Always Emily. Mary Sullivan
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used. But he couldn’t let her go.
He tamped down the emotions twisting in his belly like warring snakes, because she looked like hell. He didn’t want to worry about this woman who weighed next to nothing, but he did. She angered and frustrated him, but he couldn’t turn her away.
He laid her on the sofa in his office, where she had spent so many hours over the years when she came home from her digs sitting and pouring out her heart about Jean-Marc and his latest escapades. He’d heard her anger and pain, but he’d never interfered. Back then, he could never say, Leave him and come to me.
On all of her visits, he’d held a chunk of himself back—to protect both his peace of mind and his marriage. He might not have been in love with his wife, but he had been committed to her.
And so, restraint had become his middle name, and the act a habit, but sometimes these days, the restraints chafed and he wanted to bust out so badly.
When he finally did ask Emily to be with him, she’d said no. End of story.
“What’s wrong, Emily?”
When he tried to let her go, she grasped his shirt.
Even through her clothing, her skin burned. Just like Emily to come here like this, to bring mayhem into his well-ordered existence. She liked drama. He liked peace. She liked chaos. He needed order.
“Emily,” he said, keeping his voice low to soothe her as he would a skittish animal. “I need to get water.”
She nodded. “Yes. Water.”
Even so, she didn’t ease her grip.
“Let go.” He became stern. “I’ll come back.”
“Promise?” Her insecurity tore at him. Trouble roiled in her witchy blue-hazel eyes.
Where was his confident, brash Emily? What happened to you?
“I’m always here for you, Emily. You know that.” Even when it was hard, and even when he had vowed to break away from her, to sever all ties. She called to a part of him he had trouble denying.
She smiled so sweetly it broke his heart. Yes, he was always here for her, but she wasn’t always available for him.
He cut off the anger and bitterness. Now wasn’t the time.
At this moment, she needed him, and that was all that mattered. He would get rid of her when she was well.
She released him and he retrieved water and damp towels from the washroom. Just before he left the room, he noticed muddy handprints on his shirt where Emily had gripped it. Strange.
When he returned, he asked, “What is it? The flu?”
She shook her head. “Malaria.”
“Malaria?” He stilled his panic long enough to swab her face. “Isn’t that bad?”
She lifted a shaky finger to smooth the frown from his forehead, the smattering of freckles across her nose stark against her sickly white skin. “It’s okay. I’ve seen a doctor.”
“And?”
“And there’s nothing to do but wait. I felt a bit better for a while, but I shouldn’t have walked over here in the rain.”
“You walked here? Sick? From your dad’s?”
She nodded.
A flush of violence coursed through his blood. “So help me, Emily,” he muttered, swabbing her face too hard, “you are infuriating.”
She smiled, and it was weak, but sweet. “Wanted to see you.” He fought the urge to wrap his arms around her and never let go. No one could make him feel warm and fuzzy as Emily could, even while he wanted to shake her.
Why didn’t she take care of herself? Why hadn’t she learned to control her impulses?
“When did you get home?”
“About an hour ago.”
“And you rushed over here? Why not wait until morning?”
When his glance fell on her hands, the warm fuzzies came to a screeching halt. He grasped one. Mud caked her fingers. “What have you been up to?” Her nails were crammed with dirt. Digging? In the rain? Where? On this land?
Wanted to see me, my ass.
She pulled her hand out of his grasp.
“What did you do?” he asked, recrimination riding his tone like acid.
Her gaze slid away from his and she stared at the wall. “Nothing,” she said, voice small but defiant nonetheless.
“Tell me,” he insisted.
“I can’t. It’s better if you don’t know.” He recognized the stubborn set of her jaw, so particular to Emily. There was no fighting her when she dug in her heels.
“I’m not getting any more out of you, am I?”
She shook her head.
“So I’m good enough to come to when you need your forehead wiped, but not good enough to trust. Is that it?”
She didn’t answer.
There’d been times when they’d been close, when there had been a connection he’d cherished, when he’d hoped...
Aw, forget about it.
“Let’s get you home.”
“Okay.”
“Have you had malaria before?”
“No. I won’t again. The medication will take care of that.”
“You’re taking medicine?”
“To prevent it from coming back.”
“Can you walk?”
“Sure. Help me up.”
He lifted her into his arms.
“Put me down. You can’t carry me that far.”
“Want to bet? What have you been eating? Feathers?” It angered him that she’d changed, that she wasn’t the woman he knew, a go-getter, determined and sharp. Hale and healthy. “Don’t you take care of yourself?”
“Not lately.” For the first time, Salem understood what a sardonic laugh sounded like. He didn’t like hearing this self-mockery from Emily.
At the elevator, he stood her on her feet for a minute while he used his key to start it up again. When the door opened and he moved to pick her up, she protested. “Love you holding me, but I can walk. Just let me lean on you.”
Love you holding me. Did she know what she was saying?
They made it to the car with Emily leaning on him heavily, with Salem rushing them through the rain to his Jeep, parked behind the resort. He put her into the passenger seat then climbed behind the wheel and swiped rainwater from his face.
“You picked a great night to come home.”
Emily laughed, but it sounded hollow, as though more than her body was ailing.
“What happened to you in Egypt?” He sounded as disgusted as he felt.
“The Sudan.”
“What?”
“Not Egypt this time. Too much political turmoil right now. Country’s torn apart. I was in the Sudan.”
“What happened?”
She didn’t answer and he glanced at her, but the country road was too dark. “Are you crying?”
“Nope,” she said, but the thickness in her voice betrayed her.
“Was it that boyfriend of yours? What did he do?”
“Screwed