She made a tsking sound. "My, my, aren't we in a nasty mood today."
Adam drew his sleek dark brows into a fierce scowl. "I have every right to be in a nasty mood," he snarled. "My last two weeks would make the Hundred Years War look like a festival. I've been at the mercy of quacks whose stock answer to every question is, 'We'll have to wait and see.' I've been the hapless victim of despotic nurses who've taken delight in bossing me, poking me, sticking tubes into orifices I didn't even know I had, and feeding me garbage for food. The parts of my body that still have sensation have been in tremendous pain. I think I've got bedsores on my backside. I know I've got a blister on my tongue." He paused to draw in a deep breath. "And to top it all off, you show up. Which brings me around to my original question. What the hell are you doing here?"
"I needed to use your shower," she said cheekily. "Excuse me."
"Don't you give me that — Hey, where — Come back here, Mason. Mason!"
Lilah left him yelling her name. She leaned against the door she pulled closed behind her. When the drinking glass struck it, her ears absorbed the full impact of shattering glass. She whistled and through the door called, "Wow, you're really ticked, aren't you?"
She went downstairs and following her nose, found Pete in a kitchen that had a picture window as large as a movie-theater screen. It offered a spectacular view of the mountainside in the near distance and the Pacific Ocean on the far horizon.
"Are you a masochist or what?" she asked. Pete looked at her in confusion, holding aloft a butcher knife with which he had been slicing vegetables faster than her eyes could move. "Never mind. Where'd you put my bags?"
Smiling happily, Pete left his work in the kitchen and escorted her upstairs again. "Right next door," he said, nodding toward the room where Adam was.
"Yippee."
"You don't rike room?"
When she saw that Pete was crestfallen, she hastily inverted her sarcastic frown into a smile. "No, the room is terrific. Really."
She stepped past him and entered a guest bedroom suite that was twice as large as her whole apartment. It was better equipped, too, having a small refrigerator with an automatic icemaker, a two-burner cooktop, and a wet bar in addition to the black marble bathroom that was positively hedonistic. "I knew I should have gone into the hotel business," she muttered as she ran her fingers over teal-green towels that were as plush as expensive carpet.
"'Xcuse?"
"Nothing, Pete. I was just being covetous. When's dinner?"
"Eight o'clock."
She consulted her wristwatch and mentally accounted for the time zones she'd flown through. "That gives me time for a bath and a nap. Wake me up at seven-thirty." He bobbed his head rapidly. "How long has it been since Mr Cavanaugh had a meal?"
"Not since come home."
"That's what I thought. He's not eating anything?" Pete shook his head. "Fix him a dinner tray."
"Won't eat. Throw on floor."
"Not this time, he won't," she said, her eyes gleaming with determination. "Oh, by the way, a courier should be delivering some equipment here this afternoon. If the van can make it up that goat path," she added as an aside. "And there's a broken glass in Prince Cavanaugh's room that needs to be swept up."
Pete wanted to unpack for her, but she shooed him out so she could avail herself of the bathtub with the built-in whirlpool. Sprawling on the king-size bed and pulling the satin sheet over her naked body, she fell instantly asleep. She would have liked at least another eight hours when the funny little servant knocked on the door, then entered carrying a glass of chilled pineapple juice on a silver tray.
"Thanks," she said after draining the juice in one swallow. "I'll be down shortly." Pete scuttled out. Lilah dropped the sheet and regretfully left the bed. "Later," she told it, giving the satin sheets a lover's pat.
No one would blame her if she waited until the following morning to commence the physical therapy program with Adam Cavanaugh. This had been a hellish day, especially following her long trip. But she was being paid well for this job. Never let it be said that Lilah Mason had taken advantage of the sybaritic surroundings without giving full attention to her patient.
Besides, now that she was here, she was actually anxious to begin. Adam's condition, along with his negative state of mind, were challenges that she, as a professional, couldn't resist tackling. Even the slightest improvement in a patient was often reason for celebration. Adam needed the encouragement that came with accomplishing a small goal.
Then, too, the longer his muscles remained flaccid, without sensation or the ability to move, the less likelihood of a full recovery. By now he should have experienced some sensation in those muscles. Lilah couldn't afford to wait any longer to begin his therapy even if she wanted to.
With that sobering thought in mind, she left her suite wearing the same Hawaiian ensemble she had had on when she arrived, sans the straw hat. Pete insisted that she eat her dinner in the dining room, though she sat alone at the glass table decorated with burning tapers in crystal holders and a lavish bouquet of orchids. The stir-fry vegetables and fish were delicious. She complimented Pete on the meal as he followed her upstairs carrying a dinner tray for the patient At Adam's bedroom door she took the tray from him. "If I don't come out alive, you have my permission to smother him in his sleep."
"Won't rike," Pete said, looking fearfully toward the closed door.
"Probably not, but it's only going to get worse before it gets better," she told him as she signaled with her head for him to open the door for her. "Best get started and get it over with." As soon as she had cleared the door, Pete closed it firmly.
Adam was listlessly gazing out the window. He rolled his head toward the door and groaned when he saw her. "Go away."
"No way. Hey, that rhymes. I'm a poet and didn't know it."
The look he sent across the room was murderous. "Is Elizabeth responsible for your being here?"
"You don't think I'd come voluntarily, do you?"
"I thought Elizabeth was my friend."
"She is. She wants to do what's best for you."
He barked a bitter laugh. "If you're the best, God help me should they decide to do the worst."
"If it were up to me, I'd let you lie here and rot in your own self-pity." She shrugged. "But you've got lots of money and some of it will come my way if I stay here and give you physical therapy."
"Like hell!" he shouted.
"The accommodations here are fair to middling. The job includes a Hawaiian vacation that I can certainly use. Back home it's cold and rainy, and my tan needs refreshing. What a relief to get away from my regular job. I was working with a patient who is an even bigger jerk than you are … and if you throw that napkin on the floor one more time, Mr Cavanaugh, I'll bloody well throw you down there to pick it up."
Standing with hands on hips beside his bed, she glared down at him. He returned her animosity measure for measure. "Take this tray and your ridiculous bedside manner and shove them both up — "
"I've heard it," she interrupted. "There's not an original insult or abusive phrase that I haven't heard. No matter how obscene, they don't faze me. So save your energy and my time and start eating your dinner. Because you're going to eat it before I leave this room. The sooner you do the former, the sooner I do the latter. It comes down to how long you can tolerate my company."
She set the bed tray across his lap and plopped down on the bed beside him, folding her arms across her middle. The motion plumped her breasts up and out, causing them to swell above the fabric of the strapless sarong. She watched the patient's eyes lower to her chest, but she didn't alter her position. Her expression remained impassive when he insolently raised his eyes back to hers.