Listed: Volume IV by Noelle Adams Page B

moment.
    “Yeah,”
he managed to say.
    His
body had relaxed, his arousal had softened. He felt deliciously sated.
    “Are
you sure?” she asked.
    He
kissed her neck a little clumsily but couldn’t seem to focus enough yet to have
a real conversation. “Yeah. Give me a minute.” She didn’t understand—she
couldn’t understand—how much sex with her took out of him.
    It
leveled him. Physically and emotionally.
    After
a minute, he managed to pull out of her. He rolled over onto his back,
exhausted and replete. He turned his head to smile at her.
    She
smiled back and scooted over so she was cuddled up at his side. Instead of
wrapping an arm around his middle like she normally did, she lay on her back so
she could look at the sky too.
    “We’re
pretty good together,” she said. “At least, I think so.”
    “No
doubt about it.” Then, because he felt like she needed to know it, even if it
made him more vulnerable than he was comfortable with, he added, “Best sex I’ve
ever had.”
    When
she brightened with pleasure and surprise, he was glad he’d told her the truth.
    But
then her mouth quirked. “Me too.”
    He
chuckled and squeezed her with one arm.
    “Have
you ever seen stars like this?” she asked, gazing up at the sky.
    “Never,”
he admitted.
    “Thanks
for taking me here.” She turned her head for just long enough to press a kiss
on his shoulder.
    Paul
released a long breath, trying to force from his mind the bleak reality he knew
was waiting for him when he returned to Philadelphia. He felt too good—Emily felt
too good beside him—for him to process all of that now.
    All
he said was, “Thanks for taking me .”
    ***
    They got home from PEI
at around ten o’clock on Sunday evening.
    Paul
was usually pleased to return to the apartment—since it was as close to home
now as anywhere else—but tonight he felt a deep heaviness sink onto him as soon
as they walked in the door.
    The
art and furnishings were familiar and in their usual pristine order, since Ruth
had come by earlier in the day to clean, stock the refrigerator, and put fresh
flowers in the vases. Camping had been surprisingly enjoyable and intimate,
despite the few inevitable annoyances, but it hadn’t felt real. Returning to Philadelphia
was like returning to the real world.
    And
Paul had trouble thinking of anything but the fact that time was running out
for Emily. She had a virus no one knew how to fight, a virus that was killing
her more and more every day.
    There
was nothing he could do to stop it.
    As
soon as they’d gotten home, he’d gone to the study and called the private
investigation firm. He’d been told—not for the first time—that they would have
some progress to report by Wednesday, as promised. Then he’d called Dr.
Franklin, who had told Paul what he always told him. He was looking, but so far
there was nothing to try except the very unlikely long-shots.
    Those
calls were the only direct action Paul could take about finding a cure for
Emily. So he sat behind his desk for almost a half-hour, staring blindly at his
computer screen and trying to suppress his stewing angst and frustration.
    His
father might have the answer, but he’d vowed never to ask his father for
anything again. That vow was as close to the core of his being as anything was.
    But
he couldn’t lose Emily. He just couldn’t.
    He wouldn’t .
    There
had to be something he could do to save her.
    Even
if he couldn’t keep her in his home, in his bed, in his life forever, at least
she would be alive. At least she could be happy.
    And
now there was something else, nudging at the back of his mind. He couldn’t let
himself think too far about this new possibility—since the faint hope hurt him
so much—but he couldn’t help but occasionally wonder whether, if Emily lived,
she might be persuaded to stay with him as his wife after all.
    She
obviously cared about him. Maybe…maybe…
    It
hurt too much to even hope.
    And
he had to save her