Free Pictures of Emily by Theresa Weir

away, his fingers wrapped around her wrist and gently brought it toward him. With a forefinger, he touched the purple-yellow bruise left by the IV needle.
    “They had trouble finding my veins,” she said, thinking how ugly her skin must look to someone as flawlessly perfect as Sonny.
    Slowly, carefully, tenderly, he lifted her hand and pressed his lips to the bruise. With her hand still near his mouth, close enough so she could feel the stir of his breath, he looked into her eyes and said, “That’s because mermaids don’t have veins.”
    She laughed a little, but inside her heart was hammering madly. Here she was in the middle of nowhere, with a man she hardly knew. A man who was kissing her hand and staring at her with soft, heavy-lidded eyes. A man who had been labeled the sexiest man in the world, a man all women craved.
    Almost as if he read her mind, he said, “I’d never hurt you, Emily.”
    Her alarm subsided. Or had it been alarm at all? Maybe it was excitement that made her heart race and her breath catch.
    “I’d never hurt you,” he repeated. “You know that, don’t you?”
    “Yes.”
    “Good.”
    He let go of her hand. “You better get to bed. Dr. Berlin’s orders.”
    She’d been tired earlier, but now, now she was wide-awake. Emily, who had never told as much as a white lie in her life, said, “I am a little tired.”
    “The bedroom’s upstairs.” He lifted her suitcase. She thought about all the women he must know, all the women who had shared his bed. But not her. She hadn’t been brought up that way.
    “Where will you sleep?” she asked.
    His eyes went to the couch.
    “I didn’t know I’d be taking your bed. I’ll sleep on the couch.”
    “It’s okay. I can sleep anyplace.” He smiled, his eyes asking her to let it be okay.
    What could she do but smile back?
    Two days later Martin stopped by to check on his patient.
    Emily was sitting on the edge of the bed, Martin beside her while Sonny hovered anxiously in the bedroom doorway. He didn’t like the idea of Martin unbuttoning Emily’s shirt, touching Emily’s soft skin.
    Martin looked over his shoulder. “Would you give us some privacy?” he asked, his hand poised at the buttons of Emily’s shirt.
    When Emily had been discharged from the hospital, Martin had taken Sonny aside and told him that there were no restrictions, that she could do whatever she wanted as long as it didn’t entail strenuous, heavy breathing. With that, he’d winked and Sonny had ground his teeth.
    Now, thinking about that episode and Martin’s lecherous wink, Sonny was loath to leave the room. He should have taken Emily to somebody else, he thought, but knew he didn’t mean it. Martin was the best. And Martin would never do anything unethical. It was just that… damn, Sonny didn’t like him being so familiar with Emily. It scared her. Sonny could tell.
    “Do you mind?” Martin repeated.
    Emily and Martin were both watching him, Martin with a little bit of a smirk. Sonny could see that Martin knew he didn’t like him touching Emily. It was clear he found it amusing. Martin had a strange sense of humor. On the other hand, Emily’s expression was pleading and embarrassed. With her eyes, she was begging him to leave. Sonny realized he was making an uncomfortable situation even more uncomfortable.
    He was poised to back away when Martin said, “Why not go chop some wood?” Humor still danced in his eyes.
    He’d obviously seen the woodpile. Whenever Sonny’s thoughts focused on Emily, whenever he found himself dwelling upon the softness of her skin, the blueness of her eyes, about how warm and sexy she looked in his bed, about how her gown would creep up around her thighs while she slept… about how badly he wanted to make love to her in that bed, or on the soft clover near the brook… or under the pine trees…under the moonlit sky… Whenever he caught himself thinking of any of those things, he went outside and chopped wood.
    So far,