"What?"
"Pretending that last night didn't happen. But I'm hungry for my breakfast, so for the time being I'll retreat." He spun his chair around and headed for the door. When he reached it, he glanced at her over his shoulder. "And I did look under the covers."
She narrowed her eyes on him. "You're bluffing, Cavanaugh."
"Oh, yeah? Love that sexy little mole just inside your bikini line," he drawled.
Before she could stammer a reply, he wheeled out. Lilah threw off the sheet and flitted across the room. She slammed the door closed and locked it, making sure both were heard. Then she stamped into the bathroom and turned on the faucets in the shower.
Adam was making a big joke out of her attitude toward last night. He thought she was being coy and wasn't taking her seriously. Last night might have appeased their libidos, but it had cost valuable ground as far as getting him to walk again. That, not romance, should be his driving force. It was critical that she reestablish herself as his therapist, not his paramour. Desperate measures were called for.
When she entered his room an hour later, he was shooting a Neff basketball into the net he'd had Pete attach to the wall. "Twenty-seven straight free throws," he boasted.
Lilah walked in as stiff as a starched shirt and yanked the basketball out of his hands. "That's enough play for now. You can do that on your own time. For the next hour and a half, we're on my time." She went to the stereo system and switched it off. Whitney Houston's voice was arrested in mid-chorus.
"What's with you?" Adam asked. "Get your period?"
Lilah rounded on him. "That wouldn't be any of your business, now would it, Mr Cavanaugh?"
"Or does your foul mood stem from sexual deprivation?"
"I'm going to ignore that."
"You can't. Not any better than you can ignore last night. Where's the lei I gave you?"
"In the refrigerator in my room."
"Why not around your neck?"
"Be reasonable. I can't wear it while we're working."
"Then when?"
"I don't know."
"Dinner tonight?"
It was time to drive the point home. "Look, Adam, it occurs to me that we've been together too much lately. A therapist should be a taskmaster, sometimes a confidante, but never a … a…"
"Lover."
"That wasn't what I was going to say."
"Oh, no?"
By an act of will she contained her temper. "We can't be such good pals, Adam."
"I've never French-kissed a pal."
"We're not sweethearts either."
"Right. We're way beyond the sweetheart stage. In fact, we're way beyond foreplay. We're ready for the real thing."
His provocative words elicited delicious little shudders inside her. Trying to ignore and deny them, she cleared her throat and said sternly, "If this goes any further, you'll lose respect for my authority. I'm asking you one last time to cease and desist making these juvenile sexual overtures. Today marks a new beginning. It's going to get tough from here."
During her speech his face had grown increasingly dark. Her temper had been close to blowing, but an eruption of his appeared imminent. By the time she finished, his fists were softly thumping the armrests of his wheelchair. "Tougher than it's been? What could be tougher than having you nag me hour after hour, forcing me to do things I can't do?"
"It's not supposed to be easy."
"Well, good!" he yelled. "Because it sure as hell isn't."
"Enough of your whining. Let's get started," she said peremptorily.
The morning therapy session was a disaster. She worked him through a series of exercises intended to tone the muscles that were now facile. The effort he put forth was halfhearted at best. Then when she reprimanded him for his sloth, he pushed himself too hard and ended up with a cramp she had to massage out while he cursed her along with his pain. She consigned him to bed to rest, moving his wheelchair out of arm's reach, which won her even more epithets.
Of late she had loitered in his room between sessions. They watched game shows and soap operas on TV, listened to music, played board games and cards, or simply talked. Today she avoided his room until time for the afternoon session.
It went worse than the morning's. Her nerves began unraveling from the moment she went in and he said, "Don't ever keep my chair away from me again," until they finally became completely frazzled when he flatly refused to complete a knee exercise by saying, "I'm not going to do it anymore."
"Fine!" She withdrew her support of his leg. It landed with a thud on the mat. "As long as you feel that way about it, I think I'll take you up on that day off you referred to this morning. You reminded me that I haven't had one since I got here."
An hour later she left her bedroom suite trailing the scent of perfume in her wake. She was wearing a strapless red cotton dress that showed off her tanned shoulders and cleavage. The wrap-around skirt was narrow. The overlap formed a slit that widened to display long, shapely thighs with each step she took in strappy high heels. One side of her hair was pulled behind her ear and secured there with a large, sparkly barrette. The plumeria lei was around her neck.
When she walked into the kitchen, she dazzled both men. "Don't wait up for me, Pete. It'll probably be very late before I get back."
Adam was sitting at the table in his wheelchair, eating the cold supper Pete had prepared. She ignored him as though he weren't there. She gave the butler a gay little wave and backed out the door.
As she drove down the curving mountain road, she wondered if she had laid it on too thick.
No. Adam hadn't taken her seriously when she had told him that there could be no recurrence of last night's kiss. If she was going to succeed in getting him to walk, he must continue to think of her as his therapist and nothing more. Slave driver, yes. Cheerleader and coach, yes. But he mustn't look upon her as a playmate and love object.
Mild flirtations were fine. They served to boost his confidence and ego. Naughty bantering kept the mood light and lively. But not by any stretch of the definition did last night resemble a mild flirtation.
She ate dinner alone at an elegant Oriental restaurant, ordering courses she didn't want to drag out the meal as long as possible. She warded off the attentions of two sailors who accosted her on the street, offering her money and a night of seriously doubtful ecstasy. Purchasing two tickets at a multiscreen movie theater, she watched first one film, then moved to the next. The first was mediocre, the second nearly put her to sleep.
Having wasted sufficient time, she drove home. Quietly she let herself into the house. Standing just inside the front door, she slipped off her sandals and headed for the stairs.
Adam's wheelchair shot out of the living room and nearly collided with her. She let out a squeak of fright. "Watch that damn thing, will you?" she snapped. "You nearly ran over my foot."
"Have a good time?"
"I had a blast."
"Where'd you go?"
"To Lahaina."
"Lahaina! You drove all the way to Lahaina by yourself?"
"I've been driving by myself since the day I turned sixteen, Adam. Most places I go, I drive myself."
"Don't get smart."
"And don't get possessive. Yes, I went to Lahaina because I'd never been there. It's a nice place to visit, etcetera. I saw some charming sights, ate a wonderful dinner, and had a lot of fun. It was just the kind of diversion I needed. But it exhausted me, so I'm going to bed. Good night."
"Just a minute. Where'd you go?"
"I told you."
"I mean, where'd you have this 'lot of fun'?"
"I don't remember." She would be damned before she'd tell him she had spent the evening alone in a movie theater.