Listed: Volume III (14 page)

She
opened the box very slowly and gazed down at a deceptively simple diamond and
emerald bracelet. He’d looked all over the place for an antique bracelet to
match her ring and necklace, but everything was either ugly or unwearably
ornate. So he’d resigned himself to a custom bracelet that would work with her
other jewelry but she would still feel comfortable wearing. It was an elegant
platinum strand of alternating square diamonds and emeralds.

In
his search, he’d seen several other pieces of jewelry—beautiful and full of
character—that he’d wanted to buy for her, but he’d been afraid she wouldn’t
accept them. Since this bracelet would work with the jewelry she already had,
he didn’t think she would refuse it.

When
she just stared down at the bracelet, he started to get nervous. “I think it
will match,” he said at last, “But if you don’t like it—”

“Don’t
like it?” she choked, finally looking up at him. “It’s beautiful, Paul. But you
shouldn’t have—”

“Of
course, I should have. It’s your birthday.”

He
stood up and went over to take the bracelet out of the box. Since she was
sitting on her knees on the ground to unwrap her presents, he lowered himself
to his knees beside her. He delicately placed the bracelet around her left
wrist and clasped it.

The
lights on the patio glinted on the stones of her ring and her bracelet, set off
by her fair skin. They both gazed down at the effect.

“It’s
perfect,” Emily said, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him into a
soft hug. “You really shouldn’t spoil me so much. But thank you, thank you,
thank you!”

Paul
hugged her back, pleased that she’d appreciated his efforts. He ignored her
admonishment about spoiling her. Of course, he was supposed to do that. If
anyone deserved it, Emily did.

*
* *

Emily was taking a shower
when Paul came into their bedroom that evening. He blinked when he saw there
was a wrapped present on the bed.

He
walked over and looked down at it, even more surprised when he saw a plain white
card tucked under the blue bow on which was handwritten in Emily's script,
“Paul.”

Since
the gift was obviously for him, he untied the bow and slid his fingers under
the folds of paper to unwrap it.

Inside
was a framed photograph of him ice-skating with Emily last week. It wasn’t the
notorious photo of them almost kissing that was plastered all over. This one
showed the two of them holding hands as they skated. They were looking at each
other, and both of them were smiling with transparent happiness.

He
had no idea how Emily had gotten it. Then he realized there was a note. He
picked it up to read.

Thank
you for making me happy. I didn’t want you to forget that you were happy with
me too, at least for a little while.

Paul
couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t swallow. The ache in his throat was unbearable.

That
pitch-black shadow in the back of his mind loomed forward to swallow him up as
he thought about a time in the future when he’d have to look back, when he’d
only be able to
remember
being happy with Emily.

He
stared at the picture for a long time. Reminded himself that he had expert
investigators looking into his father’s research facility, where they might
find a cure. Eventually he was able to force the shadow back. Eventually he was
able to breathe.

Then
Emily’s light voice came from the doorway to the bathroom, “I contacted the guy
who took that other picture. He’d taken this one too, and he sent it to me. I
thought it was nice.”

“It
is,” he said, far too hoarse.  His eyes hadn’t moved from the photo. “It is.
Thank you. You didn’t have to give me a present.”

“I
know, but it’s my birthday. I can do whatever I want.”

His
eyes cut up to her for the first time, and he swallowed hard when he saw her.
She was wearing another little gown—this one lavender and a little clingier
than the one she'd worn last night.

His
defenses had already been battered too far this evening. His body leapt to
immediate attention, and he might have made a soft sound in his throat.

Emily
came over and sat beside him on the edge of the bed. She looked down at the
picture he still held.

“Paul,”
she said. Her voice sounded a little strained, but he couldn’t think clearly
enough to figure out why. “I know that we’ve been working on the assumption
that we aren’t…that we aren’t going to consummate our marriage. And I was all
right with that, particularly when I thought you weren’t interested.”

He
stared at her, dazed and uncomprehending.

“But,”
she continued, her eyes darting self-consciously from his face to the photo, “but
it seemed like you might be interested last night. At least a little. And I would
really like to…to be married to you all the way. So I thought maybe we could talk
about …” She took a shuddering breath and looked away from him, as if she was
too embarrassed to continue. “I’m eighteen now. Does it make any difference to
you?”

He
kept staring at her, trying to process whether she was saying what he thought
she was saying, what he desperately
wanted
her to be saying. It
shouldn’t matter—he should be strong enough to resist no matter what.

But
he just wasn’t.

He
wanted her desperately, and she seemed to be offering him exactly what he
wanted.

“I’ll
understand if it’s not what you want,” she hurried on, when he didn’t answer.
“And if you say no, I promise I’ll never bring it up again. I don’t want to
make you feel guilty or awkward or anything. You’ve done so much for me. You
don’t have to do this, unless…unless you want to.”

He
knew he needed to say something, since her voice had grown stretched and
uncertain. His mind and body had started to throb in excitement, in hunger, in
a thrilled kind of satisfaction.

He
wanted her. So much. And she could be his.

“Paul?”
she prompted, peering at his face now. Her hands were twisting nervously in her
lap.

It
was that last sign of her nervousness that finally prodded him into action. He
reached over and covered both of her hands with one of his. “I do. I do want
to.”

She
gasped, her face transforming with a slow kind of excitement. “Really?”

He
nodded, a little stiffly. He couldn’t believe this was actually happening. “I
do. Want you.”

Her
hands had shifted in his grip until both of hers were clutching his. “So we
can…”

“Yes.”

“Tonight?”

Paul
swallowed hard, the shattered remnants of his old defenses now in rubble at his
feet. He didn't even care. “Tonight. If you’re sure it’s what you want.”

“I’m
sure,” she said, her face glowing in that way that had always taken his breath
away. “I want you too.”

Paul
wasn’t sure who moved first—he thought it was probably him—and they were
suddenly kissing.

Since
they were sitting side by side on the edge of the bed, he took Emily’s head in
both of his hands and pulled her toward him more closely, brushing against her
lips lightly with his and then sinking into a deeper kiss.

Her
arms wrapped around his neck, and she made a pretty moan in the back of her
throat as his tongue stroked her lips, her tongue, the inside of her mouth. A
swell of pleasure and primitive pride rose up inside him when he heard the
husky sound she made and felt her body respond eagerly to his embrace. He was
already hard, but his arousal intensified as the kiss grew deeper and more
urgent.

When
he felt one of Emily’s hands stroking the sensitive skin at the nape of his
neck, the stimulation was so torturously good that his hips gave a tight,
involuntary buck, causing him to momentarily lose his stability and fall
backward onto the bed. Emily moved with him, passionate and eager. She found
his mouth again and continued the kiss, rubbing herself against him, her
breasts against his chest and her pelvis against the bulge in his trousers.

Paul
almost lost it then and there, his body wound so tightly from weeks of wanting
her desperately. He pulsed with need, possessiveness, and satisfaction at
finally being able to touch her, to feel her, to
have
her this way.

The
spasm of hot tension in his groin, warning of an involuntary release, broke
through the blur of his feelings. He tore his mouth away and stared up at her
as she sprawled on top of him.

Both
of them were gasping, but Emily’s flushed face suddenly twisted with distressed
frustration. “Please don’t stop, Paul,” she rasped, her hands fisting in his
shirt. “Please don’t stop again.”

“I’m
not stopping. Not for long, anyway. I just need to think for a minute. We need
to…” He was vastly relieved when she hauled herself into a sitting position on
the bed, her legs folded and tucked under her butt. Freed of her weight and her
irresistibility on top of him, Paul found some leverage with this legs, which
were still hanging over the side of the bed, and sat up too. “We just need to
take a minute first.”

“Okay,”
Emily said. Her mouth gave an unexpected little quirk. “I guess I can refrain
from jumping you for a few more minutes. As long as it’s just a
few
.”

He
gave an involuntary breath of laughter at her wry humor, which did nothing to
help the tenuous condition of his arousal.

He
was suddenly absolutely certain that he wouldn’t be able to last through a
couple of minutes of foreplay, much less any sort of satisfying intercourse. It
was painful to admit such a thing to Emily, whom he only wanted to impress, but
it was better than embarrassing himself completely before he managed to get his
clothes off.

“I’m
going to take a quick shower,” he forced out, rubbing some of the perspiration
off his forehead. “I’m not sure I smell very good and—”

“You
smell fine,” Emily interrupted, looking highly indignant either at the
suggestion that he was less than fragrant or at the idea of waiting until he’d
taken a shower, “You don’t need a shower.”

Touched
at her response despite his physical condition, Paul explained the truth. “I
won’t be long. But, if I don’t take the edge off first, this is not going to be
very satisfying for you.”

She
stared at him for a minute. Then her face transformed with understanding, with
a touch of self-consciousness, and with something like pleased pride. “Oh.
Well, you don’t need to do it in the shower. I’m happy to help you—“

Paul
leaned over to give her a quick kiss. “I appreciate the offer, but I’ll feel
better if I have a shower anyway. I’ll just be a minute.”

“Okay.”
She watched him as he stood up, holding himself very tensely, “You’re not going
to change your mind in there, are you?”

“I’m
not going to change my mind.”

Paul
took a few deep breaths when he closed the bathroom door and turned on the
shower. He desperately needed to pull himself together if he was going to make
it through the evening with any sort of pride intact and if he was going to
please Emily the way she deserved.

He
took care of himself under the spray, coming embarrassingly quickly at the
image of Emily waiting for him in his bed—flushed, tousled, and impatient in
her little nightgown. He lathered up efficiently and rinsed off. When he
stepped out of the shower to dry off, he felt more like himself.

And
he’d realized a couple of things they needed to talk about before they got
swept away by lust again.

He
pulled on a pair of pajama pants before he left the bathroom. When he opened
the door, he saw that Emily had gotten off the bed. She’d put the clothes she’d
been wearing earlier in a hamper and she’d set the gift and card she’d given
him on the dresser. Now she was turning on the bedside lamp.

She
turned around when he emerged and gave him a narrow-eyed look of scrutiny.

“I
said I wasn’t going to change my mind,” he told her. “Don’t look so
suspicious.”

“Well,
I hoped not, but I wasn’t sure.” She sat down on the edge of the bed. She was
smiling at him, but she also looked a little self-conscious. And a little
nervous.

Paul
went over to sit down next to her. “Do we need to use some sort of protection?”
he asked, trying not to hold his breath. He wasn’t sure if there were any
condoms in this house, since he hadn’t lived here for years, but he’d make sure
he found some if Emily wanted him to.

She
shook her head. “Obviously, I wouldn’t want to get pregnant only to die in a
few months, but I’m infertile, remember?  And since you haven’t slept around in
a while and since disease is kind of a moot point for me anyway, we should be
fine.”

He
nodded slowly. “Are you a virgin?”

Her
cheeks reddened even more, but she met his gaze in almost a challenge. “Yes.”

Paul
knew he shouldn’t be pleased. It was an irrational, archaic, unworthy response.

But
he was.