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."
"Eww!" Laughing, she popped the last corner of her sandwich into her mouth, her tongue swiping a hint of strawberry from her lips.
Words fell out but he lost track of them. "Rabbit eyeballs are a great source of iodine."
Remnants of laughter painting her eyes jewel tones, she sucked jelly off the tip of one of her fingers. "You can't throw me off the track with gross-out stories, Danny Baker. Although I gotta confess, now it's tough to think about kissing your mouth."
"Did you want to before?"
Crap. Shut the yap, Baker. The woman might have a backbone of steel, but she needed time to get over the hell McRae had put her through. Having to fend off someone who should damn well be protecting her wasn't honorable.
Mary Elise's eyes deepened, darkened with two slow blinks.
Uh-oh.
She dipped two fingers into the strawberry preserves. If she put those fingers in her mouth to taste again, he'd die. Right here. Right now. His obituary would read, "Toxic case of deadly testosterone overload."
He had to remember about keeping his distance. For her. And, yeah, for his own freaking sanity.
She placed her fingers … against his lips. "How about a palate cleanser?"
No mistaking her intent. And no way did he intend to die just yet.
Don't do it, Baker.
Too late.
His open mouth closed around her fingers. Mary Elise and sugar. Uh-huh. He was a dead man.