by Noelle Adams
It wasn’t even eleven yet, but Paul was feeling tired and decided that going to bed a little early wasn’t a bad idea.
He looked around the bedroom. The large, four-poster bed was beautifully made up with elegant bedding. There was a Renaissance tapestry on one wall, and a huge, Edwardian, gilt-framed mirror on the opposite wall above the dresser.
He took off his shoes, socks and belt and glanced over at the closed door that led into the connecting bathroom. When Emily came out, he would need to take a shower and not just because he’d had a long day.
It was getting harder and harder for him to keep his feelings for and responses to her under control. Telling himself rational truths about her age, her illness, and the shortness of their marriage didn’t seem to work like it used to. He used to have strong defenses against the temptation she posed to him, but his defenses were getting more and more battered.
It felt like Emily was his.
And Paul wanted to make her his all the way.
He’d reached behind his back to grab a fistful of his t-shirt to pull it off when Emily came out of the bathroom.
“Hey,” she said, “Did you eat?”
“I ate. I didn’t dare risk your wrath otherwise.” He dropped his arm and turned around to look at her as he spoke with a teasing quirk of his mouth.
She was laughing softly at his comment, and her sandy hair was hanging in pretty waves around her shoulders, but she wasn’t wearing any of her normal pajamas.
She wore a little nightgown. It was simple and casual—made of gray cotton knit with thin straps. Its only ornamentation was a slim ribbon that tied just under her breasts, but the simple silhouette flattered her small, lush figure, and the flutter of the fabric around her thighs made him gulp.
There was no way to mistake the gown for an attempt to be seductive or tempting. It was just as casual as most of the other nightwear she wore.
But it worked on Paul anyway. His body immediately tightened at the sight of her, and he felt an almost painful tug of desire at his groin.
Afraid she would recognize his reaction, he turned around to face the dresser. He took off his watch and set it down, mostly for something to do.
“I’m not really very wrathful, you know,” she said, responding to the earlier comment he’d almost forgotten. She obviously had no idea how absolutely irresistible he was finding her at the moment. “At least, as long as you do what you’re supposed to do.”
He gave a huff of amusement, since he knew that was the appropriate response. He was having a world of trouble not leering at her reflection in the wall mirror.
“Sorry I took so long in the bathroom,” she said. “Were you waiting long?”
“No.” His voice was too hoarse, but he couldn’t seem to clear it. “I just got up here.” To give credence to his words, he grabbed the back of his shirt again and this time actually pulled it off over his head. He opened a drawer to find a pair of pajama pants to wear to bed.
Emily’s breath hitched audibly. “Oh, Paul,” she murmured, the words almost a caress.
He looked at her over his shoulder in confusion before he remembered it was safer not to look at her at the moment.
“Your back,” she explained, obviously reading his puzzled expression. She walked over until she was standing behind him. “I’d forgotten how awful those scars are.”
He swallowed and looked down into his drawer again. “You see me without a shirt every night.”
“But you’re always in bed already, and it’s dark.” She reached out and lightly touched his shoulder, tracing the line of what he knew was a scar.
He hated those scars on his back. They reminded him of his father, and he knew he’d have them for life. “Probably better not to spend much time staring at them,” he muttered, self-conscious about Emily’s eyes on his mangled back.
In general, his body was nothing to sneer at, and he’d been working out a lot lately so his muscle development was even better than normal. But naturally Emily would be diverted to the ugliest part of his anatomy.
Emily gently stroked another scar, her fingertips light, soft, triggering nerve endings that made Paul’s body tighten with even more carnal interest.
He was about to pull away. It was like the last time she saw his scars in New York—his physical response mingling with his emotional response to her deep sympathy and then leading to the utter undoing of his control. He just couldn’t risk it. Not when they were sharing a room, sharing a bed. Not when she was looking like that.
But Emily was still caressing his back, gliding her fingers over the sensitive skin and scar tissue, arousing him deeply. His partial erection hardened so quickly it hurt. “I’m so sorry he did this to you, Paul. I can’t stand that he did this to you.”
Paul lowered his head, closed his eyes, clenched his hands around the edge of the drawer as a last ditch effort to maintain control. He wanted her compassion, her understanding, her tenderness—as much as he wanted her body.
And the fact that all of that—all of her—was just behind him, reaching out, caressing him, was almost more than he could resist.
His arousal throbbed painfully in his trousers, and he felt his face break out in a sweat.
He was actually shaking with the restraint it took for him to hold himself back from grabbing her, kissing her, carrying her over to their bed so he could slake his need in her at last.
“Emily,” he said, his voice noticeably thick. “Emily, please don’t.”
Her hand dropped. “What’s wrong?”
He couldn’t move, couldn’t let go of the drawer, or he would let go completely. He felt her eyes on him intently. She might be inexperienced, but she wasn’t a fool. He didn’t think it was possible for him to hide his response from her.
Not this time.
“Paul?” she breathed, stepping around so she could see his face. Her eyes scanned his face and then darted down below his chest to the obvious bulge in his pants. “Oh.”
“I’m sorry,” he managed to say.
“I didn’t…” Her voice faltered. Her eyes were lowered now, and her cheeks were very pink. “I didn’t think you were…I didn’t think you thought about me that way.”
He swallowed. He didn’t want to make her uncomfortable with him. She might be hesitant around him, might not want to sleep in his bed. But what the hell else could he say in response to her comment, when the truth was more than obvious. “I do.”
“I didn’t know.”
“It’s fine,” he said, finally letting go of the drawer and rubbing his face in an attempt to pull it together. “It’s an involuntary response. But it’s probably better you not…you not touch me like that.”
“Oh.”
He was too embarrassed and too worried about her reaction and his lack of control to study her expression. He just grabbed a pair of pajama pants. “I’m going to take a shower. There’s an easy way to take care of it. It’s nothing for you to worry about.”
“Oh. Okay.”
Paul hurried into the bathroom before he changed his mind and gave into his lesser instincts.
Emily was in bed when he came back out of the bathroom, his body clean and relaxed. He turned out the light and climbed in beside her. He knew she was awake and looking at him in the dark.
“I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable,” he said, pleased that his voice was casual and controlled, “It’s really not a big deal.”
“Okay,” she said, “Should I…”
“Should you what?”
“Should I not sleep all over you at night? I didn’t realize that—”
“It’s fine. Nothing has changed. You can do everything you’ve done before. I’ll tell you if I need you to stop.” To prove his point, he reached out for her and pulled her against his side.
She nestled against him in her favorite position. She was warm and soft against him, but his body was fortunately satisfied for the moment. He held her close.
After a stretch of silence, s
he murmured, “I didn’t think you even thought I was pretty.”
He made a choked sound of indignation. “I’ve told you plenty of times that you’re absolutely—”
“Yeah,” she broke in, “and I appreciated it. But I didn’t think you really meant it.”
Paul shook his head in the dark. She really had no idea how absolutely irresistible he found her, and the only way he’d be able to convince her was to move into territory he’d vowed to avoid.
Sometimes, lately, he couldn’t even remember all of the sound, rational reasons for not having sex with Emily he'd always lectured himself on. His defenses were getting very weak.
All he said was, “I did.”
* * *
Tears filled Paul's eyes and then streamed down his face, despite how he tried to suppress them.
He stared wetly down at the cutting board he was working on and muttered, “You gave me the onions on purpose.”
Emily laughed, working through a pile of wild mushrooms with her knife. “Of course, I did. It’s my birthday. I shouldn’t have to chop onions on my birthday.”
Paul raised one shoulder in an attempt to wipe away the tears with the sleeve of his shirt as he chopped through the onions as quickly as he could. “Is that a rule?” He sniffed as another pungent wave of onion wafted up to him. “Wow, these onions are strong.”
“It’s just common sense. You shouldn’t have to do anything unpleasant on your birthday.” Finishing her mushrooms, she grabbed a napkin and dabbed at his cheeks and eyes.
When Paul could see clearly again, he saw that Emily’s eyes were soft on his face. “I never thought I’d see you cry.”
“And all you had to do was make me chop onions.”
Emily had told Paul several times that she didn’t want to do anything special for her birthday. At breakfast that morning, she’d given him a serious look. “Paul, you’re not planning anything big today, are you? I told you I didn’t want to do anything high-maintenance. It would make me…sad.”
He’d understood and respected her wishes, although he’d really wanted to plan something elaborate to celebrate her birthday, some sort of grand gesture that would make the day special, unforgettable.
That wasn’t what she wanted, though. So, after breakfast, they’d wandered around the neighborhood and stopped by all the places she loved.
The Masons had wanted to have a birthday get-together for Emily, inviting all of her old friends, but Emily had suggested they do something casual the following day without any presents or cake, explaining that way it wouldn’t feel so much like her wake. So Paul and Emily were making dinner together tonight, and that was all the birthday celebration she wanted to have.
Paul was trying very hard not to think about the fact that Emily was finally eighteen.
And they would be sharing a bed again tonight.
Finished with the onions, Paul went over to wash his hands and wipe his eyes. “Do you want me to chop the garlic?”
“I’ve got it,” she said, going back to cloves she was pulling out of the garlic bulb. “You can get the shrimp ready.”
“It’s mostly ready. They peeled and deveined it for us already.” Paul inspected the package of large, beautiful shrimp he’d set on the counter earlier.
“Then you can get the pan ready.”
Paul obediently went over to the stove and turned on an eye to heat up the pan.
The dinner preparations continued and were mostly uneventful, with the exception of Emily’s dumping flour on the counter and getting it all over her red v-neck top and then somehow his shirt as well.
When they finished the pasta with shrimp, mushrooms and wine cream sauce, Emily prepared their plates and carried them outside to the terrace to eat. While Paul grabbed the bottle of champagne he’d chilled earlier, Emily lit candles on the table and laid out the napkins and flatware.
Emily was smiling as she started to sit down, but then she noticed Paul pick up the champagne bottle to uncork and she frowned at him suspiciously. “That looks like it might be expensive. I told you I didn’t want anything special. Just a normal dinner.”
“Of course not,” Paul lied with a quirk of his lips. “Not even mid-level.” He showed her the label, hoping she wouldn’t recognize the very exclusive brand. He’d on purpose not chosen Dom Pérignon, since she would very likely know it by reputation. “But what’s a birthday without champagne?”
Emily laughed as she watched him pop the cork and pour the bubbly wine into her crystal flute. “You’ve come a long way in your willingness to serve alcohol to a minor.”
He arched his eyebrows, making her laugh again, as he poured out champagne for himself too. It would be hypocritical for Paul to hold Emily to the drinking age, since he’d never followed it himself. Plus, not allowing Emily, in the last months of her life, to enjoy wine with a meal—one of the fundamental ways of celebrating occasions for thousands of years in human history—was simply wrong. It had only made him uncomfortable at first, since he’d been so set on thinking of her as very young.
He thought about her differently now, and she was going to have champagne on the last birthday she might ever have.
Emily was smiling at him as he sat down across the table from her. The evening was crisp but not cool, and Emily looked absolutely beautiful in the flickering shadows of the candlelight.
She picked up her champagne flute and took a sip, closing her eyes as she did.
“Good?” he asked, watching the nuances of expression cross her face.
She nodded. “It’s wonderful. Thank you.”
Paul took a sip too and allowed the bite and bright effervescence of truly excellent champagne to hit his tongue with undeniable pleasure. “Happy birthday,” he murmured, when he lowered his glass.
“Thank you,” Emily said again. “For everything. I know you wanted to do something big for my birthday, but…”
“But nothing. I wanted your birthday to be good for you, no matter what it took.”
“This is good for me, and it doesn’t feel so much like the end.”
Paul glanced away at her words. “This isn’t the end, Emily. You have months left to live. You have a lot of good things left to do. And we don’t know what will happen in the meantime.”
He didn’t say it, but she might be cured. He wasn’t giving up hope that it could happen. Sometimes, that hope was the only thing that allowed him to enjoy any of these moments. The most likely future would rise up in his mind like a pitch-black shadow, threatening to completely swallow him up. But, whenever it did, he forced it back, forced it down.
Emily might not die, and if let himself think about how he would feel if she did, he wouldn’t be able to make it through another day. He wouldn’t be able to be here for Emily now, when she needed him.
That was something he couldn’t allow.
She nodded and smiled, a little poignantly. “Anyway, I’m not going to mess up a perfectly lovely meal by dwelling on that.” She took a bite of her pasta. “I think we did a pretty good job with it.”
Dinner was good. The food was excellent and, although they were quieter than usual, the mood didn’t feel awkward or sad. When they were done, Paul made Emily stay in her seat as he went back into the kitchen to bring out the cake he’d had made for her.
It was a tiny cake—just big enough for two people. It was decadent chocolate lava cake and decorated with a single live orchid. He also told someone to bring in Emily’s birthday presents.
Emily was delighted with her cake, and she paused in front of the single candle to make a wish.
She slanted him a look that was almost shy just before she blew out the candle, and he wondered what she wished.
He knew his wish would have been for her to live a long, healthy life.
Since the cake was too messy to serve into separate plates, they both ate from the same dish. Emily moaned in pleasure over every bite. That sensual sound, combined with the sight of her tongue greedily licking at the fork and her
lips, wreaked havoc on Paul’s body.
To keep himself from doing something very stupid, he got up to bring out Emily’s presents.
She was cleaning off the plate, but she stopped, with the fork midway to her mouth, when she saw that it took Paul three trips to bring out all the presents he’d bought her.
Her mouth dropped open in shock. Then she turned to glare at him.
He had to suppress a smile of amusement, but he managed to give a nonchalant shrug. “Is there a problem?”
“I told you not to do anything big!”
“I thought you meant for a birthday party,” he said, feigning surprise. “I didn’t think I wasn’t allowed to buy you a few presents.”
Emily stared at him for a moment. Then she stared at the pile of at least sixteen wrapped boxes on the patio. Then she collapsed into laughter. “A few presents? Don’t act all innocent with me. You defied my wishes on purpose!”
“What would you expect?” he asked with a smile, feeling warm at the sight of her obvious affection for him. “What else would I do?”
Paul had been looking forward to Emily’s opening her presents since he’d bought them a couple of days ago, and he wasn’t disappointed.
She opened the biggest present first. She screamed with laughter at the top-of-the-line luxury tent she unwrapped. Most of the rest of the gifts were also camping supplies for the trip he’d planned for them to Prince Edward Island next week. She loved all of them, including the hot-water-on-demand portable water heater and the gourmet camping coffeemaker.
He’d had a lot of trouble figuring out what to buy for her birthday, since most of the things he would have naturally chosen would make her think about how little time she had left to enjoy them. The ludicrously expensive camping gear was a good choice, though, since they had an immediate occasion to use it and every new item made Emily laugh even more.
He’d gotten her a couple of other things too, though. One was a delicate music box that opened to display a crystal ice-skater who twirled to the tinkling tune of a cheesy power ballad. He’d had to commission it and pay an exorbitant amount to have it completed in time.