Kane, Andrea (26 page)

The wildness between them swelled, exploded, and Dylan lifted her
up and into him, swerving around and pinning her to the wall with his body.
Through the confines of their clothes, his erection pulsed against her, made
her insides clench in response.

"So good," he muttered, cupping her breast. "So
damned good." His thumb found her nipple, rubbing back and forth until it
hardened and throbbed through the sheer material of her silk blouse and bra.
"God, this is an even bigger mistake than I thought." He kissed her
again, his mouth eating at hers as his fingers began unbuttoning her blouse.

Somewhere in the insanity of the next few moments, Sabrina pulled
her mouth away long enough to drag air into her lungs. "Dylan..." she
managed, feeling the air against her skin. Her blouse was open. She
wanted
it
to be open.

What in God's name was happening?

"What?" he asked thickly, his breath hot against her
mouth.

"We can't...."

"I know." His lips shifted to her neck, her throat,
tasting her skin as they burned a path down to her collarbone, then back up to
her mouth. "I know—but I don't care." He was kissing her again, one
hand tangling in her hair, the other tugging her blouse out of her slacks,
pushing the sides apart to give him access to her skin. His fingers shook as
they found the front clasp of her bra, working to release it so he could touch
her.

He was backing her toward the bed when she jerked her mouth away.
"We have to stop."

"Do we?" He paused, raising his head as her legs came up
against the mattress.

"Yes. We do." Her palms flattened against his chest,
creating a barrier that was as much for her as it was for him. "I'm
supposed to meet my mother at nine. It's probably close to that now."

Dylan swallowed, hard. His breath was coming fast, and his eyes
burned with tiny flames that made Sabrina's whole body run hot and cold.
"Is that the only reason we're stopping—your dinner appointment?"

She stared at him, too torn to think clearly, much less to answer.
"I don't know. Is it?"

A muscle worked furiously in his jaw, and he said nothing for a
long moment. Then, he released her, turned away. "Shit," he muttered,
dragging a hand through his hair. "I knew this would happen if I touched
you. But I couldn't keep my hands off you. That's not about to change. So what
the hell do I do?"

Sabrina had sunk down on the edge of the bed, her entire body
trembling. She was hardly the one to ask advice on this subject. She'd never
experienced such blind passion in her entire life. She was reeling from it. And
she had no clue how to go from here.

She busied herself by rebuttoning her blouse.

"Sabrina."

She raised her head, met Dylan's gaze.

"You're Carson's daughter. Things are already way too
complicated. If we get involved..."

"I know," she said quietly.

"Yeah, well, I'm glad
you
do." He rubbed the back
of his neck, and Sabrina could see that he, too, was reeling from what had just
happened—or almost happened. "I need a drink," he said flatly.
"Do you want one? Or would you prefer to wait and have one with your
mother?"

"In this case? Both." She gave him a shaky smile.
"I'll need one later. And I sure as hell need one now."

Dylan glanced at his watch. "It's eight forty-five."

She nodded. He was letting her know that she had just enough time
to get herself together and get over to the hotel. Whether or not she decided
to ignore that and share a drink with him, was her call.

She reached for the telephone on the night table. Lifting the
receiver, she punched in her mother's cell phone number.

"Hello?" Gloria's voice sounded preoccupied.
"Mother? Are you all right?"

"Yes, dear, I'm fine. I'm just in the middle of a
meeting."

Sabrina's brows drew together. Had her mother run into a client?
"With whom?"

"I had time to kill before you got here. So I set up an
appointment."

"Oh." Sabrina felt a wave of relief. "In that case,
would you mind if we pushed dinner back a half hour or so? I'm running
late."

A
slight hesitation. "Not at all. Finish up what you're doing.
If I'm through first, I'll get us a table."

"Perfect. Thanks. I'll see you in a little while."
Sabrina hung up, then inhaled sharply. Okay, good. She'd bought herself some
time.

"Merlot, right?" Dylan was still standing there,
watching her.

She nodded. "I'd better fortify myself, and fast." She
stood, glancing down at her disheveled state. "I'd also better make myself
look presentable. I'll use the adjoining bathroom over there, and meet you
downstairs." A rueful look. "The living room is safer ground than the
bedroom. Under the circumstances, I think it's better if we have our wine
there."

When Sabrina came downstairs five minutes later, Dylan was
standing at the living room bar, polishing off a glass of merlot. He glanced up
when she walked in, gesturing at the other filled goblet on the counter before
reaching for the bottle and refilling his own. "There you go"

"Thanks," Sabrina said. She picked up her glass,
frowning as she saw how unsteady her fingers still were. Her hand was trembling
enough to make the merlot swish around a bit, and she tried to remedy that—and
to calm her nerves—by taking a good hard swallow.

Dylan wasn't even pretending. He downed his second glass of wine
as if it were water, then turned toward her, still looking as grim as he had
upstairs. Not just grim, but upset and worried, maybe even guilty.

Those were the last things Sabrina wanted.

"We're going to have to deal with this—and soon," he
informed her. "Although I have no idea how. But tonight's not the night to
get into it. You've still got another chapter of family drama to get through,
and a pile of paperwork to read before you go to sleep. Not only that, but
tomorrow you're starting an enormous new project—and a whole lot more, as we
both know. So let's shelve this for a day or two."

Sabrina inclined her head, studying him intently. "I agree.
But in the meantime, I want to clear up a few things, just so we're on the same
page. I'm fine.
Really
fine. I realize that last night I told you I had
limited experience with men. So my guess is you're afraid I'll read too much
into things, or that I'm fragile and I'll fall apart. I won't and I'm not. So
stop looking so freaked out."

Dylan shot her a look, then refilled his glass yet again.
"I'm glad to hear
you're
fine.
I'm
not."

"Why?" she asked, her lips twitching a bit. "Are
you inexperienced, too?"

"Very funny." Dylan took a gulp of merlot. "The
problem is, I'm too damned experienced. I grew up on the streets. That means
discovering sex when the only part of you that understands it is the part of
you that's having it. It means getting what you want, when you want, and as
often as you want; knowing just where to go to make that happen."

"Sounds great," Sabrina noted, swirling the wine around
in her goblet. "You're lucky you didn't end up with a disease."

"You're right. I am. Then again, I wasn't stupid. Or
careless. Not after the way I was conceived. I used condoms. No exceptions.
That was one of my three cardinal rules."

"What were the other two?"

"Number two was no virgins."

"Really?" Sabrina's brows rose, and her voice dripped
with sarcasm. "How gallant of you."

"Not so gallant. I didn't want the responsibility, or the
hassle. Too much potential baggage. Not my thing."

"I see. And rule number three?"

"No emotional attachments. I needed to know I was always in
control. Caring strips you of that control." Dylan finished his third
glass of merlot, stared into the empty goblet. "Funny thing about cardinal
rules. They die hard. Even when you get older and more mature, even when you've
left behind the reckless kid you once were, those cardinal rules go with you.
They become part of the person you grow into."

"Well, thanks for the lesson. It was fascinating."
Sabrina set down her glass. "Now, I'd better be getting over to the hotel.
Keep the limo. I'll catch a cab."

"I don't need it. My apartment's three blocks away. I'll
walk."

"Stagger, you mean," Sabrina amended pointedly.

"You just guzzled three glasses of wine."

"I've got a high tolerance. I'm not drunk, at least not
nearly as drunk as I need to be. So, the limo's yours."

A shrug. "Suit yourself." She headed for the stairs.

"Sabrina—wait."

The imperative tone of his voice stopped her in her tracks, and
she turned slowly to face him.

"I lost control a few minutes ago," he stated flatly.
"I wanted you so much I was blind with it, oblivious to everything except
getting you in that bed. I would have chucked aside all the rules. I would have
blocked out all the complications. I would have done anything to get inside
you. That's never happened to me before. Not in thirty-five years. It blows my
mind that it could happen in an instant, with a woman who's so off-limits, it's
not even funny—a woman I met two days ago under the worst possible
circumstances. It blows my mind more that I can't wait for it to happen
again—and it will, unless you've got a hell of a lot more willpower than I do.
So, like I said, I'm glad
you 're
fine. But
I'm
not."

Sabrina wished Dylan's words didn't make her feel so damned good.
But they did. She knew the wine had loosened his tongue. But she also knew the
explanation was genuine. The fact that he was not only as caught up in the
chemistry between them as she was, but as startled by its intensity—and as
unable to ignore or erase it—made the turmoil she was experiencing a whole lot
more bearable.

"Aren't you going to say something?" Dylan demanded.

"Something honest, you mean?" She gave him a half-smile.
"Fair enough. Here goes. Maybe I'm not
that
fine. I'm not sure what
I am. I haven't had a coherent thought in the past half hour. When I do, I'm
sure I'll be as freaked out as you are by what all this means, the
complications it's going to create or worsen. But right now, all I can manage
is to walk out of here, get into that limo, and try to behave like a normal,
rational human being—one who didn't just lose all sense of reason and act so
out of character it's incomprehensible. I've got to put what just happened
between us away while I deal with my mother and then educate myself about
Ruisseau."

Her smile faded, and she gave voice to a truth she knew Dylan
would understand—one that was rooted in a sentiment the two of them shared.
"Tomorrow morning when I walk into that office, I've got to come off like
gangbusters. Nothing less. Carson's counting on me. And I refuse to disappoint
him."

"You won't. If I'm sure of anything, it's that." Dylan's
half-laugh was filled with irony rather than humor. "Bizarre, isn't it?
I'd never have believed I'd say that, much less feel confident that it's true.
But after watching you when you're with him, seeing the way you two connect,
and then listening to what you told me tonight..." Pausing, Dylan cleared
his throat, then finished his thought with simple, fervent directness. "I
said you were lucky to have Carson as a father. I'm beginning to think he's
equally lucky to have you as a daughter."

To Sabrina's astonishment, she felt tears burn behind her eyes.
She made no move to disguise them, distinctly aware that she was breaking one
of her own cardinal rules, one she'd learned early on in her career: Never let
your vulnerability show; never reveal a glimpse of your soft underbelly.
Adhering to that rule now seemed, somehow, trite and unworthy—both to Carson
and to Dylan.

She swallowed, her voice a little choked as she replied. "You
have no idea what it means to me to hear you say that." She gave Dylan the
candor he deserved. "Especially now, when I'm scared to death about what
lies ahead. Thank you."

"Don't thank me. And don't be scared." Dylan watched the
play of emotions on her face, and his gaze darkened. Sabrina knew in her gut
that he was wrestling with the desire to cross over and pull her into his arms.
She also knew that if he did, she'd have to fight like hell not to give in.
She'd want to. She
already
wanted to. But if she did, all the complications
they'd alluded to would come crashing in on them without ever having been
assessed.

In the end, he stayed where he was, although the sparks flying
between them were electric. "Take dinner in your stride," he advised
quietly. "As for tomorrow..." He raised his empty goblet in a toast.
"There's no doubt about the way your Ruisseau debut will play out. You're
going to knock 'em dead."

9:30
P.M.