by Noelle Adams
She wasn’t going to run to keep up with him.
When he noticed she was no longer beside him, Paul turned around and walked back toward her.
She glared at him, but he just ignored it. Without speaking, he reached over and lifted the strap of her satchel off her shoulder and moved it onto his.
Then he just started walking again.
Emily stared in outraged astonishment at his lean back and long legs in his expensive clothes.
Why the hell had she ever thought it was a good idea to get married to such a presumptuous, bad-tempered man?
She was tempted to just sit down on the floor of the airport in well-deserved retaliation. She didn’t though, since it was a rather childish impulse. She walked after him, not trying very hard to catch up. As it happened, she did catch up because Paul had simply stopped in the middle of the hall, evidently waiting for her.
She hoped his waiting was a sign of remorse at his gruff mood, but he didn’t say anything when she fell into step with him. She didn’t say anything either, mostly because she didn’t trust herself to speak without biting his obnoxious head off.
They eventually made it to the hired car waiting for them, and Paul returned her satchel after they’d both climbed into the plush back seat.
Paul’s phone rang then, and Emily listened to him have a brief conversation with someone who had evidently called to tell him that a project he was working on was put on hold indefinitely.
When Paul hung up the phone, Emily slanted him a look of annoyed impatience.
“What?” he demanded, catching her expression.
She rolled her eyes and looked away, determined not to get into another argument with him, since nothing could be resolved until he was out of this mood.
“If you have something to say,” Paul said in a clipped tone, “then just say it.”
“If I have something to say!” she repeated in outrage, her patience snapping like a twig. “What the hell is wrong with you today?”
“Nothing is wrong with me. There have been a number of frustrations—”
“That’s ridiculous!” she interrupted. “You’re acting like people have engineered all these things on purpose to spite you. I don’t care if you’re in a bad mood. You can’t take it out on everyone around you. You’re acting like the world is out to get you today. I'm telling you it’s not!”
He gave a long-suffering sigh. “I do not think the world is out to get me. I’ve had a lot on my mind today, and things aren’t going smoothly, but there’s no reason for you to overreact just because I expect a certain level of service and—”
“A certain level of service? People are running in circles trying to accommodate you, and you’re treating them all like crap. I’m sorry if things have frustrated you today. I’m sorry if thunderstorms and computer problems and legal contracts signed years ago have all conspired to give you a very bad day. But you can’t do anything about them! It’s all out of your control. It’s out of your control! Why the hell are you getting so uptight about little things you can’t do anything about?”
Paul lips tightened ominously, but he just looked away from her, gazed out the window of the now-moving car.
She breathed raggedly and stared at his impassive profile. For no good reason, she suddenly recognized that he didn’t just look tense and grumpy.
He looked wounded somehow.
“Paul,” she began again, her voice softer and broken by a surge of concern. “Paul, what’s going on? Has something happened?” She wanted to scoot over and hug him, to press herself against him in some sort of comfort. But he was too stiff and standoffish, and she was sure her advances wouldn’t be welcome.
“Nothing has happened,” he said coolly, looking back at her with eyes that now gave nothing away.
“Then why are you in this mood? It’s not like you at all.”
“Can we just drop it?”
She flinched slightly at his clipped tone and withdrew immediately. She pulled her Shakespeare out of her satchel and opened it up to the Merry Wives of Windsor. She pretended to read.
* * *
Emily woke up in a comfortable bed in a picturesque room at an inn near the Prince Edward Island National Park on the north coast of PEI. Paul had gotten them a suite for the three days they’d be camping, just in case Emily got sick or decided she’d rather have a real bed and bathroom.
Emily wasn’t planning to use it, since she was determined to go through with their camping plans, but she hadn’t objected when Paul suggested they spend the afternoon in the suite so they could comfortably shower after traveling, she could rest, and he could get a little work done before they went to the campsite.
She had taken a long bath in a lovely, claw-foot tub and then had taken a two-hour nap. She was tired from the frustrating morning and still kind of worn from her latest bout of fever, and she’d slept harder than she usually did in the middle of the day.
When she woke up, she felt comfortable and drowsy. She glanced over at the clock and saw it was already four-thirty in the afternoon. They would have to get moving soon if they were going to get to the campsite and set everything up before dinner.
Reluctantly, she rolled out of bed, glancing idly in the mirror and disturbed by the sight of her tangled hair and sleep-flushed face. It was much cooler here than it had been in Philadelphia, so she’d put on an oversized sweatshirt after she’d gotten out of the shower, and it didn’t do anything to flatter her figure.
She tried to smooth her hair down, and then she wondered what Paul was doing. Maybe he was finally out of his bad mood.
With this hope, she got up and padded across the room wearing socks but no shoes. She opened the bedroom door and looked out into the main living area of the suite.
Paul was there, standing with his back toward her, looking out the window at the view of the coastline. He was holding his phone to his ear with one hand and combing his fingers through his hair in evident frustration with the other.
“No,” he gritted out to whomever he was speaking to. “That’s not good enough. I’ve told you for weeks now we’re on a very limited timeline, and I’m expecting real results.”
He sounded urgent, almost angry. Much more tense than with anyone else he’d talked to all day.
After the other person replied, Paul continued, “I don’t want to hear excuses. You told me the resources you would need to make this happen, and I’ve provided everything you requested. This is the most important thing on my radar. Do you understand? The most important thing. You can’t possibly think I’ll accept ‘we’re trying our best’ as an acceptable report.”
Emily had stepped out into the living area, but now she froze. She had no idea what Paul was talking about. She’d had no idea he was working on a project that was evidently so important to him.
She had no idea what it might be.
It bothered her that he had something going on in his life—something so important to him—that she was absolutely ignorant about.
After a long pause, Paul made a rough sound of frustration. “That’s not good enough. It is not beyond your control when I’m willing to provide you with whatever you need to control it. Listen to me. You will make this happen.”
Emily’s heart pounded frantically, and she wasn’t even sure why. This project—whatever it was—was ripping Paul apart. She could hear it in his voice, see it in the tense line of his neck and back.
“Fine,” he said, after the other person evidently told him something more acceptable. “A week from today I’ll be expecting to see some legitimate progress.”
He disconnected the call and kept staring out at the scenic view of the coastline and the blue-gray waves of the Gulf of St. Lawrence. She saw him take a long, shuddering breath, as if he were trying desperately to rein something in.
Her heart went out to him, no matter how grumpy and unreasonable he’d been today.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, moving over to him with an instinctive need to comfort.
&nb
sp; Paul jerked visibly and whirled around to give her a cold glare. “Damn it, Emily. Tell me you’re there next time.”
She ignored the complaint and reached up to put a hand on his shoulder. “Paul, please tell me what’s wrong.”
He gave a tight shake of his head and looked away from her, back out to the view from the window.
She slid her hand up to his face and made him look back down at her. “Paul, please.”
Something softened in his eyes. She saw it, but he was still holding his body far too tensely. “It’s nothing you need to worry about.”
“But I do worry about it,” she insisted. “If it’s bothering you this much, then I do worry about it. Why can’t you tell me what it is?”
Paul took another slow, ragged breath. His eyes devoured her urgently, but his features were painfully impassive and his voice was strained as he spoke. “It’s just a project I’m working on. A project that I’m…I’m very invested in. I was really hoping there would be progress by now, but there’s…there’s just not.”
“I’m sorry. What’s the project?” she asked, gratified that he’d told her at least that much but really wanting to know more. Anything so important to Paul was necessarily important to her too.
He opened his mouth, as if he would tell her. Then he closed it again. He cut his eyes away from her face. “It’s complicated. And I can’t really go into it.”
“Okay.” She swallowed over her disappointment because he was obviously still so upset. “Can I help at all?”
He shook his head, and his features relaxed into a bittersweet smile. “No. Thank you, baby.”
She released a sigh and pulled him into a soft hug, overwhelmed by the compulsion of her tender emotions and something almost like fear. She tried to process the reality of how deep and complex and conflicted and haunted a man Paul really was.
Comforting him, taking care of him, being married to a man like him would never be easy or simple. Not if she tried to do it for real. It would be hard, littered with hidden landmines she would have to learn to avoid, full of long-standing walls she would somehow need to get past.
In some ways, Paul was almost simpler when she was sick. Then he showed her nothing but care, protection, and tenderness. It was exactly what she needed from him, and it was a real part of who he was at the core.
But it wasn’t the only part. He was so much more than just that. He had so many more frightening depths and mystifying complexities.
If she’d been planning to be alive for more than a matter of weeks, if she’d been expecting to spend months, years, decades as wife to Paul Marino, she might actually be a little panicked by the prospect.
But she could do it. She was sure she could be a good wife to him—a real wife. With a little more time and experience.
Not that it really mattered. Three months wasn’t long enough to work through all the barriers Paul had erected around his so sensitive soul. She would do whatever she could to make him feel better at any given moment. She could give him what he needed for today. And that was all she would ever be allowed to do.
It took Paul a minute, but he eventually returned her hug. When did, his arms tightened around her with a surprising intensity. She hugged him more tightly too, responding to the need she felt in his body.
When he pulled away, Emily was somehow sure he’d forced himself to do so, like he wasn’t allowing himself to take what he needed.
Her heart was still pounding, and her hands shook a little as she watched him go over to sit behind the desk with a mumbled thanks.
He was going back to work. Or pretending to work. Or whatever he was doing.
But he was hurting just as much as he’d been the minute before. She was getting better at reading him, but it was still sometimes so hard to do what her intuition prompted her to do.
This time, however, the compulsion was just too strong.
So, ignoring the sharp pangs of insecurity and nervousness that needled at her, she walked over resolutely to the desk and plopped herself down on Paul's lap.
He huffed in surprise. “Emily,” he began.
She didn’t want to hear him object to her position. She was afraid it would make her feel rejected. So she wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him like she’d been doing earlier. “Surely you don’t need to work anymore today. You were supposed to be taking the weekend off.”
Paul’s body was incredibly tense, stiff, almost awkward, but his voice was dry as he murmured, “I don’t have regular vacation time. I’m still on probation, you know.”
“You deserve a vacation anyway. You won’t be able to work when we’re camping, so you might as well stop now.”
He evidently ignored her dubious logic and relented to her attempt to comfort him because he started to adjust her on his lap, until they both were more comfortable. Then his arms went around her again, just as tightly as before.
They just held each other for a few minutes. Emily felt the heat of his body, felt the hard lines of his chest against hers, felt the tension in his muscles gradually start to relax as his uneven, ragged breathing slowed down.
Her body responded strangely as his body softened against hers. An ache of desire clenched between her legs, growing even deeper as his body relaxed even more. It was an inexplicable reaction, since there was nothing sexual or even romantic about their embrace.
But she was definitely becoming aroused from the intimacy, the closeness, the entitlement with which Paul was holding her, and she shifted restlessly in his lap in response to the throbbing at her center.
Paul’s body felt softer now, except for the tightness of his arms around her. But, as she shifted, she felt another part of his body that was no longer soft.
She moaned throatily at the way the bulge in his trousers felt against her thigh. She rubbed herself against it instinctively.
“Baby, don’t,” Paul said thickly, after his breath had hitched.
“But I want to.” She moved both hands up to tangle her fingers through his thick hair. “Paul, I want to.” They’d only had sex the one time because she’d gotten sick the following day. Since he’d claimed to enjoy it, though, she assumed it wasn’t supposed to be a one-time event.
“I know.” He eased backward in his chair, trying to withdraw from her. “But we can’t.”
She stiffened with a sharp stab of hurt and disappointment. “You really don’t want to have sex with me ag—”
“I do,” he interrupted, his body almost painfully tense again. “I promise I do. But I can’t right now. I…I just can’t.”
Since he sounded serious—and rather upset—she dropped her hands to his shoulders. She also stopped trying to rub against his erection. “Why not?”
When he glanced away without responding, her fingers tightened on his shoulders reflexively. “Paul, you have to tell me.”
“You know the mood I’ve been in today,” he explained hoarsely, his face twisting slightly as if the words resisted being spoken. “I’m still in that same mood. I can’t take you to bed when I’m like this. I couldn’t restrain myself. I might…I might hurt you.”
Emily gasped, astonished, overwhelmed, and—ludicrously—just a little bit thrilled. She took a deep breath to process what he’d said, what he’d meant. Then she said, “I don’t think you’d hurt me. I can…I can take what you give me.”
Paul closed his eyes and looked away sharply, as if he were trying to hold back some sort of ferocity, but his expression was sober when he met her eyes again. “I won’t do it. Not when I’m like this. It’s just your second time.”
She didn’t like the idea that she wasn’t up to any challenge, and she definitely didn’t like the idea that she wasn’t able to offer Paul what he needed. But part of her could realize the reasonableness of his concern. He had been incredibly gentle and patient last time, and it had still been really uncomfortable—she’d still been really sore afterwards. While she hoped it would be better the next time, her body just wasn’t accus
tomed to sex yet.
She drew her brows together. “You really think you’d hurt me?”
“I might,” he admitted. “In this mood, I would want to be…rough.”
She felt that hot, little thrill again at the idea of rough sex with Paul, but she smothered it because this was real life with real stakes and not some naughty fantasy. “I trust you, Paul,” she told him, with absolute honesty. “I just don’t think you’d hurt me.”
He made sound in his throat she didn’t quite understand and looked away from her again. “Thank you. But I don’t trust myself enough to risk it.”
She could tell he meant it, and it wouldn’t be fair for her to argue about it anymore or make him feel guilty. So she was disappointed but strangely touched as she climbed off his lap. “Okay. It’s really okay.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” she said with a genuine smile. She tried for a teasing tone to break the thick tension. “You’re going camping with me, aren’t you? I know what a sacrifice that is for you. You’ve got nothing to be sorry for.”
* * *
It poured down rain that night.
The clouds had rolled in as the day progressed, but it wasn’t raining when they got to the campsite. And it wasn't raining when they set up their tent in a beautiful private spot surrounded by trees and only a short walk from the beach. And it was overcast but still not raining when they grilled marinated chicken breasts, corn on the cob, and peaches for dinner and watched the sun set.
Paul’s mood had improved as the day went on, and Emily enjoyed the evening very much. While they were in a national park, it felt like they were the only ones around. It was too late in the season for there to be a lot of people camping out, and the natural beauty and the privacy were tranquil.
It looked increasingly like it might rain, so they put the grill and other supplies back into the rented SUV they were driving, so they wouldn't get wet overnight. It got dark earlier than they were used to, so it was only eight o'clock when they went over to the public washroom and shower facilities to get ready for bed, since neither one of them were particularly interested in primitive camping. Emily put on a sweatshirt and flannel pajama pants to sleep in because the temperature was dropping rapidly.
