"Dylan," she interrupted, squirming into a sitting position and massaging the spot where her neck throbbed. "If you want to ream me out for not mentioning my virginity, go ahead. But you didn't hurt me. Your headboard did. I feel like someone took a hammer to my neck."
"Oh. Yeah." A slow grin twisted his lips, and he leaned forward, took over the job of massaging her neck. "I tried to buffer the blows, but solid cherry wood is hard to negotiate with."
"Ummm." She relaxed, her eyes sliding shut as she let Dylan ease her taut muscles. "I don't remember slamming into it."
"Let's say your mind was elsewhere."
One eye cracked open. "Stop sounding so smug. Your mind was right there with mine."
"It sure as hell was." His hot gaze moved slowly down her body, lingering in all the right places, drinking in her nakedness in a way his earlier urgency had precluded. His view was limited, since her body was cast in shadows, illuminated only by the filaments of moonlight trickling through the window. "When we make love again, I'm putting on the light. I want to see—and learn—every inch of you."
"Do I get to do the same to you?"
"I'm all yours, sweetheart."
There was something profound about those words, a double entendre they couldn't ignore.
The enormity of what was happening between them struck home, hard.
"Damn." Sabrina exhaled sharply, averting her gaze and dragging an unsteady hand through her hair. "It wasn't supposed to be this unbelievable."
"But we knew it would be," Dylan stated flatly, in true diehard realist form.
"Physically, yes. But the rest..."
"... it felt like more."
She nodded. "It could just be me. At the risk of sounding corny, this was my first time. Maybe I'm overreacting."
"Nope. That explanation's not going to fly. To begin with, you're not the corny or the overreacting type. Also, it wasn't my first time, but I'm as blown away as you are. More so, in fact. This definitely wasn't in my game plan, not after thirty-five years of going solo."
Sabrina felt a little like she was sinking in quicksand, except that she didn't want to be rescued. "The timing's awful."
"True. But the feelings are pretty amazing." He reached over, capturing her chin between his fingers and bringing her around to face him. "Are you sorry?"
"That we made love, that it was so mind-blowing, or that it triggered a whole new set of emotional complications?"
"Take your pick."
She blew out her breath. "No, no, and no." A quizzical look. "You?"
"Not on your life."
"We shouldn't get ahead of ourselves." Sabrina wondered who she was trying to convince—Dylan or herself. "We should take it a day at a time. No expectations, no commitments. There's so much going on right now, neither of us can shoulder more pressures and demands. So let's just take it as it comes, okay?"
"Sounds like a plan."
Sabrina cleared her throat. "What about rule two—are you upset?"
"Only that you didn't tell me." Dylan's fingertip traced her shoulder. "I would have gone slower, been more gentle.... Oh, who am I kidding?" He gave a humorless laugh. "No I wouldn't have. I was wild to get at you. Nothing short of death could have stopped me or slowed me down. I was surprised, yeah, but not shocked. I knew you were inexperienced. You told me what your life was like. Somewhere in the back of my mind I'm sure it occurred to me that this was a possibility. It wouldn't have made a damn bit of difference." A grimace. "So, that's two cardinal rules out the window."
"I'll keep you honest about rule one," Sabrina vowed with a faint smile. "It's the least I can do after being the cause of your abandoning the others."
"Fair enough." Dylan was reaching over to his night table, clicking on the lamp.
"Please tell me that doesn't mean what I think it does." Sabrina gave him a wary look. "Please say I'm getting more than five minutes to recover."
He chuckled. "You are. In fact, you're getting help recovering."
"Meaning?"
"See that door?" He pointed to the far corner of the bedroom. "Yes."
"It leads to my bathroom. In there's the most amazing, relaxing, enormous stall shower you've ever seen—complete with massage sprays and twin shower heads. Great for sore necks and any other parts that need soothing. Interested?"
"Maybe." She shot him a deliciously seductive glance. "Are you joining me?"
He flashed her that irresistible, sexy grin. "It might cut down on your recuperation time."
"I'll take the risk. I'm a fast healer."
"In that case..." He rolled to his feet, lifting her off the bed and into his arms. He paused long enough to scoop up the box of condoms, before heading purposefully for the bathroom. "I've got a Jacuzzi, too. After you're recovered, we'll put it to good use."
CHAPTER 21
Monday, September 19th, 7.15 A.M.
Ruisseau Fragrance Corporation
Sabrina stared out her office window, watching the city come alive as she sipped a cup of very strong, very leaded coffee. She was exhausted, having flown in from Manchester late last night following a whirlwind weekend at CCTL—a full three-day session with two Fortune 500 companies, including three intensive training workshops a day per company, plus mounds of paperwork to catch up on, and mega-questions to answer from Melissa. She'd worked with the companies, conducted the workshops, tackled the paperwork, and fielded the questions—answering some, deferring others—then hopped on the last plane to LaGuardia, collapsed in the waiting limo and finally, finally toppled into her bed—only to find that she was too wound up to sleep. It shouldn't surprise her.
Two careers. Two homes. A father she was getting to know and like more every day. Tests about to come back that would hopefully change the course of her life and give Carson back his. And a torrid love affair that had exploded out of control the minute it began.
She sighed, massaging the back of her neck and reminding herself that there were departmental reports sitting on her desk waiting to be read—the main reason she'd come in here at dawn.
She'd wanted to visit Carson first. But Dr. Radison had said he was asleep after a fitful night. The fitful night, he'd assured Sabrina, was a positive sign—at least in Carson's case. He was healing, getting his strength back, and, as a result, going bonkers lying in that hospital bed. All his parts were on the mend—all except his kidneys, which still hadn't shown any sign of kicking in.
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. "Yo
u'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."