Listed: Volume VI (5 page)

The
blanket slipped down around his ass, baring his back to the cool of the room.
But the contrast between the cool temperature of the room and the heat he was
generating with Emily only added to his stimulation. When he felt a climax
starting to coil in his balls, he accelerated the pumping of his hips, grunting
in rough bursts of instinctive sound.

Paul
knew Emily was with him. Her breathless whimpers, her shameless writhing
beneath him, and her eager, clutching hands proved that she needed this as much
as he did.

“Eh,
Paul!” she gasped as they moved together almost frantically. “Love you.” Her
neck arched and her eyes fell shut briefly. “Love you!”

“Me
too,” Paul choked, barely leashing the momentum of his impending climax. “Love
you too.”

The
tension inside her broke visibly as she came.

Paul
released a rough exclamation, freezing inside her as the deep, coiled pressure
shuddered with unbearable intensity.

Then
he heard Emily breathe, “Love you, Paul. Let go.”

He
let go and came hard. Whispered her name like a secret.

Then
her arms were gathering him in, and he’d collapsed into her embrace.

He
wondered what he’d ever done to be allowed such a thing—soft, shuddering, warm,
loving Emily in his arms.

Maybe
for the rest of his life.

It
was a long time before either one of them could speak. Even wanted to speak.

 But
eventually Emily began to shift beneath him and, with a groan, Paul rolled them
both onto their sides to relieve her of his weight. His erection had softened,
and he’d slipped out with the motion of the roll. Her legs were still tightly
wrapped around him, though, and he wasn’t about to let her go.

Finally,
the lingering edge of insecurity in his soul prompted Paul to murmur
diffidently, “Do you feel okay?”

“Well,”
Emily teased, “You are a very fine lover, but you haven’t yet sexed me into a
coma.”

He
couldn’t help but laugh.

***

An hour or so later,
Paul woke up from a light doze at the feel of Emily’s moving behind him. He’d
rolled over on his side at some point, and now she wrapped an arm around him
from behind.

She
lightly kissed his shoulder, then the back of his neck, then his shoulder
again.

It
felt more tender than sexual, so Paul enjoyed it without feeling any particular
urgency.

After
another minute, he felt her lips trailing lower down his shoulder blade. When
they started to trace a distinct pattern, he immediately knew what it was.

She
was kissing down the line of one of his scars.

“Don’t,
baby,” he murmured, rolling over onto his back so she couldn’t continue.

His
tone had been gentle, but she was still frowning when he met her eyes. “Why
not?”

He
wasn’t capable of explaining how much he hated the idea of those scars, of all
they reminded him of. He never should have said anything about it, though, so
he tried to make light of his objection. “You can kiss any other part of my
anatomy that you get the urge to. That’s a standing offer.”

“Nice
try. Why is your back off limits?”

“You
know why.”

“There’s
nothing wrong with your scars.”

He
just shook his head.

“Paul?”
she prompted.

“I
hate them.”

She
leaned over and pressed a soft kiss on his shoulder. “I know you do, but I
don’t. I love them.”

He
slanted a dubious look over in her direction. “That’s just weird.”

“It
isn’t weird.”  She rolled over until she was almost on top of him. “I know
they’re painful for you to think about, and I’m really sorry you got them. But
I can’t hate them.”

“Why
not?” Despite his discomfort with the conversation, he was genuinely curious.

“Because
they’re part of what made you…you.”

Touched
despite himself, he pulled her down into a deep kiss. When she pulled away,
however, her expression was thoughtful rather than passionate.

“What
is it?” he asked, having a feeling he wouldn’t like what she was thinking.

He
didn’t.

“I
think you should go see your father again.”

He
let out a rough exhalation. “Emily—”

“I
know it wouldn’t be any fun for you to do, but I still think you should.”

“Why
exactly?”

“To
talk to him. To find out…I really think he’s the reason I’m alive today, Paul. He
was the one who made sure we found that report.”

“He
also could have been the reason you got sick in the first place.”

“Maybe.
But maybe not. We just don’t know about that for sure. I know you disagree, but
I still don’t think he was responsible for me getting virus. Either way, I
really think he was trying to help you by leading you to that report. And I
think…I think it would be good for you to see that.”

He
knew she was serious, so he didn’t want to just blow her off with the sharp
retort that sprang to his lips.

But
going to visit his father was the last thing in the world he wanted to do. He
was just finally starting to feel good about things.

“I’ll
think about it,” he said at last. Even that gesture was harder than it should
have been.

She
leaned down to kiss him again. “Good. Please do.”

***

Two days later, Paul
went to visit his father in prison.

He
wasn’t sure what to expect—except more of the same. His conversation with Emily
was nagging at him, though, and he figured he could survive another visit with his
father. However badly it turned out, he could at least be satisfied that he’d
done the right thing.

But
when his father was escorted out to the visiting room and sat down across from
him, Paul was suddenly frozen. He’d thought over some ways to begin this
conversation, but he couldn’t remember any of them at the moment.

He
couldn’t think of anything to say at all.

He
didn’t even know why he was here.

Vincent
Marino had always been in the habit of letting others begin conversations,
since being the first to speak meant needlessly giving away the advantage.
Today, however, he didn’t hesitate to begin. “You don’t look like a husband in
mourning.”

“I’m
not, as I’m sure you’re very well aware. Emily’s virus has been effectively
treated.”

“Good.”

Paul
didn’t reply.

“If
you aren’t here to share your joy at her miraculous recovery, then why exactly
are you here?”

 Even
the wording of that question itself was uncharacteristic of Vincent Marino. It
gave away too much.

Since
his father was being so unusually blunt, Paul decided he would be as well.
“Were you the one responsible for us finding that report on Emily’s virus?”

His
father almost smiled. “What do
you
think?”

“I
think it’s entirely possible you did it. It would be just like you to hide the
report where we’d be likely to find it rather than just giving it to me
directly.”

“Perhaps.
But that doesn’t really answer the question.”

Paul
let out a tired sigh, wondering why he was even bothering. Nothing was going to
be accomplished by this conversation anyway. “Do you really expect me to play
this game with you again?”

Vincent
stared at him intently for a long stretch of time. “It was never a game.” He
paused before he added, almost as an afterthought.  “I’m glad your wife has
gotten better.”

Paul
could almost believe he meant it.

Since
his father had as good as answered the first question, he asked another one. “Were
you responsible for her getting sick in the first place?”

His
father’s expression didn’t change, but something changed in his eyes. “You’re
really asking me that?”

“Why
wouldn’t I ask it?”

With
a half-shrug, his father said, “It occurs to me, son, that you don’t really
know me at all.”

“What
is that supposed to mean?”

“It
means that, whoever you think I am, you don’t really know me.”

“I
do know you. I’ve known you for years. I’ve never been surprised by you.”

“You
just asked me if I tried to kill an innocent teenage girl in some sort of
half-hearted retaliation for perceived wrongs.”

When
put that way, it did seem a horrible thing to accuse his father of. “You’ve
killed before.”

“Only
soldiers.”

That
was what Emily had told him—months ago now.

“And
that’s supposed to be okay?”

“I’m
not trying to justify myself to you. I was merely answering a question.”

Paul
exhaled deeply. “So the answer is no? You weren’t responsible for the virus?”

“It’s
obvious that I’m responsible in some way, since it was engineered in my research
facility.”

“You
know what I’m asking.”

“What
I don’t know is
why
you’re asking.”

Conversations
with his father always went like this—one strategic bypass after another.

“I
have no idea why I’m asking. This whole conversation was a mistake.”

“It’s
only a mistake because you began it with a preconceived notion about how it
would end.”

“If
you’re not the one who gave Emily the virus, then who did?”

“Have
you not considered that’s a question I’d like answered too? The virus came from
my facility, which means someone in my company was responsible—either
intentionally or accidentally.  I would very much like to know who.”

Again,
Paul almost believed him. He wondered if he was changing his opinion or if he
was just growing weak and gullible.

“Why
should I believe you,” he asked, “when you’ve told me lies before?”

“I’ve
never told you lies. I’ve only told you truths you don’t want to hear.”

Paul
shook his head and slumped back in his chair. “Can you answer something plainly
for once in your life? Did you do this to Emily or not?”

It
was silent—too silent—for a long time. Then, “I didn’t.”

Paul
believed him, despite all the reasons he had not to.

“I
wouldn’t do that to her,” his father added.

“Okay.”

“Or
to you.”

Paul
sat perfectly still.

His
father’s face was old, grizzled, so tired. “It might be time to admit that
you’ve never really known me.”

The
world was spinning around Paul—slowly and inexorably, disorienting him
completely.

He
couldn’t think of anything to say, so finally he just stood up to leave.

“Okay,”
he muttered, knowing he needed to say something before he left.

He
took a step toward the exit, but turned around one more time to look back at
his father.

“I’m
glad she’s okay,” Vincent Marino said.

Paul
nodded, a little jerkily.

“She’s
brave. And, beneath all the prettiness, she’s strong.”

Paul
nodded again, a strange pain tightening in his throat.

“She’s
been good for you.”

Paul
nodded one more time before he walked away.

***

When he got home, he
went to his home office immediately, sitting at the desk and staring at the
computer screen blindly.

He
knew Emily was home, but he also knew she would ask him how things went. He
wasn’t sure what to tell her.

She
found him there a few minutes later.

She
propped herself up on the edge of his desk and looked down at him without
speaking.

He
met her eyes. Saw understanding, sympathy, affection, love. And all of it was stronger
than the discomfort in his gut.

After
a minute, he told her, “You were right.”

He
watched as the realization  processed on her face.  “That’s a good thing,
right?”

“Yeah.”

“He
loves you.”

For
the first time in as long as he could remember, those words weren’t followed by
an instinctive internal resistance. He didn’t feel happy, satisfied, or at
peace, but at least he didn’t want to bite out an automatic objection.

“Maybe,”
he replied. “He’ll never be a good father, though.”

“I
never thought he would be, but it means something. Knowing it, I mean. Doesn’t
it?”

“Yeah,”
he admitted. “It does.”

That
was all they needed to say.

***

For the next two weeks,
Paul went into the office every day. There wasn’t any sort of requirement for
him, as long as he got his work done, but now that things had settled down with
Emily, he thought it might be a good idea to be a more regular presence in the
corporate offices.