by Noelle Adams
His body tightened almost immediately, and he kissed her long and deep.
When he finally pulled his head back, he breathed raggedly as he stared down at her.
Her eyes were hot, soft, and a little groggy. “I love you, Paul,” she whispered. “You know that, right?”
He stifled a moan of pleasure as his hips gave an involuntary little thrust against her. “I love you too, baby.”
He kissed her again. They were still kissing and he was starting to unfasten his pants when he heard a familiar ringtone.
With a groan of frustration, he tore himself away from her warm, soft clinginess. “That’s security. I better see what’s going on,” he said, standing up as he connected the call.
He listened to Tim for a minute on the other end of the line. “Okay,” he said. “Just a minute.”
Emily was sitting up on the bed now, and her eyes were very wide. “Is everything all right?”
“Yes,” he assured her, “It’s fine. There’s no danger. I just need to take care of something. I’ll be back in just a minute.”
“Okay.”
As he started to leave, he glanced back at her over his shoulder, his body and heart resisting the idea of leaving a passionate, rumpled Emily in bed, even just momentarily. But he made himself be reasonable. “I’m sorry,” he said.
“It’s fine. Just come back soon.” She didn’t look annoyed, so he was able to leave the room without further apologies.
He was only gone for five minutes, and his body was still anticipating Emily waiting in bed for him on his return.
She was still in bed when he came back into the room. She was still looking irresistibly sensual with her loose hair and slinky nightgown. She was still sprawled out on top of the covers.
But she was also sound asleep.
Paul stared down at her blankly for a long minute, trapped between surprise, irony, and frustration. He was deeply tempted to wake her up so he could have the sex he desperately wanted.
But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. She'd been so sick just the day before.
Instead, with a stifled groan, he went to take yet another shower.
Thirteen
Emily woke up aching all over.
As she stretched out under the covers of the big bed in the master bedroom, she processed how she felt, what it meant.
She’d had another fever yesterday, but it had broken just before midnight. She didn’t have a fever now. She just felt sore and aching and like she had no energy at all.
Her body was probably just protesting the toll the fevers were taking on it. So even on her good days she might not really feel good.
Since she’d started the experimental treatments, the rhythm of her fevers had changed. The fevers came more often, but they didn’t last as long. So she’d been sick on Sunday, when Paul had found her at Stacie’s. Then she’d been well on Monday. Sick on Tuesday. Today was Wednesday. Today she should feel well.
But she didn’t.
She wondered if she’d ever really feel well again.
Feeling a heavy weight in her chest, she pulled the covers up over her head, wanting to hide, wanting it all to go away. But, even as she did, a flicker of thought reminded her that she would go in for another round of the latest treatment today.
It might be a slim hope, but it was something.
She turned her head and stared at Paul’s empty side of the bed. The covers were rumpled. He’d gotten in bed with her late last night, after her fever had broken and she’d been well enough to sleep with him. A glance at the clock told her it was almost eight in the morning. Paul had probably been up for at least a couple of hours.
She sat up with a jerk as she realized what day it was. Then she scrambled out of bed and hurried barefoot out of the room, down the hall, and into Paul’s office.
He was there, as she’d expected, sitting in front of his computer and looking sleek and professional in his black suit and silver tie.
“Hey,” she said, feeling a pull of emotion in her chest at the sight of him.
He turned around in his desk chair at the sound of her voice. “Good morning. How are you feeling?”
“Fine,” she lied, “How are you?”
The smile on his face faded as he studied her, and he ignored her question. “You don’t look like you feel fine. Did the fever come back?”
“No,” she assured him, walking over to where he was seated. “I’m not sick. I’m just tired.”
He reached out for her, and she let him pull her into his lap. She didn’t protest when he felt her forehead, since it would only prove to him she didn’t have a fever.
“How are you?” she asked, when he dropped his hand. The way his gray eyes rested on her face made her feel a little self-conscious, since she’d literally just rolled out of bed. Her hair was messy, and she wore only a little tank and boxer shorts.
“I’m fine,” Paul murmured.
“You ready for today?”
“Yes. As ready as I’ll ever be.”
“The board meeting will go well, I’m sure,” she said, smiling at him encouragingly. His shoulders were stiff, and she could tell he was stressed about the meeting today—when he presented his big proposal to the board. “You’ve done a great job preparing and have covered more bases than most people would even know were on the field.”
Paul smiled faintly at her extended analogy, the way he always did when he thought she’d been clever in her choice of words. “Thank you. I hope so.”
She reached her arms up to hug him and was touched and relieved when he hugged her back. His arms tightened around her with more strength than she expected. And she realized, with a swell of her heart, that he was taking encouragement, strength from her.
She knew he was more nervous about the meeting today than he would ever admit.
“I wish I could go with you,” she said, pulling away. “Even if I couldn’t come to the meeting itself, I could be there waiting.”
Paul shook his head. “You need to get your treatment. There’s no reason for you to waste your time hovering. It’s really no big deal.”
Emily knew it was a big deal, but she didn’t press the point. She was starting to learn more about how to deal with him. And, when something ran deep with him, the more she pushed bullheadedly into his privacy, the more he was likely to shrink away.
“Okay,” she said casually, pulling away from him and getting to her feet, “I need coffee and a shower. You’re not going to leave until nine, right?”
“Right.”
Emily started to walk out of the office, but glanced back once from the doorway. Paul had turned back toward his computer, and he was busy typing again. For some reason, for no good reason, he looked young, vulnerable.
She wondered, with an ache so deep her face twisted helplessly, what he would do when—if—she died. He would be so incredibly alone.
She almost choked on the question and hurried away, not wanting him to look back and see the tears reflected on her face. By the time she got a mug of coffee and took a shower, she’d controlled the emotion. She managed to dress, put on a little makeup, and dry her hair, but by the time she was finished, she was utterly wiped out.
She didn’t have a fever, but her body hurt anyway. She sat down to put on her shoes, but couldn’t seem to do it. She hunched over, breathed deeply, tried to tell herself this was ridiculous. She wasn’t going to give into this.
This was one of her good days, and she needed to be there for Paul today. He didn’t need to be worrying about her.
“Emily?” Paul’s voice broke into her concentration, surprising her so much she jerked. He walked over to the bed, his face tight with concern. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she said, smiling at him brightly. “I’m just more tired than I thought.
He frowned, his eyes deep and observant. “You look like it’s more than feeling tired. I can reschedule this meeting so—”
“No!” she interrupted sharply. �
�I’m really fine. I don’t want you to reschedule. The meeting is important.”
He put an arm around her, pulling her against his side. “You’re more important to me than the meeting.”
She swallowed hard, wanting to burrow into him. He was strong, and he loved her. It felt like he could always keep her safe.
But she wouldn’t let herself indulge the feeling. No matter how sick and weak she felt, she needed to be strong for him too. “I know,” she said, her voice cracking a little. “Thank you. But you’re important to me. You need to go to the meeting today and show them how incredible you are, how ready you are for responsibility. I’m really fine.”
She didn’t say it—since she knew Paul would object—but she also needed to know that Paul would have something to pour himself into if she died. He needed his position at Simone’s to give him purpose, or he would have nothing.
Paul nodded slowly. “Okay. Send me a text as soon as you’re done with the treatment and if Dr. Franklin has any results from the blood test, so I’ll know what’s happening.”
“I will.” She leaned over to kiss him. “And you come right home after the meeting, no matter what happens.”
“I will.”
* * *
Despite what he’d asked her, Emily didn’t send Paul a text message immediately. She didn't until she’d gotten back to the apartment from the lab.
She needed the length of the ride home to figure out what to say.
She didn’t want to give any details, since it might upset Paul and distract him from what he needed to do and say at the meeting. But she also didn’t want to lie to him.
So she finally decided on a brief message: “I’m done. Everything’s fine. About the same.”
It was true. According to Dr. Franklin, the treatments hadn’t stopped or significantly affected the progress of the virus, but it was too soon to tell very much.
Despite the doctor’s insistence of putting everything in perspective and not getting too upset about tiny changes that might mean anything, Emily was a little bit crushed. She knew Paul would be too.
That could wait until after his meeting, however.
She changed into a stretchy t-shirt and dark blue yoga pants. Then she ate some lunch and went to stretch out on the couch in the media room to read some Shakespeare.
She fell asleep almost immediately.
She wasn’t conscious of anything until she heard a phone ring.
She blinked as awareness broke painfully into her groggy mind. Her body was still aching, and she couldn’t seem to open her eyes.
The ringing had stopped, and a male voice had taken its place. It was familiar enough to make her go through the effort of opening her eyes.
She saw Paul sitting on the foot of the sofa, talking softly on the phone. He was still wearing his black suit and silver tie.
Realizing he was home and the meeting was over, she fought against the heavy haze of sleep until she could sit up. She waited as patiently as she could, listening to one side of his phone conversation. It was about work, but she couldn’t really follow what it might mean.
When he hung up, she asked, “Why didn’t you wake me up? How did the meeting go?”
He frowned at her. “Why didn’t you tell me that Dr. Franklin’s report wasn’t good?”
“It was fine. What I said in the text was true—there wasn’t much change.”
“Except these new treatments aren’t working.”
He sounded clipped and cool, but she knew it was just because he was as disappointed as she’d been earlier.
“Dr. Franklin said that blood chemistry changes daily, hourly, and we can’t get too hung up on small changes like that.”
“I know. He told me that too when I called him. But you should have told me to begin with.”
“I wasn’t going to have you get upset and distracted during the meeting,” she said, sticking out her chin. “I should have done exactly what I did.”
He rolled his eyes, clearly torn between agreement with the sense of her decision and annoyance that she’d taken it out of his control.
“Are you going to tell me how the meeting went?” she demanded.
“It was fine,” he said with a sigh. “It was good.”
“So…”
“They were really impressed.” His expression had changed as he let go of his disapproval. He looked almost sheepish now, as if he were a little embarrassed by admitting he was pleased by something he’d worked so hard to make happen. “They’re going to give me that project and probably some more responsibilities.”
She squealed in excitement, forgetting their little squabble, and threw herself at him in a hug. He hugged her back, and she could feel some sort of shuddering excitement in his body.
He was more pleased by the outcome of the meeting than he would ever say out loud.
“I’m so proud of you,” she said against his shoulder. “You’re going to be so good at this.”
His arms tightened briefly, but he didn’t answer. She didn’t really expect him to.
When she finally pulled away, Paul was frowning. “Did Dr. Franklin think—”
“Paul, don’t,” she interrupted, “Please. I don’t want to get all worried and depressed about the virus today. We don’t know what it means. I’ll go back on Friday. Let’s wait and see what happens. If it’s worse then, we can get worried. We've had really good news about you. I just can’t…I don’t want to get all upset about me today.”
He looked at her for a long time in silence. Then his face softened. “All right.”
She peered at him. “You’re not going to be secretly brooding, are you? I want us to have a good evening.”
“We’ll have a good evening,” he said with a smile.
She realized he was just doing what she was doing—pushing the worry to the back of his mind so it wouldn’t be a distraction. But it was the best either of them could manage. And at least they could have an evening of enjoying Paul’s victory, of enjoying each other.
She would probably have another fever tomorrow.
“What do you want to do tonight?” she asked.
His expression changed palpably, causing her to suck in her breath. “I can think of at least one thing I’d like to do tonight.”
She smiled back. Then kind of slid across the couch until she was straddling his lap. “There’s no reason to wait until tonight for that,” she murmured.
She was still tired and kind of achy. She wasn’t really in the mood for sex. But she wanted to be close to Paul, and she knew he needed this kind of release.
They hadn’t had sex since Saturday night, after she’d taunted him into chasing her in her gorgeous black dress. There was no reason why Paul needed to wait any longer for what he needed.
“Are you sure?” he asked, his hands settling on her hips. “I didn’t think you were feeling very well.”
“I feel well enough for this.” Then she kissed him.
He kissed her back, and he got urgent very quickly. It wasn’t long until he was devouring her mouth and squeezing her bottom, pressing her pelvis against the tight bulge in his trousers.
She responded with a deep swell of tenderness. Her body responded too—but much more slowly than his and much more slowly than normal.
She didn’t care. Her heart was full, and the emotion was even more potent than a physical response. Paul needed this, and she could give it to him.
She wanted to give it to him.
It wasn’t long before Paul adjusted, laying Emily down on her back on the couch and moving on top of her. They kept kissing and started to pull off each other's clothes, and then Paul was sinking inside her.
Emily still wasn’t very urgent, but she was aroused enough for it to be comfortable. And she loved the tightness of Paul’s body, his obvious need for her.
She held him with her arms and her legs as he moved eagerly inside her. She murmured out silly words of affection and encouragement as he thrust in hard, fast strokes
and grunted in primal sounds that got louder and louder.
She wasn’t going to come. But she loved it. She loved him.
“Baby?” Paul gasped, rearing up with what was obviously the last of his control. He was sweating, and his features were twisted with effort.
“I’m good,” she told him. “Come, Paul. Come.”
He might have wanted to argue, but he didn’t have enough restraint. With a muffled groan, he began to thrust again, even faster and harder than before. She squeezed him intimately and with her arms and her legs, holding him as tightly as she could since it felt like he was on the verge of breaking.
Then he broke. He let out a hoarse roar, and his face ducked into the hollow of her neck as he jerked against her with clumsy urgency.
She loved how it felt when he let go, loved how it felt when he started to relax, when his body started to soften in her arms. She loved that he needed her as much as she needed him—even though the knowledge still sent shivers of panic through her that she had to repress.
She stroked his back. He was gasping as he pulled himself together, and it took her a minute before she realized he was gasping out, “I love you, baby. I love you.”
She wanted to cry—for so many reasons. But she didn’t. She said, “I love you too.”
***
Emily stared down at the wrinkled, faded page on which were written the fourteen items of her list.
Nine of the items were crossed off. She had only two more Shakespeare plays to read, and then she could cross off the tenth item. But that left four more remaining.
Part of her wanted to put the list away—fold it up and put it back into the nightstand drawer where she kept it. She wanted to pretend she didn’t need the list anymore, that it was no longer relevant since she was being cured by the experimental treatments.
But the weight in her gut that never really went away told her she did still need her list. She’d gotten so far already, and she didn’t want to die without completing it.
She wasn’t sure how long she had left to live.