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Sabrina started to laugh again. "Do you have any idea how arrogant you sound?"
"Why? You just described yourself as pretty and intelligent. I didn't accuse you of being arrogant. You were jus
t stating facts. They were also gross understatements, by the way. But facts nonetheless. I'm merely doing the same about myself. Fact: I'm driven, and driven hard. By many things, sex and power included. I'm a normal male—just an unusually secure one who happens to be more complex than most."
"Anything else?"
"Attributes, you mean? Sure. I'm smart, tough, and persistent I can also be charming, attentive, and funny. That depends on the person I'm with."
"Or on whether you're with her in or out of bed."
One dark brow rose again. "Did I say that?"
"You didn't have to."
"So now it's you judging me. Or doesn't the reciprocal apply?"
Sabrina couldn't refute that one. "You're right I apologize."
"You're forgiven." He glanced at her now-empty goblet. "No after-dinner drink for you. But they do make an unbelievable dessert. A chocolate basket filled with white chocolate mousse and drizzled with raspberry sauce. If you like chocolate, that is."
"Who in their right mind doesn't?" Sabrina leaned back with a sigh. "But I'm about to burst."
"This dessert's worth bursting for. We'll split one." He signaled for the waiter. "Do you want coffee?" he asked Sabrina as the waiter hurried over. "And, yes, I remember—decaf."
"I'd love some."
Dylan ordered the chocolate basket and two coffees— decaf for her, regular for himself.
When dessert came, they stopped talking long enough to enjoy it. Dylan was dead-on. This sinful, incredible chocolate nest was worth bursting for.
"M-m-m, fabulous," Sabrina murmured, swallowing another chocolaty mouthful.
"Better than that." Dylan had been studying her over the rim of his coffee cup, an enigmatic expression on his face.
"Something on your mind?" Sabrina inquired.
"As a matter of fact, yes—since we left the hospital." He set down his cup. "I was wondering what made you change your mind."
She didn't even pretend to misunderstand. "About the tissue-typing or the transplant?"
"Both."
"I think you know the answer to that."
"Meeting Carson."
"Not just meeting him. Talking to him. Seeing how much I resemble him. Liking and respecting him, much as I tried to stay removed." She gave an acquiescent wave of her hand. "Go ahead and say I told you so, if that's what this is about. You were right. I underestimated how much this experience would affect me. I couldn't—I can't—turn my back on him." She was a little startled by the fervor of her own response. Then again, she was startled by a lot of what she'd said tonight.
"This isn't about being right," Dylan replied, interlacing his fingers on the table. "It's about my saying thank you. I'm very grateful." He met candor with candor. "Look, Sabrina, I'm not the manipulative SOB you suspected I was on the plane." Another lopsided grin when he saw the glimmer of surprise in her eyes. "You're not the only one who's perceptive. I'm a pretty good mind reader myself. Sure I knew what you thought. You were wrong. Yeah, I want you to go through with the transplant—if it becomes necessary. I don't think I made any secret of that. But as for the rest—every word I said about Carson was true. He's one of a kind. I think you saw that today for yourself."
"I did." Sabrina frowned. "He's fighting so hard to come back. He must know what an uphill battle it is."
"He knows. But Carson's been a fighter all his life."
A brief hesitation. "Maybe I can offer him an incentive. And I don't mean my kidney. That's a separate thing entirely."
"You want to open the door to some kind of relationship."
