Listed: Volume II (5 page)

He
still seemed quiet on the trip to New York on Friday. Once they were on the road,
Emily started reading him passages of
Henry IV Part 1
out loud, mostly
so they weren’t sitting in silence. She hammed it up as much as she could and
made Paul laugh with her exaggerated readings of Falstaff and Hotspur.
Eventually Paul started reading scenes with her, and they had a great time
going through the best parts of the play.

When
Paul was his warm, dry self again as they arrived at their very fancy hotel in
New York, Emily congratulated herself on a job well done.

*
* *

Emily woke up at three
o’clock on Saturday morning with her mouth so dry it hurt.

She
sat up in the dark and drank the rest of the bottle of water she’d put on her
nightstand before going to bed.

When
it was gone and she was still thirsty, she got up to go to the bathroom and
then fill up a glass with tap water. She took a few sips and decided she must
be getting spoiled, since tap water wasn’t nearly as good as the expensive
bottled water she’d grown accustomed to over the last weeks.

She
and Paul were staying in a two-room suite on one of the top floors of the
hotel. Emily had insisted that Paul have the larger room with the huge
king-sized bed because she wanted the more feminine smaller room with pale blue
walls and elegantly curved furniture. She peeked out the door to the bedroom
and saw that the lights were off in the parlor, which meant Paul must have gone
to bed.

She
couldn’t believe how dedicated he was to his new job. He’d still been working
on his laptop when she’d gone to bed at midnight.

She
was only wearing a white tank-top and a pair of pink boy-shorts, and she didn't
want to parade around Paul like that. Since he was in his room now, however,
she didn't bother putting on more clothes.

She
walked through the huge parlor—complete with a fireplace and chandelier—to the
kitchen. When she bumped into the edge of the bar, she reached over and turned
on a small lamp so she could see where she was going, and then she opened the
refrigerator to grab another bottle of water.

Her
mouth felt bone dry again, so she screwed off the top and took several cold
gulps.

She
put the water down so she could turn back off the lamp, which should have been
a simple process, but somehow she managed to knock the bottle off the counter
as she was bringing her hand back from the lamp.

The
glass bottle landed on the tile floor with a loud clatter. It didn’t break, but
it rolled across the kitchen, spilling out all the water onto the floor.

Emily
cursed under her breath and snatched up the bottle, glancing over at Paul’s
closed door. It was dead silent in the suite, and she hoped the clatter hadn’t
woken him.

She
couldn’t bring herself to leave spilled water on the floor—not in a place as
nice as this—so she grabbed a hand towel and bent down to wipe it up as best
she could.

“Emily?”
Paul’s voice came from across the parlor. “What’s wrong? Emily?”  He
sounded urgent, worried. Then the overhead lights came on.

“Nothing,”
she groaned, “I’m sorry. I’m just clumsy.” She wiped hurriedly, trying to get
it done before Paul came into the kitchen. She felt her cheeks grow warm. She
really should have put on more clothes.

She
wasn’t quick enough. Her back was to the entrance of the kitchen, but she could
feel him standing there, assessing the situation, including the empty bottle of
water, the wet floor, and Emily's hurried wiping.

And
very likely her overexposed butt.

“I’m
sorry,” she repeated, finishing up the floor before she turned around to see
his expression. “I didn’t mean to wake you up. You can go back to bed.”

“You
should have turned the lights on. Why were you trying to grope around in the
dark?”

“I
had the lamp on. I’d just turned it off before I knocked over the water.” She
finished wiping and straightened up, hanging the towel on the side of the sink.
“Your sage advice is much appreciated, though,” she added sarcastically,
deciding she wasn't going to be self-conscious about her sleepwear. He saw her
in her pajamas all the time, and this wasn't that much worse.

She
turned around then but froze when her eyes landed on Paul.

She’d
always only seen him fully dressed, and it was somehow shocking to see him now,
shirtless and wearing nothing but pajama pants. Her eyes automatically
registered the sight of his smooth shoulders, strong arms, efficiently sculpted
chest, and hard abdomen. His black pajama pants were made of a very soft, thin
fabric, and they molded the powerful contours of his legs.

They
were also riding low on hips, and there was something mesmerizing about the way
his lean abdomen tapered down to the waistline of his pants, as if the rippling
lines of his body were leading her eyes down on purpose.

Emily
gulped and turned away, pretending to wipe her damp hands on a dry towel. She
suddenly felt hot and jittery, and it was a highly unsettling feeling. She’d
found men attractive before, of course, but she’d never felt so tense and
heated just from the sight of a man’s bare chest.

“Are
you feeling all right?” Paul asked, walking over to pick up the towel and wipe
some water Emily hadn’t noticed off the counter.

“Yeah.
Just needed some water. Sorry about all the ruckus.” She glanced over her
shoulder to look at him again, and this time she got the profile view,
highlighting his flat belly and the curve of his tight ass, since he'd turned
slightly away from her too. Her eyes darted down, quite unconsciously, to his
groin. He didn't have a hard-on or anything, of course, but the soft fabric
didn’t leave anything to the imagination, and she definitely saw
something
there.

She
flashed briefly to the idea that they were married. They could be having sex.
They could have sex tonight, if both of them wanted to.

She
wanted to have sex with him, a lot more now than she had when they’d first wed.
She hadn’t known Paul as well before, so it was sex in general she was
interested in. Now, however, she really liked him. And she really liked the
idea of sex with him.

Seeing
him like this made her
body
like the idea of sex with him.

But
they’d taken sex off the table until her eighteenth birthday. It had been hard
enough to bring the topic up the first time and mortifying when he'd rejected
her, so there was no use to even think about it again until she turned
eighteen. She wasn't sure if she'd be able to work up the courage even then.

“I
thought you’d already got a bottle of water before bed,” Paul said with a
frown.

She
rolled her eyes, her unexpected physical response to him making her feel
flustered and a little irritable. “I finished that one and needed another.”

She
turned around to face him again, determined not to act like a trembling virgin
just because Paul appeared without a shirt. He would probably be appalled if he
knew the direction of her thoughts.

She
saw him draw his eyebrows together. “Are you okay? Do you have a—”

“I
don’t have a fever,” she snarled, “I’m just thirsty. Stop fussing.”

Paul
blinked at her tone.

“Sorry,”
she said, tempering her voice and feeling like an ungrateful ass. “I’m really
fine. Sorry I woke you.”

He
gave a half-shrug and walked over to the refrigerator himself, evidently
deciding he wanted water too since he was up and they were talking about it.

Emily
couldn’t help but check out his bare back, since she was offered the view. The
strong lines of his shoulders and the planes of his back were graceful and
powerful—nothing over-developed or ungainly about him. But Emily was
immediately distracted by something else.

She
gasped loudly and stepped toward him. “God, Paul, what happened?”

“What—”
he began, glancing at her over his shoulder. Then he must have realized what
had diverted her.

He
stiffened. “It’s nothing.” He tried to turn around, but he was trapped by the
open refrigerator door and by Emily, who had moved in closer.

“
Nothing
?”
she repeated, overwhelmed by horror and outrage at the sight of the network of ragged
scars all over Paul’s lean back. The lines were white, so they must have been
old. The idea of his being hurt so badly made her sick. “This is horrible,
Paul! Who did this to you?”

“Emily,
I said it was—” Paul began, sounding awkward and uncomfortable.

As
he spoke, without any conscious volition, Emily’s hand reached out, and her
fingers traced one of the longest scar lines, just at his shoulder blade.

As
soon as she touched him, Paul broke off his words and jerked away, his sudden
motion causing the bottles in the refrigerator door to clatter. “It’s no big
deal,” he gritted out, pushing her backward slightly so he could close the
door. “Don’t be melodramatic.”

“Melodramatic?”
she repeated in astonishment. Her heart throbbed and her vision almost blurred
as she tried to process his being hurt so badly. This was so much different
than the faint bruises he’d noticed on her arm a week ago. “Paul, please, what
happened?”

Paul’s
tight face softened slightly, but he stood with his back against the counter, evidently
so she couldn’t see the scars. “It’s really not as bad as it looks. Several
years ago, I…I fell.”

Her
mouth dropped open. “Fell on what?”

“Against
the doors of a china cabinet.” He swallowed, not meeting her eyes. “The glass
panes shattered.”

Emily
covered her mouth with her hand, the visual his words had evoked appalling.
“How did you fall?”

Someone
wouldn’t accidentally fall backward into a china cabinet.

When
he didn’t answer, she asked, “Did he…did he push you?”

“He
didn’t mean to. We were arguing, and I got in his face. He never hit me or
anything.”

Her
heart almost broke at the sight of his stiff, guarded face.

Emily
had lost her father, but he had loved her.

Poor
Paul hadn’t been so lucky.

She
couldn’t believe she’d thought his life was easy—just a few weeks ago.

“It’s
not as bad as it looks,” Paul said again, his eyes darting over to check her
expression. “All the cuts were fairly superficial.”

“Superficial?”
she breathed, stepping over to the counter and nudging him away so she could
see again.

The
scars crisscrossed his whole back, some thicker than others, and she’d never
known his back was torn up this way.

“Do
they hurt?” she asked softly, tracing the line of one of them gently with her
fingers, even though he’d pulled away from her before. It was a stupid
question, but her heart ached for him. Something tender and protective rose up
inside her, stronger than anything she’d experienced before.

“Not
anymore.” He stood very stiffly with his head lowered, but he didn’t jerk away
this time.

She
followed the line of another scar, brushing it with her fingertips. Then found
another one, lower, near his waistband, that looked deeper and more jagged than
the rest. His skin was warm and firm, even at the scars. She had no idea why
she felt compelled to touch them—just wished her touch had the power to heal.
“Oh, Paul,” she murmured, “I’m so sorry.”

She
heard his breath hitch strangely, and he muttered, “Emily, please don’t.” He
took a couple of awkward steps away from her. He opened the refrigerator again
and stared inside, as if he remembered he’d never gotten his bottle of water.

Emily
gazed at him, bewildered and disoriented. He’d sounded almost bad-tempered with
her, and it hurt her feelings. She made herself think through it rationally,
though, and she realized she’d pushed too hard, forced an emotional intimacy on
him that he wasn’t comfortable with.

Just
because stroking his scars made her feel like she was somehow helping him
didn’t mean that was what Paul himself would want. She’d gone way beyond the
bounds of their relationship. They didn't pour their hearts out to each other.
They respected each other's privacy, and they didn't make each other
uncomfortable.

She
had no idea what she was thinking in trying to do all three just now.

“Sorry,”
she mumbled, “I didn’t mean to pry.”

He
shook his head, a little jerkily, still staring into the refrigerator. Only his
head and shoulders were visible above the door, so she could no longer see most
of his scars. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Can
I have a bottle of water?” she asked, since that was her purpose in coming out
here at all.

He
handed her one without comment. Then told her goodnight. And he was still
standing there staring into the refrigerator when Emily hurried into her room
to hide.

*
* *

Things returned to
normal in the morning.

When
Emily woke up, she lay in bed for a few minutes and reoriented herself.