In that instant she saw the first flicker of doubt appear in his eyes. He caught her hand. "Lilah, wait, I — "
She slapped his hand away and aimed her index finger at the center of his chest. "Don't you dare freeze up on me again, Adam Cavanaugh. I let you get by with it last night, but damned if I will again."
"I — "
"Shut up and listen to me." Aggravated, she ran a hand through her hair to get it off her face. "You're scared that you won't be able to see this through. But you'll never know until you try." She drew a long, unsteady breath that made her breasts quiver with emotion. "And you can lay your worries to rest that I'll taunt you if you're slow or awkward or even a total failure. I won't know the difference. I won't know if your performance is good, bad, or indifferent because … because you'll be my first lover."
He stared at her blankly. Seconds later, when he began to laugh, it was a nasty sound. "You lying little conniver. You've got more gall than anybody I ever met. You'll do anything, say anything, to get your patient to respond to your idea of therapy. Well, I don't want to hear your lies. And I damn sure don't want your pity."
Lilah propped her fists on her hips. "Look, Ace, there's only one way you'll ever find out if I'm lying or not."
She efficiently removed his shorts and straddled his lap. Bridging his chest with her arms, she bent low over him and swept his lips with hers. "I dare you to chance it." She kissed him in earnest, running her tongue across his teeth. "Dare you, Cavanaugh. Double dare you." Lowering her head, she nuzzled his furry chest, then touched his nipple with her parted lips. He hissed a swear word and caught double handfuls of her hair. But he didn't pull her head away, especially not when she flicked her tongue over his nipple. "Dare you."
She had barely breathed the words before he bracketed her hips between his hands and pulled her down to his rigid sex. He wasn't gentle.
Resistance.
A little gasp of pain.
He froze.
"Ah, God, Lilah. I'm sorry." His expression registered two emotions at once — regret and bewilderment. "I didn't mean to … I don't understand how… This is… You really are — Why didn't you tell me?"
"I did." She looked into his face. "It's the truth. You're my first. And you can believe this too. If you stop now, I'll kill you."
A smile twitched at the corner of his lips, but his touch was compassionate and tender when he reached up and stroked her cheek. "You're sure?"
"Yes." She faltered. "But I don't think I can look you in the face while we're doing it. I mean it's so… And I — "
"Lilah?"
"What?"
"Shut up."
He drew her down for a long kiss. His tongue made repeated forays into her mouth while his hands caressed her breasts, her back, her legs. She responded to every subtle suggestion he whispered, until, without any further pain and a great deal of sensation and joy, he was fully nestled inside her body.
He continued to coach her. A soft touch, a guiding hand, a whispered endearment. Loveplay. Sex talk. Erotic and exciting. Until it became uncertain exactly who was coaching whom.
The foundations of their worlds began to quake, then break apart. They clung to each other. He cried her name. She chanted his.
Replete, totally drained of energy, she collapsed on top of him. Her limbs were so weak she couldn't move them. Her skin was damp with perspiration. His hands continued to idly strum her back and bottom, but all she could do in reaction was smile complacently against his shoulder. It took a long time for her to regain enough strength to raise her head.
Adam was grinning.
She grinned, too, and said, "Well for starters, that wasn't bad."
"…all I knew was that we were slipping and there wasn't anything I could do to stop it. I reached for a handhold, anything, but grabbed nothing but air. I kept saying to myself, 'Come on, Adam, do something. Stop this. Prevent this from happening.' I was powerless."
"And you hated that."
"Yes."
Adam sighed as he mindlessly sifted his fingers through Lilah's hair, which was spread out over his chest like a blanket. "I remember hearing Pierre scream. Or maybe it was Alex. Or maybe it was my own screams, because I was told later that they died instantly."
"Were you in pain?" Talking about his accident was therapeutic. As difficult as it was for him, Lilah had encouraged him to verbally air his feelings about it.
"I don't think so. I don't remember having any pain then. Maybe I was in shock."
"Probably."
"I drifted in and out of consciousness. I couldn't see either of my friends, but I remember calling their names and getting no answer. I think I cried."
She held him tight for several moments. He cleared his throat before speaking again. "The next memory I have is of the helicopter carrying me to the hospital. The racket was terrible. I sensed the urgency in the people around me. When I fully regained consciousness, I was told that I'd had surgery to repair the broken bones in my back."
"I'm very sorry," she told him as she laid a loving kiss on his chest. "It must have been a terrifying experience."
"I don't remember being scared so much as I was angry. It was happening to me, and I couldn't quite believe that. I had so much I still wanted to do with my life." He shook his head in befuddlement. "I know that was a crazy thing to be thinking at the time, but that's what was going through my mind."
"You felt, 'How unfair,' right?"
He laid his hand heavily on her head. "Yeah. That's it in a nutshell. Tragedies were supposed to happen to other people. Not to Adam Cavanaugh. I heard hard luck stories on the news, but I went on with my life untouched and unscathed. Doesn't make me sound like a very nice fellow, does it?"
She stacked her fists on his breastbone and propped her chin on top of them. Gazing up at him, she said, "It makes you normal. That's what everybody in your predicament feels like. The 'why me?' syndrome. And it's justified. Why you?"
His expression was reflective. "I don't know. Was God favoring me or punishing me? I thought about that a lot when I first regained consciousness. Why was I the one who survived?"
"Don't feel guilty for surviving. Aha, you already have," she said, reading his rueful expression correctly. "Sometimes the survivors have the hardest time of it."
"I thought about that too. Especially before I was brought here. I hated lying there in the hospital in Rome, helpless, in pain, unable to move, afraid."
"What were you most afraid of?"
He thought for a moment before answering. "I was afraid of never being Adam Cavanaugh again. I felt like I'd been robbed not only of the ability to move, but of my whole identity."
"That's symptomatic of your condition too." She kissed him lightly on the lips. "What is it? You have an odd smile on your face."
"I know this sounds stupid, but I was embarrassed too. The first time they put me on that…" He made a descriptive motion with his hands.
"The tilt table."
"Yeah. I threw up all over myself. Imagine, Adam Cavanaugh, CEO of the worldwide Hotel Cavanaugh chain, disgracing himself like that."
She inched upward and kissed him again, more soundly this time. "You were the only one there who was unsympathetic with your condition."
"I know. I gave everyone a hard time."
"No foolin'."
He laughed with chagrin, but became serious again. "One of my character flaws is that I have no tolerance for personal failings."
"You have no tolerance for things beyond your control."