Listed: Volumes I-VI

by Noelle Adams

All of the softening of his body from his climax clenched up again in a flare of panic. Emily. She’d been so sick yesterday. Desperately sick. And she might still need him now.

  While he’d been sleeping unforgivably late and indulging in an adolescent grope session.

  Acting on instinct, he jumped out of bed and hurried out of his room, quickly striding over to Emily’s bedroom.

  Her door was open, and he stood staring blankly into her empty bedroom. Her bed was unmade, and everything else looked the way it had last night when he’d left her.

  “Paul?” he heard a familiar voice call out from the other side of the suite. “Are you looking for me?”

  He followed the voice and found Emily in the kitchen. She wore sweats and a loose t-shirt, and her hair was damp and pulled back at her neck. She was stirring some sort of batter in a large bowl.

  She grinned at him as he stood like a moron in the entrance to the kitchen. “Hi! Did you catch up on your sleep?”

  “Are you all right?” he asked, searching her face for signs of fever or pain. She looked so much better than she had yesterday, without the clammy whiteness of her skin and the agonizing pain in her eyes.

  “Yeah, I feel great! I slept late too. I just woke up a little while ago, actually. It’s so nice to feel better that I thought I’d make you pancakes. I called down and they brought me everything I needed.”

  Paul blinked. “You’re making me pancakes?”

  “Well,” she explained, lowering her eyes, “I was going to have some too.”

  It hurt Paul, even now, to think about how she’d suffered yesterday. And yet she was standing here this morning and telling him that she was doing something nice for him. He stared at her speechlessly.

  “You don’t have to eat them, if you don’t want. I can't claim to be the best chef in the world.” She stirred her batter busily and wasn’t looking in his direction.

  “Thank you,” he managed to say.

  It must have been the right thing to say because she turned back to him with a glowing smile.

  She’d suffered so much yesterday, and she had to know that her next two months would be filled with even more suffering, even worse suffering.

  He had no idea how she was capable of smiling like that today.

  Then he noticed that her eyes shifted down from his face. Her gaze lingered briefly on his chest before it slanted down to his bare feet and then up again.

  Suddenly, Paul was washed with a wave of hot self-consciousness. What if she could somehow tell what he’d just been doing in bed?

  And he was still wearing nothing but pajama pants.

  “I’m going to put something else on,” he mumbled, “I’ll be right back.”

  “Don’t you dare take the time to get all the way dressed,” she called after him. “Pancakes will be ready in five minutes!”

  Paul took a one-minute shower to rid himself of the lingering feeling of having just come. Then he pulled on clean clothes—a black t-shirt and a pair of jeans.

  He felt weirdly disoriented when he tried to think about the previous day. The whole experience loomed at the edges of his consciousness like a dark, agonizing void. Something lurched with panic inside him when he tried to pinpoint any specific memories or feelings.

  Twenty hours of worry, fear, discomfort, and helpless attempts to make Emily better blurred over into one gaping hole that threatened to swallow him up.

  So he forced it into a back corner of his mind—the same corner where he hid all thoughts about his father—so he could return to the kitchen where Emily was waiting for him.

  The only positive thing to come from yesterday’s experience was that Paul’s wretchedly inappropriate sexual feelings about Emily—which had been spiraling far out of control in the previous days—had evidently been snuffed out completely.

  Paul’s thoughts of Emily had been so far from sexual yesterday that he didn’t think the two could possibly exist simultaneously in his mind. She’d been so small and so sick and so completely helpless. Even when he’d taken her clothes off and carried her writhing and naked to the tub, nothing remotely sexual had even crossed his mind. And now, the vague memory of doing that hurt him, but the visual of her naked body in such a context didn’t arouse him even in the smallest way.

  He looked at her as he walked into the kitchen and carefully assessed his body’s reaction. She looked young with her baggy clothes and damp hair as she puttered at the stove with her pancakes. He couldn't help but think about her yesterday and didn’t feel even the faintest stirrings of physical interest.

  It was such a relief that he released a thick sigh. He was going to take care of Emily—he cared about her a lot now and she was his responsibility. But it would be so much easier to do so if he could keep remembering her helplessness and her vulnerability rather than be bombarded with guilty, erotic thoughts that should always be forbidden.

  “Sit down,” she instructed, frowning at him when he just stood in the middle of the kitchen. “The pancakes are ready.”

  Paul sat down at the kitchen table, automatically obeying her instructions. She put a plate of three slightly lopsided pancakes in front of him and then gave him the butter, syrup, and utensils.

  “What about yours?” he asked, when she didn’t put a plate down for herself.

  “Mine are coming, but you have to eat yours now or they’ll be cold.” She poured him a cup of coffee, which he’d somehow forgotten about getting. Then she gave him a glass of orange juice too. When he just looked at her blankly, she frowned indignantly. “Eat!”

  Paul ate.

  “You’re really feeling all right?” he asked, as he quickly buttered his pancakes.

  Emily was standing over the skillet again, waiting for her pancakes to brown. “Yes. I woke up with all this energy—although it’s probably just because it’s so nice not to have a fever. I’m already getting kind of tired now, so I’m sure I’ll crash eventually.”

  He nodded, taking his first bite of pancakes. “You should try to rest a lot today. These are really good!” The pancakes were good and—despite the meal he’d had in the middle of the night—Paul was absolutely ravenous.

  Emily flushed with pleasure as she flipped the pancakes on the skillet. “Thank you,” she told him. “And how are you feeling this morning?”

  “I’m fine,” he said automatically.

  “Are you sure? I know you stayed up the whole time with me. You’ve got to be exhausted.”

  He did feel kind of exhausted, even after sleeping so late. He just shrugged, though. “I slept well. If you rest today, do you think you’ll be up to traveling tomorrow? I can reschedule our trip for tomorrow if—”

  “Yes!” Emily burst in, grinning at him. She was piling pancakes into a plate, but he could see the excitement vibrating off her. “That’s perfect. Thank you so much!”

  “Of course.”

  He watched as she brought the stack of four pancakes over to the table. His were almost gone now, but she put two of the fresh ones into his plate and took the remaining two over to her place at the table.

  He let her use the butter first before he slathered some on his new pancakes. He’d taken a big bite when Emily’s voice broke into his eating.

  “Paul, I really need to thank you for everything you did yesterday.”

  Paul felt awkward, as he always did when she tried to thank him so earnestly, and he tried to shrug it away.

  “I mean it,” she persisted, trying to catch his eyes. “I want to say this. I was out of it for most of yesterday, but I know what it must have been like for you, what you had to do to take care of me. I know I didn't act grateful yesterday, but I am. It means so much to me that you did that.”

  Paul’s chest felt very uncomfortable from both the tone and the sentiment of this conversation, so he stuffed another bite of pancake into his mouth and didn’t meet her eyes.

  “But I have to say that I don’t think you should have to do that again.”

  He had to s
wallow before he opened his mouth to object, so Emily had time to talk over him.

  “I’m serious, Paul. It’s not that I don’t appreciate everything you did. But I don’t want you to have to do all that. It’s not your job. You shouldn’t have to do it.”

  “I’ve told you before,” he muttered. “You’re my responsibility.”

  “I know that. I know you’re serious about that. It means so much to me. But you can fulfill that responsibility, you can make sure I’m taken care of, without doing it all yourself. I really want…I would like for you to hire a nurse for next time. It’s just going to get worse. You can’t do it all yourself. I don’t want you to. It will be so much easier with a nurse.”

  Paul stared at her, his immediate reaction one of irrational possessiveness, an inexplicable resentment at the thought of someone else, a stranger, caring for Emily when she was so sick and vulnerable. She was his wife. She was his to take care of. It was his job.

  But he could feel that dark, gaping hole of yesterday still looming at the back of his mind, waiting to swallow him up. A few specific memories pierced through the fog of helplessness and anxiety.

  She’d been tossing frantically on her bed, crying brokenly to him for help. He hadn’t been able to help her.

  She’d been delirious, screaming at him for lying to her, abandoning her, letting her aunt die. She’d been beating at him with her fists. He’d been desperate, absolutely desperate, with no idea what to do.

  She'd been naked and writhing as he tried to get her into the bathtub without her drowning or knocking herself unconscious on the side of the tub.

  She'd tossed in the bed, in horrible pain, for hour after hour after hour. And all he could do was sit and watch her.

  The idea of living through that again was so awful it almost pulled him down into that dark, gaping hole.

  Emily was offering him an escape, though. A way out.

  He could still take care of her, fulfill his responsibilities, but not live through that again.

  “I don’t know,” he said slowly, that weird flash of possessiveness rearing up once more.

  “Please, Paul.” Emily’s voice held an almost desperate plea. “Tell me you’ll have a nurse ready for next time. I never would have done this to you if I thought you’d have to do…do all that.”

  “Okay,” Paul agreed, letting himself grasp at the only way out of the gaping hole that threatened to claim him. “If that’s what you want, I’ll get a nurse.” A clench in his gut and his chest that he hadn’t been consciously aware of relaxed as he made the decision.

  This would be better. So much safer. He could get the best nurse money could buy to take care of Emily when she was sick. He wouldn’t have to see her suffer like that. He wouldn’t have to watch helplessly and grope blindly for some way to make her feel better.

  She would still be taken care of, but it wouldn’t have to hurt him so much.

  With that, and with the relief from the snuffing of those guilty sexual thoughts about someone who was off-limits to him in every way, Paul thought he could make it through this marriage without being completely torn apart.

  * * *

  Paul told Emily he was going into his room to make some calls about rescheduling their trip to Egypt.

  He did call the administrative assistant who worked for him and asked her to make all of the arrangements, using the itinerary he’d originally set up but changing it for them to fly out tomorrow instead of Sunday.

  Then he called someone else.

  He was told he was being foolish. He was told his request was impossible. He was told there was absolutely nothing that could be done in three months.

  Paul understood the nature of medical research. There were no quick fixes. Effective drugs took years and years to develop. But it was possible they wouldn’t have to start from scratch.

  The doctors and the FBI hadn’t been able to find any evidence, but he wasn’t convinced this virus was accidental or random. If his father was somehow involved, then the doctors wouldn’t have to start from square one for a cure.

  There might already be one in existence.

  When he hung up, he called up his lawyer and got a referral to one of the best private investigation firms in the Philadelphia area. Then he made a couple more calls until he was able to talk to the person he wanted.

  Someone needed to get into his father’s research facility and find out whether biological weapons were part of the research there, and Paul himself obviously couldn’t do it.

  He wasn’t going to tell Emily. She’d told him flat out that she didn’t want to go on a futile search for a cure or try any experimental treatments that almost certainly wouldn’t work.

  But it seemed ludicrous not to try at all, so Paul got the private investigator on the case.

  He left his room and heard the television on in the parlor, so he wandered over to find her. He didn’t see her until he came around the sofa that was facing the fireplace and plasma television.

  She was sound asleep, curled up on the sofa. It wasn’t even noon, but she must have crashed, exhausted after her ordeal the day before.

  She was his wife. She wasn’t even eighteen yet, and she had no one but him to help her.

  She was huddled up tightly, and he thought maybe she was cold, so he went to get a soft, knit throw from a chair. He draped it over her, tucking it around her shoulders. She clutched at the throw instinctively in her sleep, nestling into it.

  Paul gazed down at her, carefully assessing his reactions. He was once again relieved when he wasn’t taunted by any wayward thoughts regarding her. Hopefully, he was past that now and could concentrate on what was more important.

  Emily trusted him. She was depending on him for help. She didn’t have anyone else.

  There wasn’t much of a chance, but a slim chance was better than nothing.

  Maybe he could save her.

  Maybe she didn’t have to die.

  * * *

  Something was wrong with their suite.

  They’d arrived in Cairo late in the day and had been taken by hired car to their hotel. Then the private concierge had shown them up to their rooms.

  Emily was ecstatic—on an exhausted high from the long flight and the excitement of finally being in Egypt. She was transparently thrilled by the gorgeous suite, which somehow managed to look exotic, historic, and luxurious all at once.

  She’d made a circle of the main sitting area, almost clapping her hands with delight over the antique furniture, chandelier, and rich fabrics. Then she had seen the French doors that led out to the large terrace and had given a squeal as she’d stepped out and gazed at the view from their vantage point on the highest floor of the hotel.

  Beyond a lovely stretch of green trees and foliage of the city’s botanical gardens, they could see the sun setting behind the Great Pyramids in the distance.

  The concierge smiled paternally at Emily’s pleasure. “This suite has perhaps the best views in the entire city.” He spoke in beautifully articulated British English.

  It was true. Paul couldn’t deny it. The long-suppressed romantic part of his nature thrilled at the gorgeous view and the millennia-long history it evoked.

  Bu he knew there was something wrong with this suite.

  All of the furniture was elegant, built from dark, polished woods and upholstered in sumptuous fabrics. The hardwood floors gleamed, and the art was tasteful and soothing. The four-poster bed in the adjoining room was huge, with silk bedding and a gauzy canopy.

  He walked into the bedroom and saw it had the same incredible view of the Pyramids. The connecting bathroom had a marble walk-in shower and a huge claw-foot soaking tub.

  Paul returned to the sitting area, where the concierge was waiting patiently for Paul’s approval.

  But Paul didn’t approve. There were no more doors off the sitting area.

  This suite only had one bedroom. Only one bed.

  “Paul, come look!” Emily called out. “It’s amazing!
”

  “Just a minute.”

  He walked over to the concierge. “This isn’t the suite I’d originally requested, is it?”

  The concierge’s brows drew together in concern. “No, Mr. Marino. This is the honeymoon suite. When you had to reschedule your reservations, the suite you’d requested was no longer available. But I told your assistant that this suite was equally spacious and had an even better view, and she said since you and your wife are newly married it should work perfectly. Is it not to your liking, sir?”

  Paul felt tense and wasn’t sure what to say. He murmured to the concierge that he needed to speak with his wife for a moment, and then he went to join Emily on the balcony.

  “Isn’t it perfect?” Emily gushed, turning to look at Paul. “I can’t believe I’m really here. And we get to look at this for three days!” She stretched out her arms toward the lush view as if she wanted to embrace it.

  Paul’s heart was beating faster with pressing tension. Emily had suffered so much in the last few months. She'd suffered so much two days ago. And this suite, this view, was making her happy.

  He hated to disappoint her, but something would have to be done.

  “I’m sorry, Emily,” he said in a low voice, so the concierge inside wouldn’t overhear. “We may need to change rooms.”

  “No!” Emily cried, her face twisting in disappointment. “Why? This is perfect. This is the suite I want.”

  “I know. I know you like it. But you need to know something.” He cleared his throat. “There was a mix-up when our reservations were changed, and they gave us a suite with only one bedroom.”

  Emily blinked, taking a minute to process what he said. “Oh.”

  “So, you see, we might need to move. We can stay here if you want, but we’ll have to somehow make do with one room.”

  “Oh.”

  Paul waited.

  Emily looked back at the pink, orange, and violet sunset behind the peaks of the Pyramids. “Will the new suite have this same view?”

  “No. I’m sorry. We may, in fact, have to have two separate rooms.” He didn’t like that idea at all. He didn’t like not being around if Emily needed him, but she had to choose what would make her most comfortable. “So, we can stay here with only one bedroom, or we could move to different rooms.”