Listed: Volumes I-VI

by Noelle Adams

  “Everyone was hot, and I wasn’t even walking! But you evidently think I’m so delicate that I can’t even get driven around in a Jeep.”

  “We can go back tomorrow. You can still see everything.”

  “But I liked having Akil as our guide, and he’s not going to be available tomorrow.”

  Paul closed his eyes and clenched his jaw for a moment before he replied coldly, “Yes, you’ve told me several times now how much you liked him. But I’m sure our guide tomorrow will be equally knowledgeable.”

  Unlike Emily, Paul hadn’t liked the very handsome Egyptian archeology student who had shown them around today. He especially hadn’t liked the way the man’s eyes lingered on Emily’s face and body.

  His comment seemed to prompt in her another cause for irritation with him. She snapped, “And, by the way, there was no reason for you to be so rude to the poor guy, after he’d been nothing but nice to us.”

  “He’d been nice to you,” Paul corrected, rather gutturally. “And I definitely wasn’t blind to why he was nice to you.”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean? I liked him and thought he was smart and funny. I wasn’t flirting with him or anything.”

  “I didn’t mean to imply that you were flirting,” he said, although he hadn’t been at all happy with the way Emily was grinning and laughing with the obnoxious man. He hadn't for a minute thought she would do anything. It just bothered him to see her enjoying another man the way she sometimes enjoyed him. “I was referring to his obvious interest in you.”

  Emily actually snorted. “That’s ridiculous. He knew we’re married. I mean, you were right there glowering at him the whole time. He wasn’t coming on to me. He was just nice.”

  “No man has a reason to be that nice to my wife.”

  She made a wordless sound of frustration in her throat. “So I’m not allowed to have another man even talk to me?”

  “You’re intentionally misunderstanding me. Of course, you can talk to other men. Of course, men can talk to you. What I have a problem with is men making obvious moves on my wife.” He saw her open her mouth to argue. “You might not have realized that’s what he had in mind, but I promise you it was. He didn’t just want to talk to you. He wanted to get you into bed.”

  Emily’s lips parted as she stared at him, and for a moment Paul felt a tug of desire. He was still too annoyed for it to develop into a problem, though.

  “I don’t think that’s right.” Her anger had faded into slight confusion. “He was being nice.”

  “You’re a beautiful woman, Emily. There’s a reason why so many men want to be nice to you.” He’d spoken without thinking, to make a point in the argument. But, after the words were said, he wasn’t sure they should have been.

  Finally, she shrugged. “I can’t go around assuming that every man who talks to me wants to jump me. I just can’t believe it’s true, and—even if it was—I couldn’t function that way. If a man gets inappropriate with me, of course I would put a stop to it. But, to tell you the truth, no one has even tried to be inappropriate with me.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “I mean, I’m not the kind of girl that men come on to.”

  He swallowed, bristling at the thought of all the blind fools who had made Emily believe herself to be undesirable, even as he was aware that he used to be one of them. “You’ve been around high school boys,” he said matter-of-factly. “And high school boys are stupid most of the time. You can’t judge yourself by what happens in high school. Men will want you, Emily.”

  It was too dark to read the expression in her eyes clearly. “Do you think so?”

  “Of course.”

  She smiled at him, and he smiled back. They seemed to be caught in that intense gaze again, and this time he couldn’t pull out. He couldn’t look away. He couldn’t say anything. The only thing he was capable of doing was barely restraining himself from hauling her into a kiss.

  If he kissed her now, in their bed, he wouldn’t be able to stop.

  After a long moment, Emily broke the spell. “Anyway, I’m still annoyed with you for cutting my day short.”

  He rolled his eyes, almost relieved that the tension was broken. “I’ve told you hundreds of times now that I’m not going to back down about your health.”

  “I know you’ve said that, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

  Evidently tired of arguing, she rolled over, showing him her back again. This time Paul didn’t complain.

  He lay in bed and stewed about her stubborn irrationality for a long time.

  Then, without warning, Emily said into the darkness of the room, "I'm sorry if I was too stubborn. I know you were just trying to look out for me."

  He hesitated, mostly to swallow over his surprise and not because he didn't want to apologize too. He'd never met anyone who had apologized to him so genuinely. Finally, he was able to say, "Thanks. I'm sorry too. I shouldn't have been so bad-tempered, especially about…"

  "Akil," Emily finished for him, a smile in her voice. "That's all right. I forgive you."

  * * *

  Paul woke up just after five o’clock the next day. And, just like the previous morning, his personal space had definitely been invaded.

  He was sleeping on his side, with his back in Emily’s direction. But, during the night, she’d pressed herself up behind him in her sleep, spooning him cozily with her arms wrapped around his middle.

  He was partly erect but not as hard as yesterday, and he was too groggy to want to pull away. She felt nice pressed up behind him—warm and soft and feminine.

  Paul had never had the instinct to cuddle before. With most of the women he’d slept with over the years, he hadn’t even spent the night. When he’d had serious girlfriends, he’d tried to hold them for a while after they’d had sex, but he’d always needed his own space to sleep.

  He wasn’t really any different now. He was sure this wasn't any sort of impulse to cuddle. But there was something he liked about the way Emily clung to him in her sleep.

  He could feel her damp breath against his bare back. He could feel her loose hair tickling his skin just slightly. He could feel her soft breasts pressed tightly against him, with only a thin layer of cotton between their skin. Her legs were tucked snugly behind his, her small body molding his perfectly. And she was squeezing him lightly with her arms, her hands clutching at his bare belly.

  He lay like that for a long time, dozing and enjoying the feel of her against him, but then she started to shift in her sleep, her breasts brushing against him, her pelvis pushing against his ass, her hands fumbling at his abdomen as if they were groping for something to hold onto.

  She was still sound asleep, but her breathing had accelerated. He assumed she must be dreaming. The little squirms and gropes she made started to turn him on, his half-erection hardening completely.

  He was about to try to slide out of her unconscious embrace when she began to make noises. The sounds were just soft little grunts that sounded like, “Eh.” But her motion behind him changed too. Became a little more rhythmic. And the two in combination were unmistakable.

  Emily must be having an erotic dream.

  Paul’s arousal intensified as she moved and breathed against him until desire pulsed through his entire body, but he was also confused and disoriented.

  He’d never thought about Emily’s having erotic dreams before. He’d never really thought about her having sexual needs and desires of her own. Rationally, of course, he would have known she must have them. He well knew how passionate she was by nature.

  But there had always been something pure, untouchable, innocent about her that had disallowed him from thinking of her in those terms.

  Paul might desperately want to have sex with Emily, but she would never want to have sex with him. Not just because he wasn’t good enough for her, but because he’d never attributed sexual feelings to her.

  But her dreaming self seemed to want his body. A lo
t. She rolled her pelvis against his butt, squirmed her breasts against his back, and her hands fumbled eagerly at the muscles of his belly. The noises she huffed had almost turned into words. Maybe, “Yeah, yeah, please, yeah,” although they were too slurred to know for sure.

  Of course, it was probably just because he was a convenient body. She was asleep and wouldn't know who she was clutching. Emily had never wanted Paul. But the fact that she was having such an intensely erotic dream at all was enlightening, bewildering, and somehow thrilling.

  Paul was panting now, holding himself rigidly still. This was wrong. He shouldn’t be letting her do this to him, even in her sleep. He needed to somehow get away without waking her up.

  Then her hands fumbled lower on his body. And, before he knew what was happening, they’d found his hard shaft, prominent beneath the thin fabric of his pajama pants.

  Paul bit his bottom lip so hard he saw white when he felt her hands on him intimately. She was still sleeping—he could feel her hot breathing against his back. Her grip wasn’t tight or controlled, just light, clumsy touches, but it felt so good that Paul could barely keep himself from thrusting into her hands.

  He had to end this. He was in danger of coming, just from the fumbling little touches she was giving him.

  This was just wrong.

  He was terrified that, if he tried to move her, she would wake up. She would discover how hard he was, how much he wanted her. She would realize what she’d been inadvertently doing to him in her sleep. And she’d be so mortified that nothing would be the same between them again.

  So he was trapped, on the edge of exquisite agony. Only sure of one thing. If this kept up much longer, he wouldn’t be able to hold back his climax. He would come just from this.

  But then Emily hissed out one more sound, and her body seemed to settle in her sleep. She stopped squirming. Her breathing slowed down. Her hands grew still on his erection.

  So, very gently, Paul adjusted the arm draped over his side and—as carefully as possible—he slid out of the bed.

  Still sleeping, Emily rolled over onto her back, one arm flung above her head. The covers were pushed down to her hips, and her white tank-top was riding up, exposing the fair skin of her belly. Her nipples were peaked, poking out prominently through the cotton. Her cheeks were beautifully flushed.

  Paul turned on his heel and strode into the bathroom, turning on the shower immediately and stepping in before it got hot.

  He grabbed his erection and started to pump hard and fast. Over the last few days, he hadn’t been able to keep from visualizing Emily as he did this, but he’d always stopped short of fantasizing about her engaging in erotic activities with him. It had always seemed just one step too far for him to tolerate.

  But he did now.

  He imagined her rubbing herself against him, fondling him, pumping her hips into him, arching and writhing as he brought her pleasure, huffing out his name as she worked up to orgasm.

  He came hard and quickly.

  Then he stood under the shower spray feeling guilty.

  Maybe Emily did have sexual desires. Maybe she was a sexual creature. Maybe he'd been a fool not to acknowledge it before.

  She was still only seventeen. She was still sick. Still dying. She was still off-limits to him.

  There had always been a bitter irony to his life, but this might have been the sharpest.

  Maybe things would change. Naturally they would. But, at this moment, the only woman in the world he wanted was his wife.

  And she was the one he could never have.

  * * *

  Emily had gone into the bedroom to take a nap after they got back to the suite the following afternoon, saying she was tired and he shouldn't disturb her. Paul had been catching up on some work until he’d received a call that changed everything.

  Distracted by the news, he’d knocked on the bedroom door and then just walked in to tell her.

  She was in bed, lying on her stomach and facing the opposite side of the room. She jerked and gave a little squeak when she heard him. “Hey! What are you doing?” she demanded, rolling over to glare at him. “Haven’t you heard of knocking?”

  Paul blinked. “I did knock.”

  “Well, you didn’t wait for a response.”

  “Oh. Sorry. What’s the matter?” She usually didn’t make a fuss for no reason, but she seemed really annoyed with him for some reason. She was sleeping on top of the bedcovers, but she had draped a thick throw over her for her nap. She looked like she'd gotten a little tangled in it as she'd rolled over with one arm still under the blanket.

  “Nothing,” she muttered. “I was almost asleep and you scared me. What’s going on?”

  Paul went over and sat down on Emily’s side of the bed so he could explain, but then he noticed that she looked really flushed and was breathing faster than normal. Without thinking, he reached over and felt her forehead.

  She pulled away. “I’m not sick. I was just napping.”

  He didn’t listen to her objections. He just got up and went to get the thermometer from the bathroom. She was rolling her eyes when he came back over and held it against her forehead, but she didn’t say anything until he drew his hand back to check her temperature.

  “99⁰,” he said, eyeing her closely. He hated the idea of her getting another fever so soon after the last one she had.

  “That’s almost normal. It’s probably just slightly up because I was out in the sun earlier today. I think I might have gotten a little sunburn. Would you stop fussing and tell me what’s going on?”

  He hoped she was right, and he needed to tell her anyway. “I just got a call from Hathaway, the U.S. attorney—you remember him? They’ve been able to move the trial date up.”

  Emily’s eyes widened. “Oh. That’s good, right?”

  “I think so. It will be better for you, for sure, and I’d like to have it done with too.”

  “When is it scheduled for?” she asked, evidently having forgotten her annoyance with him the minute before.

  “That’s the problem. It’s starts on Monday.”

  “So soon?”

  “And they want to have the weekend to finish working on our testimony, so they’ve asked for us to fly back tomorrow. Will it be all right to leave a day early?”

  “Of course. Why wouldn’t it? I’m glad the trial is going to be over so soon.”

  “I know there was more you wanted to see here,” Paul said, searching for signs of disappointment in her expression.

  She curled her lip at him. “Do you really think I’m selfish or childish enough to pout and whine about something like that? I’ve had a great time here, but all I really needed to do was see the Pyramids. And I’ve done that. We definitely need to go back. The trial is more important.”

  “Thanks.” He reached over again to feel her forehead, although she was already looking less flushed and her breathing was normal now.

  She didn’t seem to be getting sick. It was probably just because he’d woken her up.

  * * *

  Paul dreamed that night—a recurring nightmare he’d had for years, each version taking slightly different form although the feelings of desperation, betrayal, and dread were always the same.

  He would try to catch his father, but his father was forever out of his reach.

  That night, Paul was chasing Vincent Marino through a desert, past pyramids and ancient cities. He would almost reach him, almost touch him, but then his father would slip out of his grip. Then he’d see him again in the distance, the hot wind blowing his gray hair and a taunting smile on his face.

  Paul would run some more, falling on the hot sand, burning his hands, scrambling up to run again until his shoes melted and his bare feet got torn to bits.

  Again and again it would repeat—almost catching him only to have him slip away. And every time it hurt so much, ripped him to shreds.

  There never seemed to be an end.

  He’d fallen again in his nightmare, an
d thorny branches had come up out of the sand to hold him imprisoned, ripping jagged gashes into his skin, impossible to break free from, no matter how much he struggled.

  “Paul,” the thorny branches said to him, “Paul, Paul, wake up!” The branches were shaking him, so he fought their grip.

  “Paul! Wake up! You’re dreaming. Paul, stop!”

  He was jarred awake as he struggled, and one of his arms flailed out and connected with something soft.

  He heard a breathless gasp. Then realized the gasp had been from Emily, who was on her knees on the bed, with her hands on his shoulders.

  She must have been the one shaking him.

  And he must have just punched her in the gut.

  “Fuck,” he panted, disoriented from the dream. He was drenched in sweat, and his heart still pounded painfully. “I’m so sorry. I was dreaming. Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine,” she said, staring down at him in the dark of their bedroom. “You didn’t hurt me. Maybe I shouldn’t have woken you up, but it…it sounded so terrible.”

  Paul tried to suck in air, tried to shake off that horrible dream. “What was I doing?”

  “At first, just talking, calling out to someone to wait, to slow down. But then you started to sound so upset. I didn’t want you to keep having such a nightmare. You didn’t start to flail around until I was trying to wake you up.”

  Under normal circumstances, he would have been mortified at Emily’s seeing him helpless, even just helpless in the grips of a nightmare. But Paul was still shaking from the dream, and he was so glad not to have woken up alone.

  “Are you all right?” she asked softly. She was still kneeling beside him on the bed, but she’d moved her hands to her lap.

  He nodded. “Yes. Thank you for waking me up.”

  She paused for a few seconds, gazing down at him with a softness he could sense even in the dark. “Was it your father you were trying to catch?”