Сандра Браун - Adam's Fall

"I give all my patients equal consideration," she answered evenly.

"Do you?" He stopped her hand by covering it with his own.

During their conversation she'd been mechanically doing her duty. She realized now that his nipples were erect, having been lightly abraded by the washcloth. The carpet of dark chest hair was damp and curly. His heart was beating strongly into her palm.

Just how long had this conversation been going on? How long had her hands been moving over his chest? And for whose benefit? His or her own?

His softly spoken question brought her to attention. She dragged her hand free and quickly swished the cloth in the basin of water and wrung it out. "Here, wash your ears and neck and … and anything else I didn't get around to. Use this towel to dry yourself. I'll give you some privacy while I change the water."

She pushed the cart away from his bed so fast that water sloshed over the rim of the basin. Her hands were trembling when she carried it into the bathroom to empty it into the tub. She refilled it and cleared her throat loudly to let him know that she was on her way back into the bedroom.

He was withdrawing his hand from beneath the sheet. She didn't look him directly in the eye when she took the washcloth from him and dampened it with fresh water. "Now your back."

"My back's fine."

"You said you had bedsores."

"I lied to get your sympathy."

"You're lying now."

"You'll never know."

"Look, Ace," she said, impatiently shifting all her weight to one shapely hip and throwing the other off center, "those sores are not going to get any better until they're washed and I get some of this antiseptic ointment on them." She took a silver tube of cream from a drawer in the cart and wagged it in front of his face. "If I don't treat them now, they'll probably get infected."

"Okay, okay. Roll me over like a slug."

"Next time spare us both the argument."

Adam wasn't muscle-bound, but he had a tall, rangy, athletic body. It cost them both some effort to roll him to his side. She whistled when she saw the oozing blisters on his back and buttocks.

"Thanks," he said dryly.

"That wasn't a wolf whistle, Cavanaugh. This is icky."

"Is that a medical term?"

"No, that's my own word to paraphrase putrid, disgusting, and ugly."

"Your bedside manner needs work."

"Your backside needs work. Feel free to scream."

He didn't scream, but he cursed fluidly as she swabbed the sores, then liberally applied the healing ointment. "It's your own fault," she told him after be had issued a particularly lurid stream of gutter words. "You should have let Pete turn you every so often. From now on use the trapeze to help you shift positions."

"I practiced this morning."

"Good boy. You get a gold star."

"Are you finished?" He shot her a dark, threatening look over his shoulder.

She gave him a broad wink. "Finished what? Treating the sores or admiring your cute little buns?"

"Lilah," he ground out.

She smacked his taut cheek at a place where it was clear of abrasions. "Relax. I didn't have rape in mind. Has your incision been giving you any discomfort?" She examined it, touching it gently, but could see no cause for concern.

"It itches now and then."

"You can feel that?"

"Yes."

"Good. I see no problems with the scar. Your future lovers will probably find it fascinating."

"I'm glad to hear it. Are we done?"

"No, I'm going to wash your back now. That should feel very nice."

If his deep sighs were any indication, it felt wonderful. "I guess all that moaning and groaning means you approve," she remarked several minutes later as she blotted his skin dry. "How about some lotion?" She rubbed a dab of lotion between her hands and began massaging it into his back.

"That feels great. A little to the … ah, there. Hmm."

"You sound orgasmic," she teased.

"Compared to how I've felt recently, I am."

Smiling, she applied more pressure to her fingertips and slid her hands down the supple contours of his back. No fat here. No superfluous tissue. He was as tight as a drum.

"Lilah?"

"Hmm?"

"Will I ever be again?"

Alert to the change in his inflection, she lifted her hands so that they were no longer in contact with his skin. "Be what?"

"Orgasmic."

"Depends on whom you take to bed." Her jocularity was as flat as a three-day-old soda.

Reaching behind him, Adam caught her hand and pulled it forward until her arm was draped over his shoulder and her hand was tucked against his throat. "Don't play games with me. I want to know the truth. Will I ever be able to enjoy a woman again? Will a woman ever be able to enjoy me?"

Lilah stared down at his head and the tousled black hair that covered it. He was gorgeous. What woman wouldn't enjoy just looking at him? His profile was perfect, his nose straight and long, his jaw angular and strong. The uneven growth of stubble didn't detract from his handsomeness; it only added another dimension to it.

But he didn't want to hear that he was handsome. That no longer mattered. She doubted any man on earth would swap his virility for classic good looks. She had been asked this question by every male patient who found himself in circumstances similar to Adam's. It was what they always wanted to know first. When it came down to this crucial question, it didn't matter how many material possessions the man had, or how much money he had, or how much prestige he had been awarded. He wanted to know if his manhood was intact, if he would be sexually functional.

Lilah answered as truthfully as she was able. "I don't know, Adam. It will depend on which vertebrae, if any, were damaged beyond repair. Your body underwent a tremendous trauma. It'll take time and a lot of hard work, but it's my educated guess that you'll eventually be as good as new."

She eased him over onto his back. Her compassionate smile faltered when it was met by eyes filled with doubt and suspicion.

"You're lying."

Taken off guard by his unfair accusation, she counterattacked. "I am not!"

"You've all been lying to me."

"If the doctors told you they don't know, they don't know."

"They know," he snarled. "But why'd they send you to break the bad news to me? Or did you volunteer? Did you see this as your golden opportunity once and for all to win this private war we've been waging since we met?"

"You must have landed on your head when you fell off that mountain." The scarlet hibiscus bloom on the front of her T-shirt trembled with indignation. "I told you that I didn't want to come here. I tried to get out of it this morning, but Elizabeth whined and begged until I agreed to stay with you until they can find a replacement, which can't be soon enough for me. In the meantime I'll carry out my duties, but I won't put up with your abuse or crazy delusions."

He aimed an index finger at the tip of her nose. "Just don't lie to me."

"I didn't."

"And don't mock me."

"I haven't mocked you." She gasped, mortified at the thought. "I would never maliciously tease someone in your condition."

"Maybe not in words, but in deeds."

"Deeds? What the hell are you talking about?"

"For starters, you could wear decent clothes in front of me instead of fanning around in shorts. You look like a beach bunny scouting out her next easy lay."

"What?"

"Ever heard of shoes? Most women wear them on their feet out of propriety and modesty. They don't go barefoot unless … unless they're asking for it."

Her eyes grew dangerously dark. "You sexist slime."

"And I thought nurses wore caps instead of letting their hair hang free."

"I'm not a nurse."

"That's for damn sure. What kind of ointment was that? Those sores on my tail are killing me!"