LOVE'S ACHILLES HEEL

Chapter 4

After getting his world rocked, Adam wasted no time dumping Melanie. He was in no mood to sit through breakfast making small talk, while his insides roiled. He made his apologies, muttered something about not feeling well, which was an understatement, and dropped her back off at Newman Enterprises. Incensed, he tore out of the Newman parking garage, nearly wrapping his sleek, black Maserati around a tree on the way home when he took a curve too fast.

Upon entering the sanctity of his penthouse, he slammed the door behind him, exploding in rage. "That stupid BITCH!" Running his fingers through his unruly hair, he paced the floor, breathing heavily as his heart raced from the adrenaline coursing through his body. He knew he was a shitty husband, but even he didn't deserve this.

I must have a drink, he thought numbly. Dazed, and blinded by anger, Adam stormed over to the bar, and with shaky hands reached for the decanter of scotch. He held it for a moment or two, as nausea again gripped him. "Fuck!" he erupted, violently smashing the crystal decanter onto the ceramic tile floor. It shattered into a thousand pieces, spraying the amber colored booze everywhere.

"Bourbon it is," he muttered bitterly, carelessly pouring a tumbler of bourbon and emptying it in one fluid movement. Angry tears sprung to his eyes, as he stared into the empty glass.

"Radiohead," Adam mumbled absent-mindedly, shuffling over to the keypad mounted on the wall, which controlled his stereo, aptly named, "The Force". The glass and gold sound system resembled a sculpture, and the sound emanating from it was pure, unconstrained power. All he wanted to do was drown out the negative voices in his head. Voices telling him that she hated him so much she would give another man his child. HIS child! God he wanted to strangle her right at this moment. He dropped to the sofa, and let the electronic, tortured thrums of Radiohead wash over him as he tightly closed his eyes.

Try as he might, he found that nothing would stop his mind from racing with fragments of images and conversations. Was she really that vindictive? He snorted aloud, shaking his head, and screamed out, "YOU WON'T GET AWAY WITH IT BABE!" He was wrung out. A baby. HIS baby. This revelation came with a price- the shooting.

He didn't like to think about it. Each time the shooting entered his mind, he would begin to feel short of breath, and break out into a cold sweat. He supposed the experts would call it PTSD, but he only knew that it made him physically ill to think about it. He liked to pretend it never happened.

His memory leading up to the shooting was very clear, but it got fuzzy after that. Jumping in front of his father in the path of a gun probably wasn't the smartest thing he had ever done. He didn't have time to weigh his options though, and he couldn't just stand by and watch his father get shot at his own wedding. Of course, he wasn't trying to get shot either, but that's fate..or was it karma? While Victor's actions to get even with his nemesis Jack Abbott, and to a lesser degree his own son, had set the fateful events in motion, he still loved his father and wanted to protect him from physical harm.

Adam remembered waking up after surgery to remove the bullet, which had lodged in his chest, and then nothing. There was only darkness, and the sound of her voice. Chelsea's voice, telling him he's going to be a daddy, over and over in his head, like a grainy, old Super 8 film, tormenting him beyond comprehension. More tears welled in his eyes as the memory became clearer.

The moment he felt the baby kick, he knew. How could he not have known it before? Why is she denying it? All the times she acted so strangely, as if she had something important to tell him, only to run from him or come up with some half-baked explanation, were all making sense now.

Finally, after his anger began to dissipate and the shock had worn off, his thoughts turned back to the kiss. God he had wanted her. He still did, and he hated himself for it. How could he continue to feel this way knowing she tried to give his baby to another man? The lying little con was now haunting his every waking moment, and turning him into a sucker!

The kiss, already torturing him, began to play with his mind. He could feel her full lips, and the way her body fit perfectly against his, as if they were made for each other. Her light, soft scent of tuberose and sandalwood invaded his senses as he relived the feel of her mouth against his, and her silky tongue, meeting his, stroke for stroke.

"Goddammit!" he shouted, hauling himself off the sofa, stripping his clothes off as he padded into the bathroom for a cold shower. If there were an "Extremely Cold" setting on the shower fixture he would have used it, but just plain cold would have to do for now. After a couple of minutes, he switched the setting to hot, allowing the pulsating streams of water to knead the knotted muscles in his neck and shoulders, and did his damnedest to put his mind on auto-pilot.

Adam remained in the shower until the water turned cold again, prompting him to finally get out and towel off. He needed sleep, and time to figure things out, as if time would straighten out the clusterfuck that defined his life.

Everything in the penthouse was high tech, and that included the window treatments. After setting the music to the hypnotic and resonant sounds of Bonobo, he reached for the remote on his nightstand, blotting out the cheery sunshine with blackout shades, reflecting his now somber mood. It had rained all morning, and now, when he decidedly hated the world, the sun decided to flip him the bird too.

She must still have some feelings for him, he reasoned, as sleep continued to escape him. There's no way she could detest him, and kiss him like that. Once the kiss started, she wanted it as much as he did. He was certain of that. He couldn't remember ever feeling this many emotions at one time. They ran the gamut from elation about the baby to despondency over Chelsea.

One area he had mental clarity about involved Dylan. There was no way in hell he would ever allow Dylan or any other man to be a father to his baby. This was going to require a thoughtful approach. He could not go off half-cocked. He wanted to go Nicholas Newman on Chelsea, and drag her by her hair back to his penthouse, but she would have his balls in a Mason jar if he even dared try his brother's Neanderthal schtick. He knew in his heart that he wanted her to come back to him, but it had to be her decision alone. He didn't want her by default once Dylan was out of the picture, and Dylan would be out of the picture. He would see to that. She and the baby belonged with him.

The kiss confirmed that he could still get under her skin, and he was no longer willing to sit on the sidelines while another man made love to his wife, and claimed HIS baby as his own.

….

Chelsea sat behind her desk at the studio she shared with Chloe, still visibly upset from her encounter with Adam. She thought she was finally beginning to move past him, but then he tricked her into a kiss.

"Kiss on the cheek…pffft!" Chelsea grumbled aloud. He now knew what a brazen liar she was, and that he could still get to her. Oh, the power he must be feeling right now, she supposed, irritated. It was all just a big game to him. He only wanted her because of the challenge of the pursuit. She had a new life, and it vexed him to no end that she was with another man now. A better man, she fumed. Thank God the baby kicked her, snapping her out from underneath her Adam spell!

Chelsea relaxed her hand across her very pregnant belly, feeling the baby practically doing somersaults beneath her palm. She sometimes worried about the baby's restlessness, and almost constant movement, fearful that the stress she was under transmitted to her unborn baby. She began taking slow, deliberate, cleansing breaths in an attempt to calm her jostled nerves.

Her mind refused to cooperate as she remembered the kiss. It started out so tender, and sweet on the cheek, and then slowly turned sensual and erotic as he skimmed his lips to her mouth. She didn't put up much of a fight, if at all, she thought disgustedly. He made her feel reckless, and heady with passion.

That could not happen again, she determined, resolved to keeping him at arm's length from this point forward.

The elevator door opened breaking the spell, and Dylan emerged carrying some sort of bag in his hand.

"Hey, I thought I would stop by and congratulate you on your newest big client," he exclaimed animatedly, hoisting up the bag he was carrying.

Chelsea smiled appreciatively, happy for the diversion. "What's in the sack?"

"Chocolate éclairs, of course!"

"Well, does it matter if I got stood up, and walked away empty handed?" Her mind again flashed to Adam and the searing kiss. STOP IT, her inner voice commanded.

"Oh, I'm sorry..I didn't realize," Dylan answered regretfully.

Chelsea got up to greet him, and playfully grasped for the bag of goodies in his hand. He quickly pulled the bag behind his back, just out of her reach and leaning forward, kissed her on the lips. She automatically kissed him back, and then backed away slightly, causing him to frown.

"Something I said?" He asked, hurt evident on his face.

Flustered, she did what came natural to her, and lied. "I'm just tired because I didn't get much sleep. I was a little nervous about the meeting this morning, and now it was all for nothing," she sighed.

"I'm sorry babe," he murmured, rubbing her arm. "Anything I can do?"

He was too good for her. "No, I'm okay. I'm a tough girl, don't ya know?!"

"Well, I've got a coffee shop to get to, so call ya later?"

A weak smile lifted the corners of her mouth. "Sure."

Dylan, chalking up her shifting mood to hormones and disappointment, headed for the elevator. She watched him wave right before the elevator doors closed, and immediately broke down.

She really thought she was falling in love with Dylan. Thanks to Adam, it was all shot to hell now. Well, she couldn't let him ruin things for her. Been there, done that. She could love Dylan, but Adam had to keep his distance. No more kisses on the cheek or anywhere else for that matter. Whatever game he was playing was OVER!