Methos pressed his fingers into the knotted muscles of her shoulders, seeking out the familiar map of her body. Emily leaned into the pressure, sighing in pained pleasure at his touch. Then she was sagging back against him, molding herself into the chiseled length of his body. Slipping his hands around her waist, he pulled her closer. Arms enveloping her, he pressed his lips against the pulse at her throat, and felt more than heard the little vibration of contentment that escaped her lips.
“I should hire you.”
“Oh?” he exhaled against the softness of her neck.
“Mmm… to be here after every marathon surgery; it’s very therapeutic.”
“I’m glad you find me useful,” he grumbled good-naturedly. She giggled as he nipped at her ear lobe. “How did it go?”
“Jane Doe has a new face then?”
“Ava,” she corrected. “Ava has a new life; for her and her baby.”
“Ava – it suits her.”
She turned in his arms. “Mark may be a self-absorbed, narcissistic jerk, but…”
“He’s a genius,” Methos finished for her. “So are you,” he pointed out. “An artist, I believe I’ve said on more than one occasion.”
“Well, yeah,” she agreed with a grin, leaning up to kiss him on the cheek. “When Mark and I work together, there’s nothing that can stop us. Everything; the antipathy, the fights, even how much I hated him when we were kids, all of that disappears when we’re in surgery. We don’t even need words.” She closed her eyes, leaning her head back. “The world disappears.”
“Just as long as you remember you can’t stand each other,” his voice took an edge he couldn’t quite erase.
Emily gave him a look. “Why, Dr. Pierse, are you feeling threatened?”
“I am not, Dr. Scott,” he replied with utter confidence.
“And why not? Are you that sure of me? After all, we are divorced,” she finished, her voice holding just the hint of a challenge. Her breath caught just a little as his hands tightened.
“You want to know why?” He leaned in to whisper in her ear, “Because he knows I’d kill him if he ever touched you.”
Shivering at the silky coldness of his voice as he uttered those words, Emily knew it wasn’t an idle threat. And it should have made her angry; she should protest his assumption that he had any say at all in whom she chose to spend her time with. But instead of any of the things she knew she should do, or the words she should say, instead of any of those things, she whispered, “I’m always yours.”
A glint of triumph flashed across his eyes as his hands tangled in her hair, pulling her to him, his lips taking hers with nothing less than the demand of complete submission. “Remember that,” he told her, his voice rough with desire and possession.
“I do.” She was suddenly as still in his grasp as some small animal under the gaze of a predator.
Methos mentally shook himself, pushing back the hunter, drawing the cloak of the man he was now back around him. A softer voice this time. “I love you, Emmy.”
The words and the memories echoed between them…
“I’m not scared when you hold me…. I love you, Adam.”
“I love you too, Emmy.”
Her fingers brushed across his face. “I know,” she paused, as if unsure of what to say next. Finally she said, “Methos.”
Nodding, he looked into her eyes, trying to reassure her, to erase the specter of her fear, the memory of his dagger extinguishing her life as he’d held her close. “Come home with me?”
“Yes.” In some ways, that one word seemed more of a question, and she trembled. Dropping her eyes, she took a shaky breath. “Do you think we can ever put together the pieces of what we were, of what we had?”
“You know I do.” And he did believe that. If only she would let him – if only she could trust him once more.
Now she was looking at him. “Maybe you can make me believe too.”