Kane, Andrea (18 page)

She leaned closer. "When you're a kid, being super-smart
means being alone. Going to college at sixteen when you're as unprepared as a
middle-schooler means being alone, too. Jumping into the workforce at twenty
and spending half your day saying no and the other half fighting to get ahead
because you're bright and qualified, not because you're pretty, means being
alone. And meeting an occasional man who shows a glimmer of promise at being
different, only to find out he's threatened by your brains and your ambition
means being alone. So, no, I don't have lots of experience with men. Frankly,
it's just not worth it."

To her astonishment, Dylan gave a thoughtful nod. "Yeah, I
guess it wouldn't be."

"You don't seem surprised."

"I'm not. Men are simple beings. Most are driven by either
sex or power. Sometimes both. They're threatened by women they can't conquer or
outshine. With you, that's next to impossible. So they walk."

Sabrina wasn't thrilled by the way that made her come off. But she
knew it was meant as an observation, maybe even a compliment. Besides, she was
more impressed by Dylan's insight into the male psyche, and his candor about
the same. It was rare to meet a man who recognized the truth about his own
species, much less one who was willing to admit it.

Lastly, she was amused by the conclusion he'd drawn. "Nice
analysis," she commended. "One correction. When I said it wasn't
worth it, I didn't mean for
them.
I meant for
me."

"I know. But it works both ways."

"I guess it does." She propped her chin on her hand.
"I notice you didn't include yourself in the 'them.' So tell me, which
category do you fall into? Are you driven by sex or power?"

He shrugged. "It varies. Sometimes sex, sometimes power. But
I'm luckier than most. I've got a healthy ego. So I don't waste time trying to
prove myself."

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 just 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."

She shot him a quizzical look. "Do you think it would make a
difference?"

"A difference?" Dylan gave an ironic laugh. "I
think it would give Carson the motivation to jump out of that hospital bed and
host a party."

"That's a little on the optimistic side. I'd settle for him
taking a sharp turn for the better."

"I second that."

"So you don't think the idea's crazy?"

"The only thing that would be crazy would be your walking
away from a chance to get to know him." Dylan's jaw tightened, as did his
tone. "Then again, my perspective is different from yours. You see how
much this is going to screw up your life and your family. I see how lucky you
are. And frankly, no matter how much you're sacrificing, it's hard for me to
feel sorry for you."

Sabrina should have been put off by the harshness of the comment.
Instead, she found herself contemplating its basis. There was too much emotion
behind it, too much personalization.

Mentally, she reviewed what Dylan had told her on the flight to
New York. He'd said he owed Carson everything.

Just how bad was the life Carson had rescued him from?

"Now you're angry," Dylan surmised, as the silence
between them stretched out. "Don't be. I'm not callous to what you're
going through. This whole situation came at you out of left field. But
compassion only goes so far."

"I'm not angry. And I didn't expect you to feel sorry for me.
Actually, I was thinking."

"About...?"

"You. Your commitment to Carson. How strong it is. How far
back it goes. On the plane, you mentioned having foster parents."

"When I wasn't living on the streets, yeah."

"These foster parents—was it a bad situation?"

"Which time?"

She blinked. "How many families did you live with?"

"Five. Four of which I'd like to forget. The fifth was the
couple I was living with when I met Carson. They were decent people. They were
older and childless. They really wanted to make a difference; they just weren't
sure how. They tried. It wasn't their fault that I was too desensitized to be
reached."

He sounded dispassionate enough. But Sabrina had the feeling she
was poised in the eye of the storm. "Am I overstepping?"

"Nope." Dylan took another gulp of coffee. "I told
you, my past is part of another life. It doesn't bother me to talk about it.
Ask whatever you want."

"The other four families—were they cruel to you?"

"They varied from screwed up to emotionally abusive. Oh, and
number four was physically abusive, too. Unfortunately, that's the family I was
with the longest, and during my so-called formative years. I left there with
lots of scars—some physical, some mental—and lots of anger. I became the
classic street kid. I racked up three juvenile arrests and more drunken brawls
than I can recall. The only thing I wasn't stupid enough to get into was
drugs."

Sabrina was suddenly and completely sober. "What about your
biological parents?"

"What about them?"

"Did they die?"

"My mother did—eventually. At least that's what I've been
told. We never got to know each other. And my father? Your guess is as good as
mine. I never even met the guy."

"He took off when he heard your mother was pregnant,"
Sabrina deduced quietly.

"Oh, long before that. I was the product of a weekend fling
in Newport, Rhode Island. My parents were college kids having some fun. My
father—Jamison something-or-other; he didn't give my mother his real last
name—was a spoiled rich kid looking for some action. He found it My mother went
through with the pregnancy. She even managed to get word to Jamison— one of
those friend-of-a-friend-of-a-friend deals, where the last in line actually
knew Jamison, and his real last name. That plan fell flat. Jamison blew her off
in a hurry. So she had me, dumped me on the steps of a New York City church,
then spent the next bunch of years in and out of rehab as she drugged and
boozed herself to death. End of story."

Sabrina wasn't fooled by the unemotional recounting. No one
emerged from a life like that without baggage. "So you never found out who
your father is."

"Nor am I interested."

"I can understand why." She didn't bother pointing out
that she'd said those exact same words to Dylan yesterday, when he'd confronted
her with Carson's identity. Because she couldn't. The circumstances of her
conception were entirely different from Dylan's. In her case, Carson had
donated his sperm in an honest, impersonal business transaction. In Dylan's
case, this Jamison kid had "donated" his sperm by having reckless,
irresponsible sex, then walking away from the consequences without even
supplying a last name. Talk about scum.

"And the name Newport—" Sabrina murmured, "I take
it that's not a coincidence?"

"None at all. I needed a last name, since I didn't know my
father's and had no desire to keep my mother's. So I picked one, courtesy of
where I was conceived. Pretty clever, huh?"

"Clever, yes. But a pretty lousy thing to have to choose for
yourself." Sabrina couldn't muster up any banter, not on this one.
"No wonder you think I'm an ungrateful bitch for being ambivalent over my
situation."

"I don't think you're an ungrateful bitch. You're protecting
your family. I understand that. But I'm protecting mine—Carson. Maybe now you
can fully understand why."

"I can." Abruptly, Sabrina found herself wondering if
Dylan resented her. How could he not? Here she was, just waltzing into Carson's
life when Dylan had been a constant in it for almost twenty years.

It was a sobering thought.

"Stop looking so grim," Dylan said with a tight smile.
"I turned out fine. Arrogant, I think you called me."

She relaxed a bit. "I did, didn't I?"

"Um-hum. You also called me hot."

"No," she corrected, rising to the challenge. "I
said you
must
be hot. That was supposition, not fact or personal opinion."

A chuckle. "Are you sure you're not an attorney?"

"Positive." Sabrina's eyes twinkled. "Attorneys are
sharks."

"Ah, as opposed to management consultants who are newborn
kittens."

"We are. We just insist on keeping our claws—just in
case."

"I'll remember that." Dylan flashed her that sexy,
crooked smile. "I wouldn't want to get scratched."

The waiter appeared at their table, clasping his hands behind his
back and gazing expectantly at Dylan. "Will there be anything else
tonight, Mr. Newport?"

Dylan shot a quick glance at his watch, and blinked in surprise.
"It's almost eleven-thirty. When did that happen? Thanks, no, just the
check."

"Very good, sir." He hurried off to prepare it.

"I didn't mean to keep you up this late," Dylan told
Sabrina apologetically. "You've had a hell of a day. You need to get some
sleep."

"So do you," she reminded him.

"I'll get it. First, I'm taking you back to your hotel. Don't
waste your breath," he added quickly, cutting Sabrina off as she began
protesting, saying she was perfectly capable of hailing a cab and seeing
herself back. "I gave my word to Carson. Besides, I want to." He
paused, clearing his throat. "Anyway, after that I'll swing by Ruisseau.
Then I'll head home."