Kane, Andrea (36 page)

The tissue-typing results would be in today.

Sabrina's insides clenched just thinking about it. She felt as if
she'd been waiting for this for a month, rather than a week and a half. Dr.
Radison had tried to get the results on Friday, but they weren't ready. Neither
was Carson, as Radison continually reminded her. It would still be six weeks
before they were ready to concede that his kidney failure was permanent, and at
least that long— barring any unforeseen complications or infections—before his
wounds were sufficiently healed and his strength restored to the point where he
could undergo a transplant.

And that entire scenario was contingent upon Sabrina being the
right donor match, or on that right match miraculously appearing out of
nowhere. Otherwise, the timetable would drastically alter as they extended the
search beyond Carson's circle of associates, since no one tested thus far had
turned out to be compatible.

Sabrina gulped down the rest of her coffee and walked to her desk,
sitting rigidly at the edge of her chair. She was so damned wired. She should
be in bed, catching up on a few hours' sleep before another busy, crazy week.
Instead, here she was, in the wood-paneled office that was now hers, looking
over status reports that would help her shape the tenor for this week's
meetings.

Funny that the facet of her life she'd expected to be the most
overwhelming was, in fact, turning out to be her salvation.

Ruisseau.

She'd loved every minute of her first week here. Donna, her
secretary, had to physically pull her out of her office on Friday so she
wouldn't miss her flight to Manchester. It wasn't that she didn't look forward
to going to CCTL. She did. Walking in there felt like coming home. But Ruisseau
was a different kind of home—a home that would soon be permanent in a whole new
way, once the announcement she'd drafted on the plane had been made. Then,
she'd be the official president of two amazing organizations, each entirely
different from the other, each pivotal in her life for its own reasons.

Talk about being torn between two lovers.

Yeah, well, maybe professionally. But not personally.

For the umpteenth time, her thoughts strayed to Dylan and the
relationship she was sinking deeper and deeper into every day. Oh, they were
playing by her rules, making no demands, asking no questions. No one at
Ruisseau had any idea they were involved, and Sabrina meant for it to stay that
way, at least until she knew where the relationship was headed and the staff
knew who she really was. As for priorities, work always came first, and Carson
came before that. On the surface, it was light and airy—no strings, no plans,
no big deal.

Behind the scenes, it was fervent, consuming, and downright
terrifying.

It wasn't just that they couldn't keep their hands off each other,
although the sex was so intense, it left Sabrina shaking. It was how well they
worked together, challenging and pushing the boundaries, generating an energy
that was palpable. It was how they encouraged, provoked, and sometimes
bulldozed each other into considering new perspectives, stretching their
individual knowledge to reach new levels of thinking. It was how much they
respected and—sappy as it sounded—
liked
each other.

True, they'd met less than two weeks ago. And, yes, that meant
there were still lots of unknowns, lots of testing—and learning—unfamiliar
territory. But the very personal, life-or-death circumstances that precipitated
their meeting and continued to define their day-to-day lives had accelerated
everything, snowballed their relationship into supersonic motion. So two weeks
felt more like two months.

Plus, they were so much on the same wavelength.

It didn't matter that they were different in countless ways, with
backgrounds that were polar opposites. Beneath it all there was an integrity, a
loyalty, an ambition and drive, passion and perfectionism that they shared. Not
to mention that Dylan was, by far, the most secure human being Sabrina had ever
met. Nothing she did, no accomplishment she made, threatened him. He was
totally comfortable in his own skin. He was also as opinionated as she—blunt as
hell when he disagreed with her, both privately and publicly, straightforward
with his praise, and equally straightforward with his criticism. She turned to
him as often as she did to Stan, asking questions, getting input, testing
theories.

No, actually she turned to him more. And not because of their
personal involvement. Because of Stan, and whatever was going on with him.

She'd noticed it all week long, although she'd kept it to herself,
at least until today, mostly because she felt guilty saying anything negative
about Stan given how tight he and Carson were.

Besides, she liked and respected the man. He was a sharp COO and a
dedicated stand-in mentor. He counseled and supported Sabrina, easing her
transition as best he could.

What worried her was that he was so jumpy and distracted, that
beneath the cutting-edge mind, there was an undercurrent, an edginess that
Sabrina couldn't quite put her finger on. But she had to mention it to Carson,
to get into the insecurity issue he'd alluded to when he spoke of Stan. She had
no choice. It was as if Stan were worried about where his place in the company
was, and that that worry was making him increasingly strained as the days progressed.
He worked his butt off, but it was more the effort of a freaked-out man than a
productive one—like he was dancing as fast as he could, but it just wasn't fast
enough to grab hold of whatever brass ring he had in mind. Sabrina couldn't
ignore the possibility that it was her arrival, her new position at
Ruisseau—and in Carson's life—that had triggered Stan's behavior, or at least
exacerbated it.

The issue had to be addressed.

But in the meantime—and as a result of Stan's insecurity—she found
herself walking down to Dylan's office more often than not, to run an idea by
him or to pick his brain.

No self-esteem problems there. And no baggage to tiptoe around.

With Dylan and her, it was bust-your-butt and leave your ego at
the door. It was insane work hours where they ordered in Chinese food to
sustain them through forgotten dinners. It was jumping into limos and speeding
to Mt. Sinai twice a day to bring Carson up to speed and to get health updates
that made them feel more at ease. It was arguing over in-house changes and
C'est Moi's continued vulnerability if Carson refused to patent the formula.
And once, after a particularly grueling day of meetings, it was a run in
Riverside Park at one A.M.

Then there were the nights—equally frenetic, far more devastating.

They'd spent every one of them together last week, sometimes at
her place, sometimes at his. Inexperienced or not, Sabrina wasn't a starry-eyed
teenager. Her assumption had been that physical attraction—no, more like
obsession—would taper off once lovemaking transitioned from fantasy to reality.
Well, it hadn't. True, they'd only been sleeping together for a week, but she'd
expected at least the frantic edge to have worn off. Wrong. They wanted each
other with the same urgency as the first time, even at three A.M., when they'd
spent the past four hours making love.

They were on the verge of using up the last of Dylan's two-box
supply of condoms. They'd already restocked— putting boxes in both her place
and his. And Dylan had started carrying some with him, for those times when the
bedroom just seemed too far away. Usually, they barely made it through the
front door before they started undressing each other, stumbling as they headed
for the nearest piece of furniture.

On Thursday—their last night together before she left for New
Hampshire—they hadn't even gotten past the hall. They'd made love on the
mahogany table in Dylan's entranceway. He'd stripped her from the waist down,
lifted her onto the table, and taken her in hard fast strokes that brought them
both to climax in seconds. Just thinking about it made her body throb and...

"Good morning."

Sabrina's head snapped up, and she could actually feel hot color
flood her cheeks as she saw Dylan leaning in her doorway.

"Hi," she managed.

A corner of his mouth lifted and he walked in, shutting the door
behind him. "Well, I don't have to ask what
you
were thinking
about"

"No, I guess you don't." She propped her elbows on the
desk and interlaced her fingers, resting her chin on them. "Then again, I
thought I was alone with my fantasies. What are you doing here at seven
something-or-other in the morning?"

He perched on the edge of her desk. "I needed a break from
three nights and three mornings of cold showers. I was starting to develop
frostbite."

Sabrina's lips twitched. "That sounds dire."

"It was. Care to rub some feeling back into my
extremities?"

She couldn't help but dissolve into laughter. "That's quite a
pick-up line, Mr. Newport. Very unique. Still, I wouldn't count on it bringing
a high ratio of success."

"It worked this time. I got you to laugh, despite those deep
circles I see under your eyes." He studied her intently. "You look
beat. Rough weekend?"

Sighing, Sabrina pressed her palms to her cheeks. "It wasn't
the weekend. I can handle the workload. I can even handle the
time-juggling."

"It's the tissue-typing results. They're due in today."

"Yes. I spoke to Dr. Radison a little while ago. He should be
calling me any time now." She raised her head, met Dylan's gaze. "I'm
afraid," she said quietly, opening up to him in a way that was still very
new to her. "Afraid that I won't be a match. And afraid that I will."

"That's called being human." Dylan walked around behind
the desk, tugged her to her feet. "Come here." He drew her against
him, tipped up her chin and kissed her. "I know this is taboo," he
murmured, circling her lips with his. "We're at work. But no one's in the
office yet. Give me ten seconds to make you feel better."

She smiled, reaching up to wrap her arms around his neck.
"You're good. But not
that
good. If you really want to make me feel
better, you'll need more than ten seconds."

"Then consider this a prelude." He covered her mouth
with his, nudging her lips apart and taking her in a heated kiss she felt to
the tips of her toes. "It'll be okay. Hang in there. And, by the way, I
missed you."

"I missed you, too," she admitted. "Even yoga
didn't help."

"You must be doing the wrong stretches. Or maybe you're doing
them in the wrong positions. I'll work on both with you tonight."

Sabrina smiled against his mouth. "Now you're a yoga
instructor?"

"Better. I'm a magician. I can get every one of those
beautiful muscles to relax." He winked as he released her.
"Promise."

"I'm going to hold you to that." Sabrina's smile faded
and she ran her fingers through her hair. "God knows, I'll need it."
She met Dylan's gaze. "It's not just what's ahead of me at Mount Sinai.
It's what's ahead of me here. I've decided to make the announcement today. It's
time."

Dylan folded his arms across his chest. He didn't look surprised.
"When?"

"At the end of the day. I left a voice mail for Donna last
night, when I got back from CCTL and was still delusional enough to believe I'd
get some sleep and she'd beat me in here this morning. Instead I was so revved
up that I had insomnia and stared at the ceiling for three hours. Anyway, I
asked her to send out an in-house e-mail calling for a full company meeting
today at five-thirty. Whoever can't make it will hear the news in a matter of
hours by phone chain, I'm sure. I'm not trying to make a big deal out of it,
but I don't want the staff to think this only concerns the VPs. It concerns
everyone."

Dylan nodded. "Are you waiting until the blood test results
come in? Is that why you timed your announcement for the end of the day?"

"No." Sabrina shook her head. "Originally that's
what I had in mind. But it suddenly occurred to me that the two things aren't
connected. If the blood work turns out the way I'm hoping, Carson will get my
kidney. That's a given. But if it doesn't, if I can't be the one to make the
transplant possible, I'm still his daughter. I still want to be part of
Ruisseau—and of Carson's life. It's time I shared that with the rest of his
family—his staff. No, the reason I picked the end of the day is to give
everyone a chance to juggle their schedules and to give me a chance to meet
with Dr. Radison and talk to Carson."

"To say he'll be thrilled that you're going public with this
is the understatement of the year."

"Telling him will be the highlight of my day." Her
expression brightened. "Actually, I had an idea. Do you think we could
videotape the meeting? Then we could play it for him in his hospital bed. My
first choice would be for him to make the announcement himself, but I doubt the
medical staff would go for us setting up videoconferencing in ICU. So this is
the next best thing. He'll be able to see the event firsthand. You think that's
overkill?"

"I think it's terrific. He'll watch the tape a hundred times.
He'll probably make all the nurses on night shift watch with him—that is, those
who are still speaking to him." Dylan eyed her intently. "What about
your mother? Have you prepared her for the media circus?"