Kane, Andrea (42 page)

It was a carefully planned, well-executed announcement.

Carson had given Sabrina his ringing endorsement, while keeping
the facts scarce to allow her to pick up the ball and run with it in whatever
direction she chose. As for spin, he'd left that to the media.

So there was no explanation for why Sabrina felt emotional. Yet
she did. She felt as if she were standing at the edge of a pivotal
precipice—one that, once she leaped across it, would change her life forever.

The prospect was exhilarating and daunting all at once.

She wet her lips, walked to the head of the table. From the corner
of her eye, she saw Dylan, leaning against the wall, arms folded across his
chest as he watched her. Stan was beside him, looking sheet-white, which was no
surprise, given that Detectives Whitman and Barton were hovering next to him, just
inside the door. They'd explained their appearance by saying Carson had asked
them to come—which Sabrina didn't doubt—but it hadn't stopped them from
closeting themselves in Stan's office for half an hour, grilling him about
God-knows-what.

She couldn't think about that now.

Glancing down at the sheet of paper in her hands, Sabrina abruptly
folded it in two and put it aside.

"I'd prepared something to say," she told the staff.
"But as I look it over, the words seem suddenly very trite. Suffice it to
say that as shocked and overwhelmed as you feel, I was twice as shocked and
overwhelmed. I've had time for the reality to sink in. Oh, I'm still a little
overwhelmed. But I'm also honored. Honored, proud, and excited. You know what I
want for this company. I told you my vision the day I came on board—some of you
in person, some in a memo I distributed. If anything, a week with all of you
has made me want that vision for Ruisseau even more. I intend to make it
happen, with your help, and with Carson at the helm. Rather than having me talk
endlessly, why don't you ask the questions that are on your minds, and I'll do
my best to answer them. And don't be shy. Believe me, the press won't be."

A titter went through the room.

Sabrina spent the next hour discussing professional
issues—reassuring people that their jobs would remain intact, that Ruisseau
would continue on its present track and with its current objectives—and
addressing more human issues—admitting that she'd been shocked and awed to find
out Carson Brooks was her father, acknowledging that she still had kinks to
work out before she was comfortable with the balancing act of running CCTL and
being president of Ruisseau.

The last few questions were the hardest.

"Ms. Radcliffe," Claude Phelps asked, his mouth set in a
tight, grim line. "What about the formula for C'est Moi—has Carson shared
that with you?"

Sabrina didn't blink or avert her gaze. "I'm not going to
answer that question, Claude. Because it's not mine to field. Whatever
decisions our CEO chooses to make, or not to make, are his to disclose. I'll
only answer questions that pertain to me, to my vision for Ruisseau, or to my
philosophies as they might affect you. Any questions you have for Carson,
you'll have to take up with him personally."

Claude scowled, but fell silent. Across the room, Dylan gave her a
thumbs-up.

"I'll take one more question," Sabrina stipulated. She
was starting to feel a little woozy. "Then we'll call it a day." A
day. Right. With the media hounds waiting outside. "Yes?" She acknowledged
Eve Rogers, one of Ruisseau's up-and-coming product managers, who'd stuck her
hand nervously in the air.

"I may be out of line," Eve began, shifting a bit as she
spoke. "But I know we're all wondering—and worrying—about Mr. Brooks's
health. Could you tell us what's rumor and what's fact? Will he be all
right?"

Sabrina nodded, bracing herself for where she knew this was
headed. "Carson is the strongest human being I've ever met. He's going to
pull through this. I'm sure you saw that much from watching him on tape. He's
chomping at the bit to get out of the hospital and back to his desk. Just ask
the nurses. They're drawing straws to see who's forced to go in there and deal
with him in his current—intolerant, shall we say—state of mind." She smiled,
as a universal chuckle echoed through the room. "By the way, no, you're
not out of line. Everyone at Ruisseau cares about Carson. He regards all of you
as his family. I think you know that."

"We do." The young woman stood up straighter, pushing
her glasses higher on the rim of her nose. "What about his kidneys? Have
they recovered, or are they still failing?"

"The doctors are being cautious on that prognosis,"
Sabrina replied. "Apparently, in some cases, it can take up to two months
for kidney function to return. The bullet caused a lot of trauma. So it's too
soon to tell."

"Meaning his kidneys aren't functioning now?"

"Right. He's had several dialysis treatments, and responded
very well to them. He's playing the waiting game—not very well, as I said—the
same way we are." She rolled her eyes. "Trust me. Mount Sinai will
never be the same."

Another chuckle went through the room.

"Ms. Radcliffe—" Eve asked what she, and everyone else,
really wanted to know. "We're aware that the hospital was searching for a
compatible donor match. Since you're Mr. Brooks's natural child, I was just
wondering..." Her voice trailed off, and she looked a little panicked that
she'd overstepped.

"You were wondering if I'd been tested to see if I fit the
bill," Sabrina finished for her. "The answer is yes, I have been
tested. We don't have conclusive results yet. The process is complicated, and
may take up to a month to complete. But when those results are in and when I
have more current information on Carson's kidney prognosis, I'll share the
outcome with all of you. In return, I ask that you pass as little as possible
on to the press, out of respect for Carson's privacy. Is that fair
enough?"

A uniform nod and a murmur of yeses ran through the room.

"Thank you. I'm sure we'd all like to go home and get some
rest. This has been quite a day—for all of us. I'll be at my desk bright and
early tomorrow morning, ready and eager to assume my new responsibilities. I
appreciate all of you taking the time to be here to share in this announcement."

Sabrina was aware of the applause, but she was so light-headed
that she wondered if she'd embarrass herself by fainting on her way down from
the head of the table. She walked slowly, methodically, stepping into a swarm
of people who had no more desire to let her go home to rest than they had to
dance naked in the streets.

She was screwed. She'd be here for hours.

As if on cue, Dylan made his way through the crowd, planted
himself in Sabrina's path. "Excuse me, Sabrina, but I need you to sign
some legal papers before you head out. I don't mean to keep you, but I've got
to get the documents over to Carson tonight."

"All right. Fine." She wanted to weep with gratitude as
he pressed a firm palm against the small of her back and practically shoved her
out of the room.

In the hall, he took her arm, led her down the corridor and toward
his office.

Sabrina blinked in surprise when she saw Detectives Whitman and
Barton standing outside Dylan's door. She hadn't seen them leave the conference
room.

"Your limo's parked outside, right near Fifth," Whitman
informed Sabrina. "The press is gathered around it like a bunch of
hornets. Go out of the building, veer toward Sixth, and head over to the park.
We have a squad car there that'll get you to Mr. Newport's apartment intact."

"Thank you so much," Sabrina breathed.

"Don't thank us. It was your father's idea." Barton
folded his arms across his chest. "A pretty good one, though, judging from
what's going on. Congratulations, by the way."

Sabrina didn't have time to answer. Dylan was already dragging her
toward the elevator.

The next few minutes were a blur. The elevator down to the second
floor. The stairs the rest of the way down, letting them out on the far side of
the lobby. Veering outside. Getting swallowed up in rush-hour pedestrian
traffic. Central Park. The welcome sight of a NYPD squad car.

Manhattan traffic had never looked so good.

An unknown time later, they turned onto West 76th Street, stopping
in front of Dylan's apartment. He tugged her out of the squad car, unlocked his
front door, and pulled her inside.

"Come on." He led her into the living room, eased her
down on the sofa, and poured her a glass of wine. While she was sipping it, he
went into the kitchen, emerging with a tray of crackers and cheese.
"Eat," he ordered, putting the tray down in front of her.

Sabrina gave him a wan smile. "My hero." She gobbled up
five or six crackers and brie, then drank a little more wine before setting her
goblet on the table and sitting back with a sigh. "I'm not sure, but I think
you just saved my life."

Dylan sat down beside her. "You scared the shit out of me.
You looked like a ghost when you walked away from that conference table."
He slid a hand beneath her hair, rubbed her neck gently. "Sabrina, you're
not a superhero. You're human. Give yourself a break."

She acted on impulse, on adrenaline, on sheer gut instinct.

"Whatever you say." She scrambled to her knees and
scooted closer, tugging at his tie even as she leaned up to kiss him.
"You're right. I need a break. I feel like I'm about to shatter. And I
need you to help me do that." She traced his lower lip with her tongue.
"Make love to me."

No second invitation was necessary.

Dylan made a harsh sound, capturing her head between his hands as
her lips brushed his. He took over the kiss without preliminaries, his mouth
ravaging hers with three days of pent-up sexual hunger combined with the
emotional overload of the past few hours. They didn't make it upstairs.

They yanked at each other's clothes, unable to get at each other
fast enough. Buttons popped, fabric ripped, and still it seemed to take forever
for them to be naked, to feel skin against skin.

Dylan couldn't stand it anymore, and he tore himself away from
her, kicking free of the last of his clothes and leaning over her, putting one
knee on the sofa and tearing her panties in two, tossing the shreds of silk
aside.

"I've got to get inside you," he muttered, kissing his
way down her body, making her moan and writhe as he did.

The sofa, wide and cushy or not, was too narrow to accommodate
their frantic motions. Dylan solved the problem by flinging some cushions on
the floor, and tumbling Sabrina onto them. "Okay?" he managed, poised
over her.

"Yes... yes... just hurry." Sabrina was in no mood for
slow and seductive. She needed Dylan and she needed him now.

Judging from the smoldering look in his eyes, she wasn't alone.

He moved between her thighs, propping himself on his elbows to
take some of his weight. Sabrina wrapped her legs around his, arched to take
him, her fingers digging into his biceps, pulling him into her.

He pushed deep, hard, stretching her and filling her. The
sensation was beyond description. Every nerve ending in Sabrina's body screamed
to life, everything inside her tightened, tightened.... God, he'd barely gotten
inside her and she was about to come, it was so spectacular.

Too
spectacular.

A heartbeat away from orgasm, Sabrina froze.

"Dylan."

His lips were buried against her throat, and he didn't answer, his
breath a warm, unsteady rasp against her skin. He was pulsing inside her, as
close to the edge as she was.

He withdrew slowly, then pushed all the way back in.
"God." A hard shudder wracked his body. "I can't wait. You feel
too good."

It took Sabrina a few seconds to speak, the pleasure was so acute.
And all her energies were focused on fighting the climax that was about to peak
inside her. "Dylan!" She shoved at his shoulders.

This time her tone registered. He raised his head, stared down at
her with eyes that were almost black with passion. Sweat dotted his forehead,
dampened the ends of his hair. "What's wrong?" He forced out the
words. "Does it hurt?"

"No. No, but..." God, it would be so easy to dismiss the
whole thing, to wrap her arms around his neck and pull him down to her, to lose
herself in this exquisite, unimaginable madness.

And if it were just the two of them, if there was nothing else at
stake, she would.

"Sabrina..." Dylan's fingers were shaking as they
touched her cheek. "What is it?"

"You're not wearing... a condom."

Shock dilated his pupils. "Shit." He gritted his teeth,
all the veins in his neck standing out as he called upon his failing reserves.
"Don't move. Don't even breathe. It'll be too much."

She understood. She felt the same way. She almost screamed in
frustration when he pulled out of her. Fists clenched, she waited while he
crawled over to his pants and yanked out a foil packet. He could barely get the
thing on, his hands were shaking so badly. But he was back in seconds, his body
so taut, Sabrina could feel him vibrating.