Free Listed: Volume II by Noelle Adams Page A

clothes—a white tank-top and pale blue cotton sleep
shorts. “Do you need help?”
    She
shook her head and groped for the clothes, wanting to give him some sort of thanks
but not having the energy.
    He
only shut the bathroom door partway on his way out, but she barely noticed. She
dragged off her top and pants and was finally able to take off her damned bra.
After she dropped the clothes on the floor in a heap, she pulled on the much
cooler tank and shorts.
    She
rallied herself enough to stand and then limped out to the bedroom.
    Paul
was waiting, and he put his arm around her again to support her on her way back
to the bed.
    He
was hot—way too hot—and his arm at her waist was way too tight. She didn’t like
it. She wanted it off her. But some vague awareness that he was trying to help
made her bite her lip instead of snap at him to get away from her.
    “Try
to drink some water,” Paul said gently, handing her a fresh, cool bottle after
she’d sat down on the edge of the bed.
    She
obediently took several cold swigs, although she choked on the last one and the
coughing hurt her entire body.
    “And
you can take some Tylenol now,” he said, handing her the pills. “It should
help.”
    She
didn’t want to swallow anything else, and she couldn’t seem to focus enough to
coordinate her hand. One of the pills fell onto the floor, and she almost
yelled at Paul since it felt like his fault for giving them to her.
    He
leaned down to pick the pill up so at least she didn’t have to do that.
    She
was flushed and perspiring from new waves of heat by the time she’d swallowed
the pills and was able to lie down.
    Paul
tried to cover her up, but she yanked the covers out of his hand and kicked
them down to the bottom of the bed.
    She
thought she’d made him mad—which was, for some reason, a satisfying
thought—when he walked away from the bed. But he returned in just a moment and
put a wonderfully cool washcloth on her forehead.
    Emily
released a raspy sigh as he wiped at her hot face. She closed her eyes and
breathed deeply, thinking if she was perfectly still maybe everything wouldn’t
hurt so much.
    It
wasn’t long before the coolness became too cool. She mumbled out a wordless
complaint as she felt the cold cloth on her neck, and her skin broke out in
goose bumps. The wet cloth went away, and she groped blindly for the covers,
but they were too far down the bed for her to reach. She writhed restlessly,
her bare skin exposed to the cool of the room.
    Then
Paul pulled up the blankets and she was warm again. She tried to thank him—not
because she felt grateful but because she was fuzzily aware that it was
something civilized people were supposed to do—but all she heard was a hoarse
mumble come out of her mouth.
    Then
he wasn’t standing next to the bed anymore, and it was a relief. She hoped he’d
gone away.
    She
peeked out from under her lashes and saw that he hadn’t left the room after
all. He was sitting on a chair, not far from the bed, with a book opened on his
lap.
    But
he wasn’t reading the book. He was just watching her.
    He
was full of heat. He was making it hot in the room. Even his eyes were making
her hotter. She grumbled under her breath and turned over on her other side,
with her back to him so she wouldn’t get the full-force of his heat.
    This
was her room. He shouldn’t be sitting here. The chair must be uncomfortable,
and he didn’t have anything to do but stare at her. He should go into another
room where he could work or watch television.
    She
didn’t want him here. He was making her hot.
    *
* *
    Emily was smothering.
She was smothering . She couldn’t breathe through the heat bearing down
on her.
    She
couldn’t breathe. She needed help. She needed help .
    “Help!”
she gasped through parched lips. Her body arched up with the panic of
awareness.  It was dark. She was alone. And she was dying.
    “Paul,
help!”
    “I’m
here,” she heard. “It’s okay. I’m here.” Then