Listed: Volume III

This book is a
work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of
the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual
events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Copyright © 2013
by Noelle Adams. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce,
distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means.

The author
acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following
wordmarks referenced in this work of fiction: Tylenol, Advil, and Dom Pérignon.

Contents

Seven

Eight

Publishing Schedule

Emily woke up slowly,
painfully.

The
sensations of heat and discomfort were the first things to break through the
dark blur of sleep. Then she was aware of a voice saying, “Emily. I’m sorry. Let
me get you to bed and you can go to sleep again.”

She
knew the voice, of course, but she was too groggy and disoriented to figure out
where she was, when it was, and why the voice was talking to her. She felt so
hot that her mind jumped to Egypt, and she wondered if she’d somehow fallen
asleep next to a pyramid.

“Huh?”
she managed to grunt, struggling to open her eyes. Her head ached. Her body ached.
Even her eyes ached as she tried to pry them open.

“I’m
sorry,” Paul said again. “I just need to get you to bed.”

His
fuzzy face gradually sharpened into focus. He was leaning over her. Wearing a
suit. Had a gentle look in his eyes.

Finally,
Emily remembered where she was. They were back in the apartment in Philadelphia,
and Vincent Marino’s trial started this morning.

Jittery
nerves had gotten her up early, so she’d showered and dressed in one of the new
suits for the trial Paul had convinced her to buy yesterday. She’d had a
headache so she’d drunk several cups of coffee and made herself eat a decent
breakfast, but she’d still been ready to leave early, so she’d sat down on the
couch to watch the news. She must have fallen asleep.

“No,
I’m not going to bed,” she mumbled, trying to process what Paul had just said.
“I’m going to court with you.”

“You
can’t.” Paul helped her sit up. “You’re sick.”

She’d
had that headache this morning, but she was sure she hadn’t had a fever. Now,
however, even the change in positions made her head whirl, and she was so hot
she breathed in little pants. She rubbed her eyes and tried to make herself
focus. “I don’t think I’m sick.”

“Your
fever must have spiked really fast,” he explained, taking her arm and pulling
her up to her feet. “You seemed all right earlier, but I just took your
temperature. It’s already almost 102
⁰
.”

“It
is?” she asked, still feeling fuzzy and bewildered, even as she walked slowly
with Paul toward her bedroom. “It can’t be. I can’t be sick again so soon.”

“I’m
sorry,” Paul repeated, his voice very mild. “I’ve called the nurse, and she’ll
be here soon.”

“You’ll
be late.” Hit with a wave of hot dizziness, Emily stopped abruptly in the
middle of the hall and clung to the lapels of Paul’s suit jacket while she
tried to breathe deeply.

Paul
wrapped an arm around her for support. “I’ve got time. I need to get you to
bed, and then I’ll wait for the nurse to get here.”

When
the dizziness faded some, she leaned on him until she’d reached her bed, where
she sat down with a sigh of relief. She allowed him to help her take off the
jacket of her dark blue suit and then slip off her shoes and jewelry.

“Wait,”
she said, after a minute, as she finally realized what was happening, “I need
to go to court with you.”

Paul
had gone over to the dresser and was pulling a tank-top and pair of cotton
boxer shorts from a drawer. He glanced back at her as he replied, “It’s just
jury selection today and maybe opening statements if they choose the jury
quickly enough. It’s nothing you need to be there for.”

“I
need to be there with
you
,” she said, blinking at him groggily and
wishing her head didn’t ache so much. “You can’t go by yourself.”

 Paul
returned to stand beside her. “You need to rest—not worry about me. I’ll be
fine.”

He
reached down to unbutton her top, since Emily hadn’t gotten any farther with
her undressing. Relieved to get the hot, confining clothes off, she tugged her top
off and unhooked her bra. She automatically held an arm in front of her bare
breasts, even though Paul was looking away as he silently offered her the
tank-top.

She
experienced another wave of heat and was glad to be in cooler clothes. The
feverish sensations were familiar, though, and they caused her stomach to twist
unpleasantly. “Shit, I don’t want to do this again.” She slid her skirt down
her legs.

“I
know. I’m sorry.”

After
she’d put on the shorts he’d found in the drawer, Emily started pulling out the
pins that were holding her hair up, setting them down on the nightstand. Paul
went into her bathroom, and she didn’t know why until he returned with two
elastic bands for her hair.

She
finger-combed her hair into two loose ponytails, which had been the only
hairstyle that hadn’t driven her crazy during her last bout of fever. Then she
lay down on the bed and pulled the covers up, a knot of dread in her gut.

She
knew what to expect this time, and the knowledge of how miserable she would
feel for the next twenty-four hours terrified her.

Paul
brought her some Advil and a fresh bottle of water. After she’d swallowed the
pills, he stood next to the bed and looked down at her.

He
was cool and handsome with his black suit and tie. His dark hair and gray eyes
were distinct and striking. His expression was controlled and unrevealing.

But
as Emily looked up at him, she thought for some reason he looked really young.
Almost lonely.

“I
should be with you today,” she whispered, even though she knew she wasn’t
physically capable of it.

Paul
gave her a small smile. “I’ll be fine. Try to rest.”

Emily
closed her eyes, fighting the urge to cry. For the last several days she’d felt
almost normal, seeing Egypt, laughing and arguing with Paul, dealing with the
frustration of growing more and more attracted to him with no outlet for that
attraction.

But
now she was sick again, and Paul had that gentle look in his eyes
again—treating her like an invalid instead of a regular woman.

Plus,
Emily had endless hours of pain and suffering to look forward to, instead of
being with her husband at a time when he would really need her support.

There
was nothing she could do about it, though. She felt absolutely miserable, so
she tried to do as he’d suggested and rest.

*
* *

The morning wasn’t as
bad as it could have been.

Paul
had gone through an agency to find professional nurses to care for her, and
he’d picked out one to watch her during the days and another one during the
nights when she was sick. They’d met and interviewed both of them the afternoon
before they’d left for Egypt, and Emily could already tell they’d chosen well.

Amy,
her day nurse, was a plain woman in her mid-thirties. She was professional and
matter-of-fact, rather than gentle and maternal, but she had a sense of humor
and obviously knew what she was doing.

More
than once, Emily was surprised when Amy predicted her needs before she could
even ask. Emily felt terrible all morning, but her fever never spiked past 103
⁰
—which
she thought might be because Amy was so good at keeping her as comfortable as
possible.

Emily
was able to doze off for most of the morning, and she was lying in a
semi-conscious drowse when she became aware of the nurse wiping her hot face
with a cool washcloth.

It
felt good. Emily would have dozed off again without stirring, but something
felt different about the way the wet cloth stroked her face. It felt softer,
gentler. Then a few strands of loose hair were brushed away from her face, the
light touch almost a caress.

Emily’s
eyes flew open.

Paul
sat on the edge of her bed, his eyes uncharacteristically tender as he continued
to wipe her hot face with the washcloth.

She
smiled up at him without thinking, since she didn’t feel too terrible at the
moment and she was glad to see him.

Paul
smiled back. “How are you feeling?”

“Okay.”
Then she realized what his presence here meant. “Wait. You shouldn’t be here.
You need to be at court.”

“They
recessed for lunch, so I came to see how you’re doing.”

“I’m
okay.” She arched her neck as he slid the washcloth down her neck and then
around to the nape, the cool moisture feeling incredibly good. “Where’s Amy?”

“I
gave her a break.” Paul rewetted the washcloth in a bowl of ice water that Amy
had set on a small folding table near the bed. Then he brought it back to wipe
her face again.

“But
you need a break too.” Emily was getting a little chilly, so she pulled the
blankets up to her shoulders. “You should go have—”

“I’ll
grab some lunch on the way back to court. How do you like Amy?”

“I
like her a lot. She’s good. She’s quiet and stays out of the way, so she hardly
ever bugs me. But she has good ideas to make me feel better. She gave me a bath
with lemon and eucalyptus oils that worked really well.”

“Good,”
Paul murmured. He must have realized she was getting cool because he put up the
washcloth. “You seem in better spirits than last time.”

“I
suppose that means I’m not as grumpy. My fever isn’t as high yet, and you’re
catching me at a good moment. I wasn’t exactly sweetness and light all
morning.”

“I’m
glad you’re doing all right. I was worried about you.”

“You
shouldn’t be worried about me. You’ve got the trial to worry about. How’s jury
selection going?”

“It’s
taking a long time, so it looks like opening arguments won’t start until
tomorrow.”

The
achiness of her body intensified so quickly it almost overwhelmed her, and she
had to fight desperately to remain focused on the conversation. “How are
you
?”
she managed to ask. “Are you doing all right?”

“I’m
fine.”

“And…and
your dad?”

Paul
glanced away. It took him a long time to answer, during which Emily suffered
from consecutive waves of hot and cold. Finally he muttered, “He hasn’t looked
at me. Not once.”

Emily
felt a flood of pity, so strong it vied with her physical discomfort. She
dragged her hand out from under the blanket and fumbled it around until she
found Paul’s arm. She squeezed it. “I’ll go with you tomorrow,” she told him
hoarsely, using the last of her strength.

She
was suddenly too hot again, so she pushed down the blankets impatiently and
tried to breathe deeply.

Paul
didn’t say anything, which was a relief. So was the wet cloth he started to
wipe her face with again.

*
* *

Emily’s fever rose in
the afternoon, but it didn’t spike so high that she became delirious. She was
exhausted and aching and ready for it to be over by the time Paul returned at
five-thirty, but her fever showed no signs of breaking.

She
tried to pull it together enough to ask how things went and discover how Paul
was doing, but she just couldn’t concentrate for long enough to have a real
conversation. Even though she'd been given excellent care all day, everything
was getting on her nerves now, and she was cranky with both Paul and Amy.

She
tossed and turned and tried to get comfortable, and she snapped at anyone who
tried to help her. She wanted desperately to sleep, but she felt too bad to do
anything except fall into a hot, restless doze. The approaching night rose up
before her like a bleak, endless nightmare.