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Her fingers flexed in an involuntary caress. “I don’t have to ask them. I remember.”
“Let me help you.” He gripped her shoulders to keep her from running.
What had gotten into him that she’d become so important to him all over again? Maybe that call from his dad had messed with his head—his control—more than he’d realized. He wasn’t the kind of guy who needed more than superficial friendships, fun pals, often. But between inheriting two kids to take care of and the cryptic message from his father that he couldn’t follow up on because of those two new responsibilities, this was one of those times he could use a little backup.
Preferably from someone he knew without question he could trust. “Tell me what’s wrong so you can stay and be my friend again.”
The tide tugged sand from beneath their touching toes for four ripping waves and he thought maybe, just maybe he’d gotten through to her. A sigh shuddered through her and into him. Her fingers dug deeper in his skin, held. Each breath moved harder, faster through her until… What was tearing her up so much?
Forget distance. He hauled her to his chest before she could blow him off with an evasive remark. He folded his arms around her and absorbed the tremors racking through her. “What’s going on here? Talk to me.”
Her fingernails bit deeper into his skin, as if she couldn’t get close enough. “I’m so scared, Danny.”
Mary Elise’s thready words barely whispered against his neck until he might have questioned his hearing. But he felt each word and all her fear soak into him along with the heat of her rapid breaths.
His hands roved her back, no bold lover’s caress this time, instead resurrecting that friend within him.
“Tell me,” he coaxed. “Tell me what to do for you.”
She inched back, her hand sliding up his face again. “Oh, Danny, can’t you see that you and all this,” she slipped her hand around his neck in a sensual glide, “this tension between us that we can’t ignore is a big part of the problem? You need to believe me when I say I just can’t risk staying here with you.”
He sifted through her words, thought back to her sparse confidences about her divorce—marrying her “mistake.” No question she closed off any time the man’s name was mentioned. How badly had the jerk hurt her?
Although who was he to talk when he’d hurt her himself years ago? And apparently she wanted to avoid an encore.
His arms around her twitched, muscles convulsively tensing to hold her closer, safer. As much as he wanted to reassure her, he couldn’t. He knew himself too well. So he held her and stroked her back. How long they stood there he didn’t know. Yeah, the sex and friendship might be tangled in his head, but it felt good to have her back in his arms. Finally, her breathing slowed to normal. She pulled away to let the wind slide an invisible wall between them.
Her mouth tipped in a half smile, a friend smile as if trying to jam more bricks on that wall between them. “Since I can’t stay, do you want to have a quickie affair before I go?”
In spite of her kiss, she didn’t mean it and they both knew it. And, yeah, while he wanted to sleep with her, stay awake with her, no way could he answer that one truthfully since it would send her running.
He might be confused about a boatload of things at the moment, but he knew one thing for certain. She could spit out excuses until sunrise, jam layer after layer of bricks between them, and it wouldn’t change his course. More than ever they both needed closure so he didn’t spend his life chasing redheads.
He would convince her to stay. He considered himself a master at tactics, his logical mind paying off big time in that arena. And a strategic retreat to regroup seemed the wisest battle plan.
Picking up her attempt at a lighthearted escape out of a land mine discussion, Daniel resurrected his best-bud smile and slung his arm around her shoulders. “Well, friend, if we do opt for that quickie, let’s make sure at least one of us thinks to bring condoms this time.”
* * *
Four days later, Daniel poured his third cup of coffee and scooped up a second peanut-butter-topped Pop-Tart. Only a week into his leave time and he’d made decent strides at settling the boys, thanks to Mary Elise, the master list maker.
Her lists picked up speed and length by the minute as if she had to get everything documented for him before she left. If they brushed chests passing in the kitchen, she logged the boys’ favorite foods. An accidental walk in on her in her underwear—lime-green satin, heaven help him—and she’d spent an entire afternoon penning every childhood story she could remember the boys’ parents ever sharing.
And he was running out of excuses for her to stay.
The boys were enrolled and ready to start school in another week, after Thanksgiving break. House hunting would come after Christmas. He’d interviewed a battalion of nannies and lucked into a woman he could swear was a clone of Alice from the Brady Bunch, no less. If things went much better, Mary Elise would hit the road by sundown.
Which should be cause for rejoicing since he was losing his mind locked in the condo with her. The bunk beds might be offering the boys a better night’s sleep, but visions of Mary Elise alone in his queen-size bed had him twisted into trigonometric knots. Their attraction multiplied exponentially by the minute, thanks to one kiss on the beach.
But she would be gone soon. He could see it in her eyes even as she smiled and went through the motions of helping the boys start a new life. He knew her too well, and what parts he didn’t remember from before or had changed over the years, he’d relearned with alarming speed.
That same crusader spirit of hers also made for a mighty stubborn woman. It could well be his smart, crusader buddy knew what a rotten risk he was.
Sagging onto his sofa, Daniel sifted through the junk mail he’d ignored earlier in the week, tearing and pitching now that he finally had a free moment.
Free minutes sucked. Busy was better. He’d already run, worked out, showered and changed into his flight suit for a quick stop by the squadron.
But still the rest of the house snoozed on, so he would keep quiet. He felt guilty enough over how much he was demanding of Mary Elise. Her pale exhaustion tugged at him. Sure he wanted her to stay, but not because he and the boys had made her sick, for heaven’s sake.
