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bare. Her chest rose and fell evenly as she drew in steady breaths through slightly parted full lips. A strand of dark, glossy hair curled across her cheek, and my finger itched to tuck it behind her ear, but I didn’t dare touch her.
    If I touched her, I wouldn’t be able to stop.
    But I could look at her. Looking at her was good enough.
    For some reason, I knew beauty was something that had been lacking in my life. I grabbed onto that elusive piece of information and held on, but nothing else came with it.
    I wondered how long Rachel had been here and who she had waiting for her back in the States.
    The urge to kiss her was like a sucker punch to the gut. This wasn’t some five-star hotel. I wasn’t here on pleasure. I was literally lost and blank in the middle of a warzone. Kissing women shouldn’t be on my mind. I moved away, going across the room into what served as “the kitchen.” It consisted of a mini fridge, a microwave, and a hot plate that had to be lit with a match. There was a small cardboard box with a few supplies and boxed goods in it. My stomach rumbled, but I ignored it.
    I noticed a small generator in the corner, likely the thing that gave the fridge and desk fans power. I was grateful for those fans because they provided much needed circulation around the tiny room.
    Rachel’s cot creaked, and I looked over my shoulder. Those long, tan legs of hers swung over the side of the cot and she planted her bare feet on the floor.
    “I didn’t mean to wake you,” I said.
    “It’s fine. I wasn’t sleeping well anyway.”
    Is that why she made so many sounds while she was lying there?
    “Bad dream?” I asked.
    She shook her head. “No.”
    I didn’t ask any more questions because I figured if she wanted to tell me, she would. Besides, I liked thinking my closeness was getting to her as much as hers was getting to me.
    “Do you drink coffee?” she asked, getting up and moving in the kitchen area.
    “Yeah.”
    Out of nowhere, she pulled out a small coffee pot and unplugged one of the fans to plug in the cord. Coffee was definitely something I would give up a fan for. I watched as she poured some bottled water in the pot, added some grounds, and then hit the start button. The scent of fresh coffee began to permeate the air moments later.
    I groaned. She glanced at me and smiled. Desire slammed into me, pumping through my veins at an alarming rate. If coffee and a smile was all it took to go from zero to thirty so fast, then I was in deep shit.
    I turned away, trying to control the somewhat rabid way I was feeling. I didn’t want her to see it in my eyes. I didn’t want to scare her so I kept my back to her. The coffee didn’t take long to brew because the pot was small and soon the sound of liquid being poured reached my ears.
    Her soft footfalls approached me, almost cautiously. I felt her just behind me, the warmth of her body so close. “Vance?” she murmured. The sound of my name being whispered through the dim lightning of this tent caused my chest tighten.
    “Yeah?” I asked, turning to look down into her upturned face.
    “I don’t have any cream, but I have some powdered creamer.” Rachel offered me the small cup of steaming coffee.
    “Black is good,” I said and took a sip. Holy bitterness, it was strong. Automatically, I made a face.
    Rachel laughed. It was a sound that filled my ears. “Give me that,” she said, taking my cup. My eyes were totally glued to her as she poured in the creamer and stirred. The container said it was the flavor of peppermint mocha and there was a candy cane on the side. “Now try it,” she said, handing the cup back to me.
    I took a tentative sip. It was really good. I breathed in the scent of it. “I guess I don’t like my coffee black.” I smiled. “Thanks, this is good.”
    She smiled and added some creamer to her own coffee. “This is my favorite flavor. When I’m at home, I get the liquid kind. But it wouldn’t make it here. My mom