Kane, Andrea (46 page)

Sabrina's lips twitched. "The part about the rings is
perfect. As for the proposal, I suggest we move it to Central Park, or at least
to the sidewalk on Fifth Avenue. New York motorists aren't the romantic types.
They'll mow you down like a blade of grass."

"Good point. Okay then, either the sidewalk or the park,
depending on how patient I'm feeling."

"You're never patient."

"Untrue. It's been—" He glanced at the wall clock.
"—fifty-two minutes since I made love to you. I think that shows
commendable restraint on my part."

"I stand corrected." Smiling, Sabrina nuzzled closer to
Dylan, as eager as he to resume where they'd left off before their growling
stomachs had compelled them to eat. "I tell you what. We'll just finish
making plans. The dishes can wait."

"Good. Because I can't. So talk fast." He was already
exploring the contours of her body, his palm cupping her breast, his thumb
teasing the hardening nipple.

"You're the one who insisted we make plans," Sabrina
reminded him breathlessly, wriggling closer and reveling in his touch.

"That was when I could still think. Now I can't. My libido
eclipsed my brain. So, like I said, talk fast." He was already tearing
open a foil packet, dealing effectively with the condom.

A soft laugh. "Yes, sir. You asked about meeting my mother.
She's dying to meet you. I can hear it in her voice every time she
doesn't
mention
your name but wants to. So we can arrange that ASAP. Carson we can tell
tomorrow. He'll probably host an engagement party on Eleven West the minute
they move him there. Did I talk fast enough for you?"

"Sounds good. And no. Now, come here." Dylan gripped her
waist and pulled her over him. Nudging her thighs apart, he set her astride
him, lowering her slowly onto his erection.

"Dylan?" Sabrina splayed her hands across his chest,
needing one more serious, sane moment before she lost herself in their
lovemaking.

He heard the solemn note in her voice and paused, watching her
from beneath hooded lids.

"You asked about the timing of the wedding. I wish it could
be right away. But it can't. We have to be realistic. If Carson needs a
transplant, it'll be a while before he's himself again. A few months at least.
And until he is, I want to wait. I know you do, too."

"Absolutely." Dylan's response was emphatic, his gaze
intense as it held hers. "You're also forgetting something else. Carson's
not the only one who'd be involved in this transplant. You'd be the donor. Both
of you would need recuperation time."

"I guess you're right. I didn't think of that."

"Well, I did. I want you to be a hundred percent when we walk
down that aisle." Dylan's hands slid to her hips, his thumbs making lazy
circles on her skin. "So you see? I'm way ahead of you in the planning
department. We're getting married. Soon. We'll know in a month if the
transplant's happening. If it is, we'll wait—for however long it's necessary.
And after that, we'll have the rest of our lives together. That's enough
planning for tonight. Okay?"

Sabrina nodded. "Very okay."

"You're sure now?" he teased. "There's nothing else
you want to discuss?" He eased her down a fraction, gliding the tiniest
bit farther inside her. "The flowers?" Another fraction downward,
teasing her body and his own. "The food?" A little more. "The
invitations?" He arched upward, stopping when he was halfway there, making
Sabrina twist and cry out in frustration. "The guest list?" he
rasped, driving himself as crazy as he was driving her. "The—"

"No," Sabrina gasped. She grabbed his hands, yanking
them away so he could no longer hold her immobile. Then, she sank down on
him—hard—forcing him all the way inside her. "I don't want to discuss
anything." She raised herself upward, then sank down on him again. "I
just want this."

A harsh groan escaped Dylan and he dragged her mouth down to his,
his hips lifting to keep him as deep inside her as possible. "God, so do
I."

Tuesday, September 20th, 3:05 A.M.

It was in the deepest part of night that he made his way to
Dylan's apartment building. He stood outside, scouted the area.

He was alone.

They were in there. He knew that much.

He assessed the vertical bars that protected the ground floor
windows. Protected. That was a joke. There was more than enough space between
bars for what he had in mind. He selected the window closest to the door. That
way, their means of escape would be blocked off.

By now they were probably upstairs, fast asleep in the bedroom. Well,
guess what, guys, he thought. It's wake-up time. Wake up and die.

He was just about to reach into his knapsack, when he heard the
crunch of tires on the street. He whipped around. Shit. Some cops patrolling
the area.

He sauntered off, keeping his steps slow and even, just a kid with
a knapsack trotting along West 76th. Then, he ducked down an alley and held his
breath.

The patrol car passed by, neither cop even glancing in his
direction.

Gotcha suckers, he thought smugly.

3:08 A.M.

Dylan jerked awake.

He wasn't sure exactly what had roused him, but his street
instincts were kicking in, warning him that something wasn't right.

He peered around the darkened sitting room where he and Sabrina
had fallen asleep. She was curled on her side on the rug, her breathing deep
and even. The apartment was silent. Everything seemed fine.

So why did it feel like it wasn't?

He got up, moved restlessly around the apartment, checking doors
and windows, then verified that the burglar alarm was on.

It was. Everything was in order.

He went back to the sitting room, lay down beside Sabrina and
wrapped an arm around her, drawing her close. She murmured something
unintelligible and snuggled against him, obviously not sharing his sense of unease.

Fine, so it was his imagination working overtime.

3:50 A.M.

This time no one was around.

No cops cruising the area, no late-night pedestrians. Nothing. He
stood there for ten fucking minutes to make sure. But the street was deserted.
And with the cops having just driven by, it'd be a while before they did a
repeat performance.

He had enough time to do his thing'.

But he sure as hell wasn't wasting any of it.

He pulled the two whiskey bottles out of his knapsack, unscrewed
the caps, and retrieved the two rags he'd brought. He doused the rags in the
gasoline he'd filled the bottles with, then stuffed them into the mouth of the
bottles.

Okay, he thought. Here goes.

One more quick scrutiny of the area. All cool. Action time.

Reaching into his knapsack, he groped around, pulling out a
lighter and a piece of steel pipe. He had only one chance to get this right.
And he wasn't going to blow it. The stakes were too high.

In one unbroken motion, he lit the rags, then smashed the pipe
against the window pane, shattering the glass. He flung the bottles into the
apartment, one after the other, aiming for the short wall by the door to get
the greatest possible impact.

He heard the glass splinter, saw the fire engulf the wall.

Dylan jolted upright the instant the window shattered and the
burglar alarm screamed to life. He vaulted to his feet in time to hear the
crashes—one, two—and the
boom
of an explosion.

He grabbed his pants as the smoke detector began a shrill screech.

He smelled the gasoline, saw the eerie glow flickering from the
hallway. And he knew damned well what it was.

"Sabrina!" He shouted her name, even though she was
already struggling to a sitting position, looking tousled and disoriented.

"Dylan?" She blinked, shoving her hair out of her eyes.
"What's going on?"

"The apartment's on fire." He grabbed his shirt and
tossed it at her, as he zipped up his pants. "Put that on. Hurry. We're
getting out of here."

"Oh my God." She was instantly wide awake. Even without
looking, she knew Dylan was right. She could smell the flames. Flames and
gasoline. And the heat was getting stronger, closer.

She yanked on the shirt.

"Wrap this blanket around you," Dylan instructed,
already helping her do that, then flinging the second blanket around himself.
"The backyard's fenced in and the key to the back door's hidden in a
drawer. We've got to get out of here—
now.
Our chances are better heading
straight for the front door. I'll go first. Follow right behind me. And stay
low to the ground. If the smoke gets bad, we'll crawl."

Sabrina's eyes were already stinging, and her nose was burning
terribly. But she nodded, doing as Dylan said, staying low and following him
into the hallway.

The full length of the hall was in flames, and the front door
frame was a rectangular inferno.

Dylan knew they were in trouble.

He also knew it would only get worse. They had to get out of here—now.

He turned to Sabrina, beckoned her forward. "Come here."
He unwrapped the blanket from around him and pulled her inside, blanket and
all, anchoring her against him. Then, he wrapped his blanket around them both,
enveloping her in as tight a cocoon as he could, and muttered, "Hang on.
We're making a break for the door."

Gritting his teeth, Dylan urged them forward, and they bolted
through the hallway like a pair of sprinters. He could feel the heat of the
flames, and the smoke that was choking him, making his eyes water, but he
refused to give in. Next to him, Sabrina was seized by a horrible coughing fit,
but he ignored that, too. Gripping the blanket so it enveloped his arm and
hand, he reached through the flames, and flipped open the front door lock. Even
through the protective layer of acrylic, the metal was unbearably hot, but he
didn't give a damn. He braced himself, then grabbed hold of the doorknob,
twisted, and pulled.

The cool night air slapped at his face, but it didn't compare to
the burning heat all around him. He heard Sabrina's whimper, knew the blanket
was in flames, but he also knew it was the only protection they had for what
needed to be done. He anchored Sabrina against him and made a dive for the
pavement, cushioning Sabrina's fall with his body. He landed hard, a sharp pain
shooting through his skull as it struck the concrete. He fought the pain,
holding Sabrina tightly, and rolled the two of them back and forth across the
pavement until the flames subsided and his strength ran out.

He collapsed, waves of dizziness blending with throbbing pain.

From far away, a fire truck siren blared.

The last thing Dylan remembered before blacking out was hearing
Sabrina dissolve into a violent spasm of coughing.

It was the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard.

5:45
A.M.

Mt. Sinai Hospital

"I'm fine," Dylan insisted hoarsely as he followed the
pinpoint of light the emergency room doctor was moving back and forth in a
horizontal line in front of his eyes. "I just have a lousy headache."

"That lousy headache is a mild concussion," the doctor
corrected. "You hit your head pretty hard."

Dylan forced a smile. "Yeah, but I stopped the blanket from
burning, didn't I?"

"That you did." The doctor put away his medical
instruments and checked the bandage that covered an ample section of Dylan's
chest. "Good. The bleeding's stopped." He stepped away, planting his
feet in that doctor-about-to-issue-a-lecture stance. "Look. You're a lucky
guy. Besides the concussion, you've got that whopping gash on your chest, cuts
and scrapes on your arms, a few impressive lacerations on your face and neck,
and minor burns, plus a scratchy voice from those few minutes of smoke
inhalation. Considering what could have happened..."

"Yeah, I know." Dylan moved his head and winced a bit.

"The painkiller should start working soon."

"Good. Fine. Thanks. Can I see Sabrina now?" Dylan
demanded. "You said she was all right. So let me go to her."

"She
is
all right," the doctor returned sternly.
"She was treated and released. And you don't need to go to her. Last I saw
her, she was pacing outside your door, where I asked her to wait until I
finished examining you. She takes orders about as well as you do." Seeing
the profound concern on Dylan's face, the doctor's demeanor softened. "She
really is fine—thanks to you. You took the brunt of the fall. Her cuts and
scrapes are minor, and she's got minimal burns. The toughest part for her was
the smoke inhalation. It affected her more than it did you. Not so much her
lungs, which are pretty clear, but her nose and throat. They were badly
irritated. But she'll be herself in a couple of days."