone with her. His mind made up, he drifted into a disturbed slumber, fraught with terrorists lurking in every shadow.
    Fiona woke before dawn, the darkness like a black abyss. Something had disturbed her, but with her mind so fogged with sleep, she didn’t know what. Reaching out to her side, she felt for the warmth and comfort of her soldier’s chiseled body, only to feel the cool sheets against her fingertips. He’d left her bed. Had he left her room?
    She lay still, listening for the reassuring sound of his breathing, hoping he snored just a little. A groan sounded on the far side of the room from the direction of the door and the rollaway bed.
    The springs creaked and the sheets rustled sharply as if someone fought to be free of them.
    “Wyatt?” she called out softly.
    The only answer was another ragged groan.
    Fiona rolled out of the bed and felt her way along the wall to the bathroom. Leaving the door mostly closed, she flipped the light switch, illuminating the bedroom just enough she could see the man caught in deep sleep, thrashing against the sheets, his naked body covered in sweat.
    “Wyatt,” Fiona called out. She hurried across the floor and knelt beside him, her gaze skimming across his naked skin, angling lower to the nest of hair at the apex of his thighs. His cock lay flaccid, his fists clenched in the sheets at his side. Whatever he dreamed of caused him so much stress his head twisted back and forth.
    “No,” he called out. “Don’t kill him. Please.” His words were mumbled but their meaning clear and the anguish on his sleeping face tore down the walls of any defenses Fiona might have fooled herself into believing were strong enough to resist this man.
    Her vocal cords knotted in her throat, she swallowed hard and touched his shoulder lightly.
    Wyatt jackknifed in the rollaway bed, caught her hand and yanked her across him, catching her throat in a headlock in the crook of his arm.
    Fiona tried to cry out, but the air had been cut off to her lungs. She fought his hold, tearing at his arm with her fingernails. She kicked her heels but barefooted she left little impression on the man caught in the throes of a world only he could see.
    As the gray haze crept in the sides of her vision, she stopped struggling. Nothing she could do, no matter how hard she fought would break his hold.
    As she allowed her body to go limp, his grip slackened until he let go altogether.
    Fiona sucked air into her starving lungs and slipped to the floor, out of his reach, her gaze on him wary, ready to move quickly if the need arose.
    Wyatt’s eyes were wide open as he stared down at her. He blinked once, his brows drawing together. “Fiona?