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"No problem."
"Did you know all this was being done behind the scenes?"
"Um-hum. That's why I brought you here first. You were weaving on your feet when we left Carson's room, and you fuzzed out more than once during our meeting with Stan. I was beginning to think we'd have to admit you to Mount Sinai as a patient if we pushed any harder. Then, when I heard you make plans to meet your mother at the hotel... let's just say I figured you could use some space before the next round. So, here we are, Madam President—home sweet home."
Sabrina shot him a look, wondering if he was being compassionate or sarcastic. "Thanks—I think. As for the apartment, when Carson said I should move into one of his extras, I wasn't expecting all this. Are you sure you don't need to keep it available for the company's use?"
"You're the company now, too, remember? Besides, we've got two other apartments if someone from Paris blows into town. Carson wanted you to have this one. Unless you'd rather move into his place. He said to make that available to you, too, if you'd prefer. It's on Central Park West, and it's huge."
"Now wouldn't that be cute?" Sabrina returned dryly. "Especially if we were to continue that arrangement after Carson came home—which he will. I'm not sure who'd appreciate it more, the tabloids or Susan. The new, young management consultant shacked up with the great-looking, middle-aged CEO. Nice publicity. We could say it was all thanks to C'est Moi. But of course that would backfire when Carson and I decided to make the announcement that I was his daughter. We'd go from a sex scandal to an incest scandal. Neither one would do much for Ruisseau's reputation, or its sales. So I think I'll pass."
Dylan's lips curved into one of those sexy, crooked smiles. "When you put it that way, it does sound like a bad move."
"Um-hum. Besides, Central Park West isn't really my thing. This place is. It's ideal."
A satisfied nod. "Yeah, I think it suits you. Classy, impressive in an understated way, and naturally beautiful— no enhancements required."
"Thank you." This time her thanks were genuine, although she was somewhat surprised by the compliment. This was more like the Dylan she'd had dinner with last night—charming, putting her at ease. It was a far cry from the mercurial guy she'd crossed paths with today.
The one-eighty was baffling. His moods today had ranged from harsh when they'd left Carson at lunchtime, to distant when they'd converged in ICU late in the day, to crisply businesslike when they'd met with Stan. So why now was he being so warm and accommodating, even flattering? On top of that, she sensed different undercurrents than before—ones that rattled her, where the others hadn't.
She had a pretty good idea why. What she didn't know was where those undercurrents were leading.
Damn, it would be so much easier if she could read this man's mind.
"So it's a go?" he asked.
Sabrina blinked. "Excuse me?"
"The apartment?" he reminded her. "Is it the one you want to live in?"
"Oh. Yes. Consider it signed, sealed, and delivered."
"Almost. We've still got to move you in. I was just waiting for your nod of approval before I contacted the Plaza Athenée, and arranged to have your things packed up and sent over. I'll make that call now. It'll be taken care of within the hour. You can sleep here tonight." He whipped out his cell phone.
"Wait a minute." Sabrina reacted on gut instinct, feeling more than a twinge of irritation. She wasn't used to having her life controlled. And she didn't plan on becoming used to it, either. "I'll take care of the arrangements. I'll settle my account in person, when I meet my mother for dinner. I'll also pack my own things."
Dylan's gaze was steady, although one brow rose— whether in annoyance or amusement, Sabrina wasn't sure. "Whatever you say."
Tension crackled in the air and, abruptly, Sabrina reached the end of her rope. This whatever-it-was had gone on long enough.
Abandoning diplomacy, she folded her arms across her breasts and stared Dylan down. "Look, I'm too tired to play games. Don't try the take-charge approach to show me who's boss. It's not necessary, and it won't work. I don't intimidate easily. Further, if you've got something on your mind where I'm concerned, just spit it out. If it's resentment, I understand. Three days ago I didn't even know Carson Brooks, except as a name in Business Week. You've been an integral part of his life for almost twenty years. My coming on as president of Ruisseau must really piss you off."
This time Dylan reacted, anger flashing in his eyes as he went from lounging in the doorway to jerking upright, his posture rigid. "Is that what you think? That I'm threatened by your place in the company, or in Carson's life for that matter? Quite the opposite, Sabrina. I see how much Carson's investing in you—and I don't mean financially or even professionally. I've spent the past few days praying I could convince you to get tissue-typed, praying you'd be a donor match, praying that, if you were, you wouldn't balk and decide not to go through with the kidney transplant. Now I've got to pray that you won't desert Carson on another level. That you won't decide Ruisseau's not for you, or cave under pressure from your family, or just not give enough of a damn, and go back to head up CCTL full time. That's what's on my mind where you're concerned."
Sabrina blinked at the fervor in Dylan's voice. His sincerity wasn't even a question. That he doubted hers— well, wasn't that natural? Given how reluctant she'd been to accompany him to New York, how reserved she'd been about making commitments, how ambivalent she'd been about accepting everything Carson offered—could she blame Dylan? He didn't know her, not really. He had no idea how seriously she took those commitments she did make. And Carson was his family—his only family. He wanted to protect him, and he felt helpless to do that under the circumstances. Wouldn't she feel the same way if the tables were turned?
"I'm sorry," she heard herself say. Raking a weary hand through her hair, she walked over to the bedroom doorway, facing Dylan head-on. "I've been so caught up in my own emotional meltdown, I became insensitive to yours. I'll try to make up for that now by being as honest as I can. Yes, I'm in shock. My life's been turned upside down. Yes, I'm worried about the fallout where my family's concerned. And, yes, I'm committed to the continued success of CCTL. That having been said, I won't change my mind. Not about anything. If I'm the best kidney match, I'm going through with that surgery. If I can do the job the way Carson wants it done, I'm stepping up to the plate as president of Ruisseau. And, most of all, I'm getting to know my father. He wants that. And so do I. Does that put your mind at ease?"
A muscle worked in Dylan's jaw. "Very much so. Thanks." He took a step closer, until she could smell the musky scent of his cologne—some Ruisseau brand, no doubt, one that suited Dylan perfectly—mixed with the lingering scent of his soap. "Oh, and for the record," he added, tipping up her chin so their gazes locked. "I wasn't pulling a power trip when I said I'd take care of the hotel. I was trying to take something off your plate. It's getting pretty crowded these days."
"You're right. It is." Sabrina was having trouble breathing. She and Dylan were standing entirely too close, and the mood between them was far too intense. She was stunned by how off-balance it made her feel.
Or maybe not so stunned. There was something about Dylan Newport she found incredibly exciting—a hard-edged sexiness she'd never been attracted to before, but now was. Between that, and the fact that he was so damned challenging, so mentally stimulating... okay, so the moment of truth had arrived. Time to put a name to those undercurrents. And time to put some serious distance between her and Dylan if she wanted to consider her options before she acted on them.
Averting her gaze, Sabrina took a step backward, then made a move to go around Dylan and leave the intimacy of the bedroom ASAP. "I was relieved to see that Carson was stronger this evening," she declared, her voice bright as she strove to make casual conversation. "He was so wiped out this afternoon that I—"
Dylan's arm snaked out, caught her around the waist, and brought her up against him. "You asked what was on my mind where you're concerned," he said huskily. "There's one thing I didn't mention. This."
