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"Dylan..." Sabrina's voice might have been raspy, but there was no mistaking the warning note there. "Cut it out."
"You're the one who asked him to settle down," Dylan reminded her. "I think we can do one better. I think we can get him to grin like a Cheshire cat." He gave Sabrina a quick, conspiratorial wink. "Don't worry. What I'm planning won't make you blush. I just say we go with the good news first. After that, we can get into the messy details of tonight's break-in, and the conversation we had with Whitman and Barton. What do you say?"
Sabrina got his drift, and she had to agree that it made sense. "I say there's no time like the present."
"What good news?" Carson demanded.
Dylan arched a quizzical brow at Sabrina. "Who gets the honor—you or me?"
"You've known him longer." She smiled, then coughed again. "I'll save my voice and watch like a fascinated spectator."
"What good news?" Carson blasted.
"Okay, okay." Dylan gave him that lopsided grin. "I'll make it short and sweet. I'm wildly in love with your daughter. Fortunately, she feels the same way about me. I asked her to marry me. She said yes. Now how's that for an incentive to get well? We need you to walk her down the aisle."
Disregarding the quiet demanded in ICU, as well as the twinges of pain he caused his injuries, Carson let out a whoop and punched the air triumphantly. "Yes! I knew it! Gloria knew it, too. We were both right. Damn, I can't wait to start spoiling my grandchildren."
The grandchildren bit didn't even register. Sabrina was too fixed on the part before that. "What do you mean, 'Gloria knew it, too'?"
An offhanded shrug. "I think that's pretty self-explanatory."
"No, it's not. Dylan and I knew you were playing matchmaker. You weren't exactly subtle. But where does my mother fit into this equation? She's never even met Dylan."
Carson rolled his eyes. "You forget how smart Gloria is, and how well she reads you. She guessed where this was headed right after I told her you couldn't keep your hands off each other. She's probably starting a line of designer booties as we speak."
Twin spots of red stained Sabrina's cheeks. "You told her we couldn't keep our hands off each other?"
"Not in so many words. I was a little less crude. I think I said something about sparks flying between you. But she got my drift. Hey, don't sell your mother short. According to my nurses, two surgeons tried to hit on her the day she visited me. Believe me, she's no stranger to sex. And you and Dylan are about as transparent as the couples in the C'est Moi ads. You undress each other with your eyes whenever you're in the same room. To tell you the truth, I was a little worried that you'd never make it out of El Faro, at least not fully clothed."
"Oh, God," Sabrina groaned, covering her hot face with her hands.
"What'd I say?" Carson asked Dylan, totally baffled.
"Go easy," Dylan suggested, amused by Carson's utter lack of comprehension when it came to this particular difference between himself and his daughter. This was one time when upbringing and experience—or lack thereof—superseded heredity. And while Dylan understood both perspectives, and was personally unbothered by Carson's pointed innuendos, Sabrina most definitely was not. "You're embarrassing Sabrina," he explained to his friend. "She's not used to your, uh, uninhibited approach."
"What do you mean uninhibited? I'm just stating facts. Why would Sabrina be embarrassed? She's as forthright as I am."
"Not about this, I'm not." Sabrina's head came up. "We're talking about something personal, something intimate. Besides," she added with an incredulous stare. "Aren't fathers supposed to freak out when they discover their daughters are sleeping with someone?"
"I don't know. I never read the father handbook." He shot her an impish g
rin. "Besides, even if I had, I'd toss it. Dylan is the finest human being I know. You two are so well suited, it's staggering. If he was using you, I'd break him in half. But I've seen the expression on his face when he looks at you, and on yours when you look at him. This is a hell of a lot more than lust. So, why would I freak out? I'm thrilled."
A tiny smile played at Sabrina's lips. "To tell you the truth, so am I."
"Good. Now that we've got that straight, tell me what date you've set and I'll be out of here in time to buy my tux."
Sabrina sobered. "We haven't set a date yet. Nor are we going to, not for a month. After we know where things stand with the transplant, then we'll make plans."
Carson scowled, opening his mouth to give her a hard time.
"Don't even bother." Sabrina cut him off. "Dylan and I are in total agreement on this one. We both want the bride and her father whole, healed, and ready to dance the night away before we finalize the where and when. Period. End of subject." She softened the statement with a more welcome add-on. "But we're officially engaged as of last night. Dylan's taking me to Tiffany's..." She broke off, wrinkling her nose in disappointment. "We were going to go today, but it'll have to wait until Dylan's concussion's better."
"Bullshit," Dylan refuted. "Our plans stand. I'm getting myself released the minute we leave Carson's room. I'll go home, take a hot shower, then get dressed and head into work. You, on the other hand, will spend the morning resting. After that, we'll go to Tiffany's...."
"No way." Sabrina overruled that decision. "It's my first day as president of Ruisseau. I'm going into the office, even if I sound like a croaking frog. I don't want to rest. Oh, and one more thing. You won't be going home for that shower. From what I heard in the ambulance, your first floor is a disaster, and your entire apartment is smoke-filled. You'll have to make other living arrangements for a while."
"Gee," Carson piped up. "You can stay at my place on Central Park West. Or..." He snapped his fingers. "I know. You can stay at Sabrina's apartment. It's so convenient. It's only a few blocks away from yours. You can pick up your clothes on the way from the hospital and move right in."
