Now, get some rest."
"Need… your voice… can’t sleep… yet."
"You’re sure?"
"Talk… please," he insisted.
"Would you like to hold hands for a while?"
He wanted nothing more than to touch her again, to stroke her satiny–smooth skin and caress her long, slender fingers. But he knew it was impossible, and he cursed his body’s weakness. "Can’t… babe… sorry."
"Tomorrow?"
"Yes." He prayed he’d have the strength to move then.
"Do you ever have nightmares?" she asked in a low voice.
He weighed his answer. While he hated to admit that he couldn’t control his sub–conscious, he no longer felt compelled to preserve his macho Marine Corps image. He knew, too, that Emma never judged. She simply listened, so revealing the truth to her would be the most natural thing in the world for him to do.
"Sometimes," he conceded.
"Not fun, are they?"
"No… questions. Talk… Hamilton."
"Yes, sir!"
He smiled into the darkness of his cell in spite of the lancing pain in his jaw. "I’ll… teach you… to salute."
"Every woman’s secret fantasy, and you’re going to make mine come true. Be still, my heart."
He laughed, and then he groaned when his body protested the rapid rise and fall of his chest. "Don’t make… me laugh… talk, please."
"I’m a great cook," she immediately confided.
"More… comic relief… or truth?"
"I’m serious. My girlfriends think I’m crazy to even admit it, but I love being in the kitchen. I cook to relax. Then I get to diet. It’s a vicious cycle."
"Maybe you… should’ve… become… chef."
"Dangerous idea, since I’d be tempting fate and ruining my waistline at the same time. Thank you very much, but no."
David slowly shifted his legs forward and massaged the tops of his thighs. He listened to the sound of Emma’s voice, which dulled the pain throbbing in his body and soothed some of his rage. She spoke for nearly two hours, rambling from subject to subject when not regaling him with tales of her childhood and anecdotes that involved her siblings.
She also confessed the details of her youthful endeavors as a competitive gymnast. She amazed him when she admitted that she’d terminated her nearly ten year commitment to gymnastics at the age of fifteen when she’d announced to her coach that she wanted a normal life. Instead of trying to change her mind, her parents had supported her decision one hundred percent. David concluded that Doctor and Mrs. Hamilton had to be as unique as their daughter.
He listened closely to her every word, finding strength in her generous spirit. As he kneaded the muscles in his legs, arms, and shoulders, David silently vowed that his future—if he was even destined to have one—would include Emma Hamilton. He couldn’t imagine finding happiness without her.
He nearly succumbed to light–headedness as he struggled to his feet. Trembling and breathing raggedly, he pressed his cheek to the cold wall, closed his eyes, and submerged himself in the sound of Emma’s voice.
Driven by his desire to feel the comfort of her soothing touch, he brought himself under control. He moved awkwardly and slowly, each step an exercise in agony as the muscles of his body tremored in constant protest, but he finally managed to position himself in the corner of his cell.
He caught his breath and then carefully maneuvered his arm through the narrow space between the bars and cell wall. Sweat beaded across his upper lip and soaked the back of his flight suit. He shuddered, but he refused to give in to his damaged body.
Emma soon fell silent, her fatigue evident in the heavy sigh that escaped her.
"At… wall… babe."
She scrambled up from her pallet and made her way to the corner of her cell. "Are you strong enough to be on your feet?"
"Shaky… but… standing," he assured her before he heard her choked sob. "Please… don’t… cry."
"Sorry." She cleared her throat and straightened her spine. "I saved your half of the chocolate bar. Shall I
"Need… your voice… can’t sleep… yet."
"You’re sure?"
"Talk… please," he insisted.
"Would you like to hold hands for a while?"
He wanted nothing more than to touch her again, to stroke her satiny–smooth skin and caress her long, slender fingers. But he knew it was impossible, and he cursed his body’s weakness. "Can’t… babe… sorry."
"Tomorrow?"
"Yes." He prayed he’d have the strength to move then.
"Do you ever have nightmares?" she asked in a low voice.
He weighed his answer. While he hated to admit that he couldn’t control his sub–conscious, he no longer felt compelled to preserve his macho Marine Corps image. He knew, too, that Emma never judged. She simply listened, so revealing the truth to her would be the most natural thing in the world for him to do.
"Sometimes," he conceded.
"Not fun, are they?"
"No… questions. Talk… Hamilton."
"Yes, sir!"
He smiled into the darkness of his cell in spite of the lancing pain in his jaw. "I’ll… teach you… to salute."
"Every woman’s secret fantasy, and you’re going to make mine come true. Be still, my heart."
He laughed, and then he groaned when his body protested the rapid rise and fall of his chest. "Don’t make… me laugh… talk, please."
"I’m a great cook," she immediately confided.
"More… comic relief… or truth?"
"I’m serious. My girlfriends think I’m crazy to even admit it, but I love being in the kitchen. I cook to relax. Then I get to diet. It’s a vicious cycle."
"Maybe you… should’ve… become… chef."
"Dangerous idea, since I’d be tempting fate and ruining my waistline at the same time. Thank you very much, but no."
David slowly shifted his legs forward and massaged the tops of his thighs. He listened to the sound of Emma’s voice, which dulled the pain throbbing in his body and soothed some of his rage. She spoke for nearly two hours, rambling from subject to subject when not regaling him with tales of her childhood and anecdotes that involved her siblings.
She also confessed the details of her youthful endeavors as a competitive gymnast. She amazed him when she admitted that she’d terminated her nearly ten year commitment to gymnastics at the age of fifteen when she’d announced to her coach that she wanted a normal life. Instead of trying to change her mind, her parents had supported her decision one hundred percent. David concluded that Doctor and Mrs. Hamilton had to be as unique as their daughter.
He listened closely to her every word, finding strength in her generous spirit. As he kneaded the muscles in his legs, arms, and shoulders, David silently vowed that his future—if he was even destined to have one—would include Emma Hamilton. He couldn’t imagine finding happiness without her.
He nearly succumbed to light–headedness as he struggled to his feet. Trembling and breathing raggedly, he pressed his cheek to the cold wall, closed his eyes, and submerged himself in the sound of Emma’s voice.
Driven by his desire to feel the comfort of her soothing touch, he brought himself under control. He moved awkwardly and slowly, each step an exercise in agony as the muscles of his body tremored in constant protest, but he finally managed to position himself in the corner of his cell.
He caught his breath and then carefully maneuvered his arm through the narrow space between the bars and cell wall. Sweat beaded across his upper lip and soaked the back of his flight suit. He shuddered, but he refused to give in to his damaged body.
Emma soon fell silent, her fatigue evident in the heavy sigh that escaped her.
"At… wall… babe."
She scrambled up from her pallet and made her way to the corner of her cell. "Are you strong enough to be on your feet?"
"Shaky… but… standing," he assured her before he heard her choked sob. "Please… don’t… cry."
"Sorry." She cleared her throat and straightened her spine. "I saved your half of the chocolate bar. Shall I
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