Сандра Браун - Adam's Fall

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."

He looked down his nose at her. "I think you fall into that category. You're way beyond my control."

She giggled. "That's why you don't like me."

"I like you." He spoke with a soft earnestness that immediately captured her attention.

"You do? Since when?"

"Since … I don't know."

"Bet I know. You started liking me when I stripped off your shorts and jumped on your bones."

"No. I mean, yes, I liked that. A lot," he said with a lecherous twinkle in his eyes. "But it just occurred to me a second ago that I like you , the person, too."

"Why?"

"I guess because you've patiently listened while I've talked about the accident."

Her fingernail rimmed his lips. "I'm glad you shared it with me. You've needed to talk it out with someone. They told me that you refused counseling in the hospital."

He shrugged. "I felt like a dope."

"You're too tough to ask for help, right?" She asked it teasingly enough to make him smile.

"Thanks for listening and for not making judgments, Lilah."

"You're welcome."

He reached up and curled a wisp of her hair around his finger. "We've gotten into some heavy subject matter here, but I find it hard to wax philosophic when a sexy broad is sprawled across my belly."

"Do you now?"

"Hmm." He regarded her with open curiosity and interest. " But , now that I've revealed all my secrets to you, let's turn the tables. Tell me why and how."

Assuming a casual air, she lightly plucked at his earlobe. As earlobes went, it was nice but didn't warrant the single-minded attention she gave to it. "Why and how what?"

"Why you're still a virgin — "

"How soon you forget."

He frowned at her. "Why you're still a virgin and how that's even possible."

"Technically, it's possible because I've never had a consummated love affair."

"That answers the second half of the question. What about the first half? To refresh your memory, it's the part about why."

"I never wanted to before."

"Lilah." He sounded like a parent scolding a child who was obviously stretching the truth. "I want the truth."

"That is the truth. Knowing me as well as you do, do you think I'd preserve my virginity for any other reason?"

He still seemed puzzled. "It just doesn't jive with your personality. You'll do or say anything without a single qualm. I find it hard to believe you have such a liberated and relaxed attitude toward sex but have never participated."

"I go to football games and cheer on the players, but I've never played myself."