Listed: Volume II (14 page)

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 lot. 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.

“99
⁰
,”
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, and 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?”

Paul
swallowed hard. He wasn’t going to answer. He didn’t share this kind of thing.
With anyone.

He
heard himself mumbling, “I can’t reach him. Ever.”

Emily
made a hoarse sound of emotion and reached down to hug him tightly. He hugged
her back, needing her, needing
something
.

She
hugged him for a long time, and then she didn’t really pull away. She just
adjusted so she was nestled against his side, with her cheek against the side
of his chest and her arm wrapped around his belly—the way she’d done
unconsciously in her sleep on that first night.

Paul
draped an arm around her and held her against him. He knew he shouldn’t. He
should pull away. And, if she’d said anything, if she’d asked him any more
questions, he would have.

She
didn’t speak again, though. Just held him until she fell asleep and kept
clinging to him even in her sleep.

Paul
didn’t fall asleep again for a long time, but he took a kind of comfort from
Emily’s warm presence that he hadn’t experienced since he was a child.