Kane, Andrea (43 page)

"This is going to be barbarically quick," he ground out,
already pushing into her. "I'm sorry."

She shook her head. It couldn't be quick enough for her. She was
dying.

He plunged deep, and Sabrina cried out, the tension coiling too
tight to bear, then unraveling in spasms that shook her to the core, and milked
Dylan well past the point of no return.

He shouted her name, thrusting into her climax, meeting it with
his own. His entire body convulsed, again and again, his hips pumping wildly as
he came.

Recovery took longer than the act itself, both of them struggling
to drag air into their lungs. The cushions hadn't survived the chaos, and were
shoved haphazardly around on the floor, leaving nothing under Sabrina but the
area rug. Dylan's full weight was on her, and the hardwood floor beneath the
rug anchored her so he was even deeper inside her than usual.

Moving seemed too exhausting to consider.

Neither of them considered it.

Time passed.

Eventually, Dylan gathered up his strength and lifted himself off
of her. He looked dazed and spent, yet there was a fine tension rippling
through him that Sabrina sensed right away. She lay quietly, watching him,
uncertain whether to address the issue or let him take the lead.

Neither happened.

Dylan stood up, and went into the bathroom to deal with the
condom. A minute later, he emerged and walked back over to where she lay. His
lids were hooded, but he looked intense, brooding, as he loomed over her.

"We need to talk," he stated flatly.

"Okay." Sabrina's muscles felt like water. She moved
them gingerly, wondering if she'd be able to stand.

Dylan eliminated the problem by dropping down to his knees beside
her. He cupped her face between his palms and gazed directly into her eyes.
"I'm in love with you. I don't want to take it a day at a time. I don't
want to do without commitments and expectations. I don't give a damn about the
other pressures and demands in our lives. They'll be here tomorrow, and the
next day, and the next. We'll deal with them—together. I want permanence. I want
marriage. I want children. And I want them with you."

Sabrina just stared at him, his words penetrating her mind slowly,
like a fine wine, until they registered. Then, she did something she rarely
did. She burst into tears.

Covering her face with her hands, she wept, all the emotions of
the day spilling out in a rush.

Dylan pressed her head against his chest, kissed her hair. "I
hope that's not an answer," he murmured, his fingers trailing gently up
and down her back. "Because it's not great for my ego."

Sabrina laughed through her tears. "And I hope that
incredible speech wasn't your way of trying to divert me from the fact that you
promised to cook me dinner. No matter how eloquent or spectacular you are, I
want that linguini in white clam sauce."

"What about the chef? Do you want him, too?"

She raised her head, gazed at him through wet eyes. "You've
turned my entire life upside down."

"Ditto," he said softly.

"I knew who I was. I knew where I was going. I knew what I
wanted." She dragged a hand through her hair. "God, I'm such a mess.
A new life, a new identity, and a man who makes me feel things I never counted
on feeling."

"What things, Sabrina? What is it I make you feel?"

She swallowed, hard. "You want the words."

"Damn right I want the words."

Two tears slid down her cheeks. "Dylan, it's only been a few
weeks...."

"It only took a few minutes. We both know it. We both feel
it. Now say it."

"Okay." She wasn't about to fight this one. It was a
losing battle. She could deny it till the cows came home, but she was
head-over-heels in love with this man. And he deserved to know. "I love
you," she said in a quavery voice. "I don't want to take it a day at
a time. I don't want to do without commitments or expectations. The truth is,
if you ever look at another woman, I'll choke you."

His lips twisted into that sexy, crooked smile. "Thanks for
the warning. But the risk is nil. No one exists for me but you." His
expression intensified again. "What about the rest?"

"The rest?"

"Marry me. Have my children. Build a life with me."

"Dylan, I want to say yes." She struggled for a
semblance of sanity. "But there's so much going on now. My life is on
overdrive. I don't even know which end is up."

"I do," he said in a husky, teasing voice. "Want me
to show you?"

"Be serious."

"I am." He sobered, slid his palms over her shoulders.
"The way we feel about each other is the only constant in all this
insanity. As for the rest—planes fly from New York to Manchester in a little
over an hour. Telephones and e-mails reach everywhere, all over the world, in a
matter of minutes. We can live in two places, merge our two lives, do any
goddamned thing we want to. We can work it out—if we want to badly enough. Say
yes."

She reached up, caressed his jaw. "You have a way of making
me believe anything's possible."

"Doesn't that tell you something?"

"Um-hum. It tells me that I already have my answer. And now,
so will you. Yes. My answer's yes."

"Finally." He turned his lips into her palm. "I'm
crazy about you. I lose my mind when we're together. I guess that means I'll be
losing it for good."

Sabrina laughed softly. "Any complaints?"

"Not a one."

He was already starting to get that smoky look in his eyes. And
much as Sabrina wanted to make love with him again, there was something
important they needed to discuss first. Something she needed to make him
understand.

"Dylan?" She rose to her knees, wrapped her arms around
his neck, and held his gaze. "Before—when you were inside me—I wouldn't
have stopped you. I wanted the same thing you did. It's just that..."

"You don't need to explain," he interrupted.
"You're not ready. I understand. I was a careless jackass. My only excuse
is that I'm so in love with you I lose all touch with reality."

"Me, too. Believe me, pragmatism had nothing to do with why I
stopped you. I could barely breathe, much less think. But I had to try—for
Carson's sake."

His brows drew together. "Carson?"

She nodded. "The transplant. I've got to be ready for surgery,
just in case he needs it. I can't get pregnant, not now."

Realization—and guilt—flashed across Dylan's face. "I really
am a selfish bastard. I claim to be so damned devoted to Carson, and here I am
forgetting what he might need more than anything else."

"You didn't forget. We were making love. It's not exactly a
natural leap to think of Carson's medical condition while we're tearing each
other's clothes off."

"You did."

"Barely. And just in the nick of time. One more second
and..." She shivered, traced his lips with her fingertips. "You're an
amazing lover. The way you make me feel defies words."

He lowered his head, kissed his way down the side of her neck.
"I return the compliment. I can't get enough of you."

"M-m-m." Her eyes slid shut. "See? That explains
it. You're not selfish. I'm just intoxicating. I bewitched you."

He chuckled, his breath warming her skin. "You sure as hell
did. And you're welcome to keep doing so for the rest of our lives." He
cupped her face, kissed her slowly, tenderly. "Are you starving?" he
murmured between kisses. "Or can the linguini wait?"

"Oh, I'm starving all right." She gave him a look that
was pure seduction. "What linguini?"

7:55 P.M.

Mt. Sinai Hospital

Carson's eyelids drooped. He didn't want to doze, but he couldn't
seem to keep his eyes open.

He was totally wiped out. The excitement, the intensity, the
activity level of the day—it had taken a lot out of him. Not that he would have
changed any part of it. Not for the world. After today, he could publicly
acknowledge his daughter and have her in his life.

It was okay to rest now. He'd be getting an update from Stan any
minute now, letting him know how the announcement had gone over, and if Sabrina
and Dylan had managed to elude the press. He wanted to know that she was safe
and sound, that the cops had gotten her to Dylan's the way they promised.

His forehead creased. That was his only nagging worry. Had
revealing Sabrina's identity put her at risk? Would whoever shot him somehow
find out that he'd shared the formula for C'est Moi with his daughter, and go
after her, too?

He'd talk to Whitman and Barton tomorrow. If they didn't see his
logic and agree to a police escort for Sabrina, he'd hire a private bodyguard
to watch her.

But not tonight. Tonight she'd be fine. She had the best bodyguard
in the world: Dylan. And she and Dylan were well on their way to what he viewed
as the ultimate and spectacular inevitable. Hell, with the way he felt about
Dylan, and now Sabrina—it was a father's dream...

He must have drifted off.

He had the dream again. Relived the Monday night shooting. In slow
motion, the same as always. He was standing at the window. Heard the pop. Felt
the pain. Smelled the sweet odor. Saw the colors, the carpet. Heard Dylan's
voice. Then, the paramedics. The blood—so much of it. Wet and sticky. Dizzy.
The tingling in his limbs. Trying to breathe—inhaling that sickeningly sweet
smell. Blood and carpet cleaner. And there was something else. Something he
should remember, but couldn't. Whatever it was, it was just out of his grasp.

At some point he became aware that he wasn't alone.

Not in his dream. In reality. Here. Now.

He forced open his eyes. Dusk had settled over the hospital room,
casting it in shadows. Someone was there. It wasn't a doctor or a nurse.

Stan? Was that Stan standing next to his IV drip, saying something
to him?

Maybe not. Maybe it was part of the dream.

Because when he opened his eyes again, Stan was gone. He was
alone.

He drifted off again.

"Carson?" Susan's voice dragged him back to
consciousness, and he forced open his eyelids, seeing her worried face.
"Are you okay?" she demanded. Her hand was cool as it stroked his
face.

He realized he was sweating.

The dream. It did it to him every time.

And he realized something else. It was dark. Pitch dark. Not in
his room, but outside his window. Son of a bitch. How late was it?

"Carson?" Susan repeated, her increasingly alarmed tone
telling him she was freaking out because he wasn't answering. "What is it?
Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. Just groggy. What time is it?" he asked
hoarsely.

"Ten-thirty."

"Ten-thirty?" The cobwebs vanished, and Carson sat bolt
upright. "Why did you let me sleep so long?"

"Honey, you were exhausted." Susan still looked worried,
although hearing how coherent he was seemed to bring her some measure of
relief. "Here." She poured him a glass of water. "Drink
this." She waited while he did. "You were having that nightmare
again," she told him quietly. "It was bad this time. You were
thrashing around and muttering something about smelling blood. And you asked
for Stan."

He frowned, remembering. "Stan—was he here?"

Susan nodded. "He came by to tell you about the meeting. But
you were pretty out of it. Dr. Radison suggested that he come back in the
morning."

"Dammit. The meeting." Carson pushed back the covers,
tried to get up. "I have to know...."

"Don't." Susan stopped him, blocking his path so he
couldn't get out of bed. "The meeting went fine. I can give you a recap.
Stan said the staff received the news about Sabrina with great enthusiasm, and
that she answered questions like a pro. No sticky moments, except when Claude
wanted to know if you'd told Sabrina the formula for C'est Moi, and when a
product manager asked if Sabrina had been tested as a potential kidney
donor."

Carson pursed his lips. "And?"

"Stan said she handled things perfectly. She deflected
Claude's question, telling him he'd have to direct any inquiries regarding
decisions you've made to you personally. As for the tissue-typing, she said she
was in the process of being tested and would fill the staff in when the results
were conclusive and when she knew if your kidneys were going to recover on
their own. And she told them to respect your privacy and stay away from the
press."

"Good girl." A proud smile curved Carson's lips.
"No bullshit. No embellishing. Just straight facts. Then what?"

"Then, Whitman and Barton did their job. Sabrina and Dylan
got out of the building without incident, made it to the squad car. and were
driven, safe and sound, to Dylan's apartment."