were you talking to on that sat phone just now?”
“Someone who will send your vitals to an ER doctor at Bagram hospital. That physician will decide when you should be airlifted out of here.”
“Move me?” His wariness shot up. She looked so damned calm about it all. Okay, he got she had to be an operator. Khat was a marine sniper. And she had a sat phone, and whomever she’d talked to was high up on the black ops food chain.
Khat lifted her hands and pulled her dried hair off her shoulders, the mass tumbling down her back. “Yes. As soon as you’re ambulatory, I’ll take you to a place, providing it’s not got Taliban around, and they’ll fly in a Medevac for you.” She smiled a little. “And then you’ll be home, in familiar surroundings once more.”
Mike couldn’t stop staring at Khat. Her arms were lean and tightly muscled. She was feminine, but in damn good shape. There was nothing weak about this woman.
“Would you like to get cleaned up a little?” she asked. She smiled a little and stood up.
From another of the many holes in the cave wall, she pulled out a large aluminum bowl and walked to the pool, dipping it down into the water. Bringing it back, she stopped and took the washcloth she’d been using earlier, plus a dry, clean towel.
Kneeling beside him, she took his right hand and placed it in the water, gently washing all the dirt, sweat and blood off. He had large square hands, long fingers and she saw many small white scars across them as she washed each one individually.
“Tell me about yourself?” she asked, glancing at him. “Is your team out of Coronado?”
Mike felt his entire body go hot with longing. He hadn’t expected her to wash his filthy hands. Her movements were gentle, careful. “I don’t really want to say anything to you. For the same reasons you’re not sharing anything with me. For all I know, you could be Taliban.”
Her lips curved ruefully as she soaped the cloth and slid it up to his hairy wrist and lower arm. He felt his muscles leap and tense beneath her ministrations. “I understand,” she answered. “In our business, it is a need to know only.”
Mike wanted to talk to her. His mind plunged through ways to get information out of Khat. He looked at the water in the bowl. It was filthy. That’s how the rest of him felt. He wished like hell he could stand and go over and bathe under that waterfall.
“Your horse?”
Khat nodded. “Yes. She’s my best friend. She’s saved my life so many times...” Holding his clean hand, she brought the towel over and dried him off.
“That’s no Afghan mountain pony,” he said, hoping this line of conversation wasn’t going to end in a box canyon.
“She’s purebred Arabian.”
“My father has an Arabian horse ranch,” he said. Mike saw her chin lift, her eyes widen.
“Really?” Khat searched his shadowed golden eyes. The morphine was helping him to relax. When a partial smile pulled at his chiseled mouth, a white-hot heat moved down through her. Shocked by her body’s response, Khat swallowed. “Can you tell me more?”
Hearing the sudden excitement in her husky voice, those green eyes so large, reminding him of green tourmaline, he said, “My father was born in Saudi Arabia. He became a renowned cardiac surgeon, met my mother, who is American, and came to the States. After I was born in San Diego, he decided to have a small, select herd of Egyptian Arabians at their ranch in Alpine. He was able to acquire a stallion from the House of Saud.”
She released his hand. “That is wonderful. We share a love of Arabian horses. I need some clean water.”
“Yeah, I’m pretty dirty,” he agreed drily. Watching her rise, those thick red strands of hair tumbling across her shoulders, Mike felt hungry for her on a purely sexual level. Rubbing his jaw, he watched her walk into the other cave. There was a gentle sway to her hips, and those long damn legs of hers went on forever.
Then he stopped himself. He had no business reacting to Khat like this. She’d saved his life. She deserved better than his male reactions, and he was unhappy with himself.
When Khat returned with a clean bowl of water, she handed him the cloth so he could clean his face. There was a lot of dried blood along his temple, across his high cheekbone and matted in his black beard. She rested her hands on her thighs. “Do you still have Arabian horses?”
“My parents do,” he said. God, the cool cloth felt so damn good against his gritty, filthy skin. He closed his eyes, wiping his brow, eyes and cheeks.
“Then, they are Egyptian Arabians?”
He squeezed the cloth into the water, quickly watching it become dirty. Lifting it out, it felt good to wipe his nose and lips. When he rubbed the left side of his face, it was swollen and tender. “Yes. They keep one stallion and six broodmares. It’s a hobby of my father’s. He likes the fire of the Egyptian Arabians.”
Excitement bubbled through Khat. “Mina, my mare, is also of Egyptian lineage.”
Mike smiled a little, rubbing his right temple and his beard. “I thought she might be. How old is she?”
“Nine.”
“Has she been with you long?” He squeezed the cloth into the bowl. There was so much dirt in the water, he must have looked like Godzilla to her when she found him.
“Five years.” Khat pointed to the left side of his face. “There’s a lot of dried blood and dirt on your left temple.”
“Hurts too damn much to touch it,” he muttered.
Khat went and got a third bowl of water. She knelt down near his left side. “May I try? The blood will draw flies tomorrow morning. They’ll eat you alive.”
That wasn’t a pleasant thought. Mike nodded, holding her gaze. “You have a gentle touch.” He tipped his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. God help him, but he wanted her to touch him. He didn’t care where or how, he just wanted those long, cool fingers on his flesh.
Khat lowered her lashes as he gave her an intent, burning stare. It was a look a man gave a woman. A man who wanted his woman in his bed. She felt heat sweeping up her neck and into her face. His eyes were closed, and she inhaled a ragged breath, moving closer, her knee grazing his hip. Placing her right hand against the other side of his face, the soft prickle of beard making her fingers tingle, she used a very wet cloth and gently placed it against the area of dried blood. In time, the dried blood would soften.
Her heart was waffling in her chest, and Khat felt unexpected emotions leaping through her. His face was hard, weathered and tough looking. He beckoned to her, man to woman.
Trying to still her reactions, she carefully worked the blood loose, cleaned off his temple and the left side of his hard jaw. He reminded her of a snow leopard at rest but still possessing that coiled tension and power within him.
Khat closed her eyes. Fear skittered through her. She knew the power of men only too well. But for whatever miraculous reason, she was not afraid of Michael Tarik. She saw his nostrils flare, as if drinking in her scent. His mouth... Her gaze fell to that strong, chiseled mouth of his. Something
