Listed: Volume VI (4 page)

He
kept brooding on it, and every time Emily acted distant or seemed distracted,
he brooded about it even more.

But
she liked to know immediately when Dr. Franklin called with her results, so he
tapped on her bedroom door and pushed it open.

Emily
had been lying on her stomach with her face away from the door, but she rolled
over kind of clumsily when he entered.  She was flushed from her nap and looked
a little annoyed with him, maybe for waking her up.

“Sorry,”
he said, coming over to sit on the edge of the bed beside her. “Dr. Franklin
called. Everything is still fine.”

“Oh.
Okay. Good.” She blinked at him and scooted up so she was leaning against her pillows,
pulling her arms out from under the cashmere throw draped on top of her.

Paul’s
brow lowered as he studied her. Her cheeks were red, and she looked like she
might be hot. Her breath was a little shallow, and she seemed to be having a
hard time focusing.

Maybe
it was because he’d woken her up, but he reached over to feel her forehead just
the same.

She
jerked away from his touch, frowning at him grouchily. “I don’t have a fever.
Stop doing that. Dr. Franklin just told you the virus is still gone.”

Paul
frowned back at her, dropping his hand. She didn’t normally snap at him for no
reason. He wondered if she was stressed about how to tell him her feelings were
changing.

“Sorry,”
she said after a moment. “Didn’t mean to bite your head off.”

He
shook his head and smiled, moving over to lean back against the pillows beside
her. “Don’t worry about it. I shouldn’t have woken you up from a nap.”

“I
wasn—” She cut off her words abruptly and dropped her eyes.

Paul
studied her, deeply confused and worried again. He tried to work up the courage
to ask her directly, to let her know she wasn’t obligated to stay with him, to
tell her she could leave if she wanted.

But
the words stuck in his throat. The truth was he wasn’t sure he was capable of
letting her leave.

“I’ve
been thinking,” Emily said into the silence, her voice wobbling slightly like
she was nervous.

Paul
froze, and it took all his control to keep his voice casual as he asked, “About
what?”

“About…about
us.”

Something
started to shake inside him as he realized it was happening—everything he’d
secretly feared was, at this moment, beginning to play out. He opened his mouth
to reply but couldn’t. He literally couldn’t say anything.

Emily
didn’t seem to need him to. She was staring down at her twisting hands as she
continued haltingly, “When we got married it was because I was going to die.
And when we…when we fell in love it was when I was going to die. So…so…I just
wanted to say…I know that, if I don’t die, it might change things.”

She
sounded pained and almost heart-broken, as if she knew how much this would
crush him. But she was making herself say it anyway, so Paul made himself
listen. It felt like he’d gone dead white.

“So
I just wanted to say I understand if it does. I mean, if your feelings change.
I mean, I know we weren’t supposed to be married for the rest of your life. So
if you…if you decide…” She made a little sound like a sob and raised a hand to
cover her mouth.

Paul
was so primed for agonizing pain that it took a minute to orient himself to
what Emily was actually saying. Then it took a moment to process it, to
recognize the significance.

“What?”
he gasped, when he finally caught up. “
What
?”

Emily
finally looked up from her clenched hands and stared at him with despairing blue
eyes. “I just mean that I never really expected you to love me the way I love
you. And it’s okay.”

“You
think I don’t love you?” He was too flabbergasted to recognize the hope that
had clenched in his chest.

“No,
no. I know you love me. I wasn’t doubting that. But I know it was…it was…I know
things might change if I live. And it’s okay.”

“Why
would you think I don’t love you?” Paul asked breathlessly. He reached over and
grabbed her by the shoulders, turning her to face him. “How could you possibly
think that?”

Emily
looked shocked and just as breathless as he was and then just a little awed.
“I…I don’t know. I just thought, if you really wanted to be married to me for
decades and decades, you’d be…you’d be…”

“I’d
be what?”

“You’d
be more
happy
.” She dropped her eyes, her voice cracking as she
continued, “That I wasn’t going to die.”

He
swallowed so hard it physically hurt. “You don’t think I’m happy?”

She
lifted her eyes to meet his. “Are you?”

“Oh,
baby, your living is the best thing that will ever happen to me, but it’s so good
I still can’t really believe it. Things never work out miraculously for me.
They just don’t. So I kept thinking that—if you’re really well—then you’re not
going to want to stay with me.”

She
stared at him, her eyes enormous in her flushed face. “Why wouldn’t I want to
stay with you? I love you more than anything. But you were starting to act kind
of standoffish. And you've been working all the time these last three weeks.
And you didn’t seem to want to have sex with me anymore, so I thought…” She
trailed off, something joyful awakening in her eyes. “So you still love me and
want me to be your wife?”

“Of
course!” The two words were embarrassingly thick, but he was too relieved and
elated to care. He pulled her into a hug so fierce he might have hurt her. “
Of
course
, baby. I’m never going to let you go.”

Emily
shook against him, in his arms, and he finally allowed something like joy to
wash over him completely. Maybe it was true.

She
was going to live, and he was allowed to love her for the rest of his life.

After
a few minutes, Emily finally pulled away. Her face was a little damp, but it
was beaming. “Okay,” she said, a little sheepishly, “That’s good then. I’m glad
we got that cleared up.”

Paul
couldn’t help but laugh. “Now, why the hell would you think I didn’t want to
have sex with you?”

“Well,
you haven’t tried. Not for ages.” She glared at him.  “You haven’t made a
single move.”

“I
thought you were still recovering. I didn’t know you were up to it yet.”

“Of
course, I’m up to it. I’ve—” She cut the words off unexpectedly, cutting her
eyes down and looking strangely embarrassed.

Paul
grew suddenly still as his mind started to put pieces together. After a moment,
he asked in a low voice, “What were you doing when I came in here just now?”

“Nothing!”
Emily burst out, her face blazing red, “I was doing
nothing
!”

Suddenly,
more pieces started to fit themselves together in his mind in a crystal-clear
revelation, filling him with gratified hilarity and awe. This wasn’t the first
time he’d barged in on her in a room, catching her looking flushed, breathless,
and grouchy. “Back in Egypt,” he breathed, “when I—”

Emily
practically tackled him, trying to cover his mouth with her hand. “I was doing
nothing then too.
Nothing
!”

“I
had no idea,” he gasped, half-laughing and half-struggling against her weight
and the clasp of her hand on his mouth. Her body was soft and wriggling, and
she was practically lying on top of him now. All of it was giving him some very
particular ideas. His body tightened in anticipation.

She
managed to muffle his words with her palm, and she glared down at him hotly. “I
was doing nothing. Both times. And, even if I was, it was all
your
fault.”

Paul’s
heart felt like it was overflowing—with love, with amusement, with
understanding, and with the warmest kind of hope he could remember. He tried to
talk, but he couldn’t through her hand. So he gently reached up to pull away
her wrist. “Of course, you were doing nothing,” he said, his voice thick with
many things. “But, now that I know, maybe we can do
nothing
together.”

She
tried to sustain her fierce frown, but her lips kept trembling into a
suppressed smile. “I guess that would be all right,” she said, feigning
disdain.

With
a laugh, Paul adjusted his legs and used them to lever himself up and flip both
of them over, so he was lying on top of her, his lower body settling between
her legs. She was flushed and shaking and clinging to him, and her face was
filled with humor and intelligence and excitement and something he couldn’t
fail to see was love. “Oh baby,” he murmured. “I love you so much.”

She
reached up to cup his face with one of her hands. “’Til death do us part?” she
whispered.

She
was everything he'd ever wanted, and she was his. Paul said, “’Til death do us
part.”

They
gazed at each other for a minute. Then he finally prompted, “So did you want to
have sex?”

 “Yes,
please.” She smiled as they started to fumble with each other’s clothes,
muttering when she couldn’t get his shirt unbuttoned quickly enough and
giggling when her pants got twisted up around her ankles.

When
Paul’s watchband got snagged on a strand of Emily’s hair, he frowned as he
carefully untangled it. “We seem to be a little out of practice at this,” he
grumbled, although he felt warm and aroused and as close to anyone as he’d ever
felt in his entire life.

“Well,
it’s been a while,” she replied, although she was shaking with laughter. “Don’t
blame yourself. You’ll get the hang of it again soon.”

When
she beamed up at him, teasing and fond, a new wave of affection washed over
him. Laying his watch aside, he took Emily’s face in his hands and leaned down
into another kiss.

Their
naked bodies moved together as the kiss deepened, and both his heart and his
body reacted to the eager pliancy with which she responded to his embrace.

For
a long time, they drank each other in, caressing and gasping with increasing
urgency as their skin rubbed against the covers and each other. When Paul felt
Emily pushing gently against his shoulder, he willingly allowed her to roll
them both over, letting her drape herself on top of him.

Her
soft breasts pressed into his bare chest, and her hair spilled all around him
as she trailed kisses along his face, jaw and neck. He loved her sweet
attentions, loved the way her hands fluttered greedily on his shoulders and
then down his sides to his waist.

He
palmed the curve of her butt, pushing her down into his pelvis. She felt as
good as anything ever had, but he wouldn’t be able to take much more of her
foreplay before the pulsing in his arousal forced him into action.

When
her wanton wiggling on top of him caused his erection to get squeezed between
their bodies and she started to grind herself against it, Paul tensed and
couldn’t hold back an animalistic grunt. “Damn, Emily, please say you’re ready
for me.”

She
laughed huskily against his lips. “God, yes, I’m so ready.”

Paul
exhaled in relief as Emily raised herself up and took him in both of her hands.
She stroked him a few times, making him gasp and shift beneath her. Then she
lifted her hips and carefully, with a few adjustments, sheathed him in a tight
clasp.

They
both groaned at the penetration, and then Emily leaned forward to claim a deep,
sloppy kiss.

He
couldn’t keep his hips from rocking up into her, needing the motion, needing
the friction, needing her to match his deepest rhythm.

“So
good, Paul,” she whispered, still pressed against him fully. “You always feel
so good.”

Paul
was so focused on trying to restrain his urge to thrust that he could only make
a wordless, guttural noise.

Then
Emily took his earlobe between her lips. Sucked it a few times. Every time he
felt the wet tug from her mouth, his pelvis bucked up involuntarily.

Letting
his earlobe slip out, Emily murmured huskily into his ear, “Let go, Paul. Let
go.”

He
released a long moan—like some kind of primitive creature—and he held her hips
snugly against his as he levered them both over without pulling out.

His
flesh sank deeper inside her as she wrapped her legs around his middle. Emily
arched up with a pretty cry of pleasure, and Paul’s whole world narrowed down
to the soft strength of her, the warm, perfect shelter of her body, the depth
of love he could see in her eyes.

He
pulled back and thrust—long and deep—propelled by the need to love and be
loved. Both of them at once.

Emily
gasped and rolled her hips, digging her fingers into the back of his neck.
“Paul!”

The
sound of his name on that taken breath was so intoxicating he reared back and
thrust again, rasping out “Emily” on the in-stroke.

She
lifted her hips to meet his, their flesh slapping together deliciously. They
built up a shared motion that was urgent, hungry, and almost primal in its
rhythm.