McRae had tracked her to Rubistan. She'd been that close to death. Could that have been why his father had called? Because of a heightened threat level to Mary Elise?
Unable to resist looking at her, hungry for reassurance that she still breathed, lived, Daniel kicked his heel to spin the revolving bar stool to face her.
Protectiveness fired into afterburners. Thank God she slept deeply and he didn't have to hide anything for once. While waiting for Max's response earlier, Daniel had cruised the Internet for information on endometriosis—a painful, chronic disease he now knew affected at least ten percent of all women.
Had he invaded her privacy? Maybe. No doubt Mary Elise would be pissed. But he needed to reassure himself the stubborn woman wasn't pushing herself.
And yeah, being locked up with Mary Elise made him think of sex and he wanted to be certain he didn't make a lame-ass mistake that would hurt her. Heaven knew the woman went out of her way to downplay her medical needs.
So now he knew. Discomfort during sex could be a side effect for some. Talk about a splash of cold water. And how exactly would he bring that up if the situation arose where they happened to find themselves n**ed together?
An image he did not need but wanted, so much his teeth hurt.
Mary Elise stirred under the patchwork quilt. He turned away from too much temptation arching awake before his eyes. His ears, however, filled in the blanks. The rustle of covers shoved aside to reveal a sleep-mussed Mary Elise. Soft, bare feet hitting the floor. A gentle sigh accompanying a stretch.
He swallowed hard.
Her feet shuffled a groggy path across the floor. The bathroom door snicked open, then closed. Daniel exhaled long and loud. Then straightened. His ears really didn't need to hear the…
Shower.
The whooshing of water tormented him when his reserves already spiraled in a nosedive. The tenor of the water hitting altered with the intrusion of a body.
He had earplugs in his flight suit.
Fliers carried them to combat flight-line noise and he seriously considered using them now for combating insanity. Except he couldn't afford to miss the warning alarms set on the traps. Not that he expected McRae to track them for at least another twelve hours, if at all.
Just the same, Daniel steeled his ears against the shoosh of the shower beading against Mary Elise's n**ed body and concentrated on typing a response with feedback for Max.
Ten torturous years—or maybe ten minutes– later she padded into the room, barefoot and smelling so good his mouth watered.
He pulled away from the chair, made tracks for the kitchen. Not near enough space in the cabin.
"I cooked." He unwrapped the paper towel from around the sandwich he'd made for her earlier when he'd slapped together two for himself. "Well, if you call a PBJ cooking."
Silk clung to her damp skin, her shorts and shirt already baring a tempting stretch of arms and legs. "Thank you. Definitely a good sign you've moved out of Cro-Magnon mode."
"Cro-Magnon? Who me?" he asked, although feeling very primal. "Lady, I'm more than willing to let you pull your fair share around here."
"Right after you drag me to your cave by my hair."
He had other ideas of what he'd like to do with all that wet hair. Instead, he nudged the open jar of strawberry preserves toward her on the counter. "Fresh open, canned preserves. I figure we'd better use the bread now and save the military MREs—meals ready to eat—for later."
How long would they be here? He wanted this over and done fast for Mary Elise, but also for his brothers. Trey and Austin didn't need any 'more disruption in their lives.
Mary Elise tore off a corner of her sandwich and popped it in her mouth: Her eyes widened with surprise before she rushed the sandwich up to her face for another bite. He watched, couldn't take his eyes off her as she savored the simplicity of strawberry preserves with a sensualist's delight.
Damn, but she was a woman after his own heart.
"Happy Thanksgiving, 'Lise. Not exactly a turkey dinner. But actually much better than the chicken à la king MRE." Shuddering, he passed her a bottle of water. "Even I can't stomach that one unless I'm starving."
"Have you ever been … starving, I mean?" Her elegant throat moved with swallows of water, her mouth fitting perfectly around the bottle.
Answer the question, bud. "Survival training was rough for a guy like me who needs a few thousand extra calories a day to burn up all the energy pinging around."
She placed the bottle on the counter and stepped closer. "All the flyers go through this survival training?"
"Yep." He took a step back. "By the end of the course, rabbit eyeballs actually tasted good."