Kane, Andrea (35 page)

The contact was electrifying. The entire experience was
electrifying, pushing them both into major sensual overload. Whatever was
happening here was too intense, too impalpable to assign a name.

They didn't try.

They kissed, again and again, unable to get enough of each other's
taste, each other's touch. Sabrina inhaled Dylan's scent—that musky cologne and
outdoorsy soap, mixed with Dylan, just Dylan—his own heady masculine scent more
potent now that his skin was damp with sweat, sensitized with arousal. She
wrapped her arms around his back, her mouth slanting under his repeatedly,
hungrily, her body arching to increase the exquisite friction of skin against
skin. Dylan anchored her head in his hands, devouring her mouth over and over,
his thighs wedging between hers as their kisses deepened, became hotter, more
demanding. His hand slid down, defining the curves of her body, then reached
between her legs to touch her.

Sabrina stopped breathing at the contact, then whimpered as his
fingers slid inside her, his thumb rasping over her clitoris. Her body reacted
instantly and of its own accord. Her inner muscles resonated, loosening and
tightening all at once, and everything inside her went liquid, desire pounding
at her brain as her hips lifted, seeking more.

"God, you feel so damned good," Dylan muttered,
repeating the motion. "Hot. Wet. That's right, sweetheart. Tighten around
me. Like that. Again." His fingers pressed deeper, higher inside her, and
Sabrina heard herself cry out. "Sabrina, I'm losing my mind."

"So am I." Her hand moved between them, her fingers
closing around his erection, feeling it pulse in her hand as she caressed it.
"Don't go slow. Not this time. We've got all night for slow. But this
time... it has to be now....
Now
..." Her fingertips circled the
head of his penis, absorbing droplets of fluid. "Dylan... please."

His control shattered.

With a muffled curse, he rolled away from her, jerking open his
night table drawer and groping inside until he found the box of condoms. He
pulled out one foil packet, tore open the wrapper with his teeth and, in a few
quick, urgent motions, guided the condom into place.

"Ah, remembering cardinal rule one," Sabrina murmured as
he knelt over her.

"Yeah, by a thread." Dylan hooked his arms beneath her
knees, opening her for the deepest possible penetration. "Another second
and I'd have been too far gone to remember. That's what you do to me. As it is,
I've kissed rule three good-bye. Staying detacher's not an option. I'm so
involved I can't think straight." He fitted his body to hers, and pushed
slowly inside.

Sabrina sucked in her breath. "That feels... amazing. But
it's not enough." She arched, trying to deepen his penetration.

"Don't..." Dylan got out between clenched teeth.
"You're tight. I'm trying not to—"

"Stop trying. I need you all the way inside me."
Sabrina's fists knotted at the base of his spine, pushing him forward and
anchoring herself so she could lift up—hard. "To hell with rule two."

She glided around him—slick and trembling—and Dylan lost it
entirely.

The muscles in his back flexed, and he thrust deep, burying
himself inside her.

The meaning behind her last comment penetrated his passion-drugged
mind a split second after he got firsthand confirmation.

He went deadly still, the muscles in his forearms rippling with
the strain of holding back. "Damn." He dragged air into his lungs.
"Sabrina, are you okay?"

"No... I'm..." She could barely speak, the pleasure
jarring along her nerve endings was so intense. She shifted under him, her body
adjusting to the incredible sense of fullness, the clawing hunger that coiled
tighter inside her now that he was there, stretching and filling her.
"Don't stop.... Dylan, please... I'm... dying...."

A hard shudder ran through him. "Not yet you're not." He
began moving, each thrust slow and deliberate, his penis rubbing on her and in
her, the excruciating friction pushing her closer and closer to where she
needed to be. "But you will be—soon." He lowered his head and kissed
her again, his breathing hard and ragged as he ate at her mouth.

She responded blindly, her mouth as frantic as his, her nails
digging into his shoulder blades. "Faster," she gasped, her inner
muscles coiling tighter, clamping down on Dylan and stripping him of his last
shred of self-restraint. "God, I'm so close.... I..."

Dylan gave a hoarse shout, and his hips pumped convulsively,
driving him all the way into her in quick, powerful motions so forceful they
shoved the two of them farther and farther up on the bed, until they were flush
against the headboard. The thick piece of cherry wood slammed against the wall
with each relentless thrust, and the mattress springs groaned and squeaked
beneath the onslaught.

Neither of them cared. Without stopping or slowing, Dylan dragged
a pillow up to cushion Sabrina's head, and he planted a palm on the wall to
brace them from the impact. Sabrina didn't even notice. She wasn't aware of
anything except what was happening inside her—and what was about to happen. Her
head tossed back and forth, and she sobbed inarticulate words of need that
didn't register any more than the heated phrases Dylan was rasping in her ear.

They went over the edge in rapid succession, Sabrina first—by a
heartbeat. She climaxed violently, biting back a scream as the spasms boiled up
inside her, slammed through her, spiraling out in rhythmic waves that pulsed
around Dylan, tore another muffled shout from his chest. He pushed into her
contractions, erupting in his own mind-numbing orgasm, gripping the headboard
as he came. He continued thrusting in quick, jabbing motions, letting Sabrina's
climax milk him until he collapsed on top of her, half-dead.

For long minutes, their harsh, rasping breaths were the only
audible sound in the room. Sabrina sank into the mattress, feeling utterly
replete, her mind devoid of thought, her body sated. She would have been
perfectly content to lie there like that indefinitely, if it hadn't been for
the dull pain in back of her neck that began to gradually make its presence
known.

She frowned, shifting ever so slightly, and winced.
"Ow."

That got Dylan's attention. He raised up on his elbows, his brows
knit in concern. "I hurt you. Dammit, Sabrina, I didn't mean to be so
rough." He gathered his strength, lifted himself off of her. "I just
wish you'd told me you'd never—"

"Dylan," she interrupted, squirming into a sitting position
and massaging the spot where her neck throbbed. "If you want to ream me
out for not mentioning my virginity, go ahead. But you didn't hurt me. Your
headboard did. I feel like someone took a hammer to my neck."

"Oh. Yeah." A slow grin twisted his lips, and he leaned
forward, took over the job of massaging her neck. "I tried to buffer the
blows, but solid cherry wood is hard to negotiate with."

"Ummm." She relaxed, her eyes sliding shut as she let
Dylan ease her taut muscles. "I don't remember slamming into it."

"Let's say your mind was elsewhere."

One eye cracked open. "Stop sounding so smug. Your mind was
right there with mine."

"It sure as hell was." His hot gaze moved slowly down
her body, lingering in all the right places, drinking in her nakedness in a way
his earlier urgency had precluded. His view was limited, since her body was
cast in shadows, illuminated only by the filaments of moonlight trickling
through the window. "When we make love again, I'm putting on the light. I
want to see—and learn—every inch of you."

"Do I get to do the same to you?"

"I'm all yours, sweetheart."

There was something profound about those words, a double entendre
they couldn't ignore.

The enormity of what was happening between them struck home, hard.

"Damn." Sabrina exhaled sharply, averting her gaze and
dragging an unsteady hand through her hair. "It wasn't supposed to be this
unbelievable."

"But we knew it would be," Dylan stated flatly, in true
diehard realist form.

"Physically, yes. But the rest..."

"... it felt like more."

She nodded. "It could just be me. At the risk of sounding
corny, this was my first time. Maybe I'm overreacting."

"Nope. That explanation's not going to fly. To begin with,
you're not the corny or the overreacting type. Also, it
wasn't
my first
time, but I'm as blown away as you are. More so, in fact. This definitely
wasn't in my game plan, not after thirty-five years of going solo."

Sabrina felt a little like she was sinking in quicksand, except
that she didn't want to be rescued. "The timing's awful."

"True. But the feelings are pretty amazing." He reached
over, capturing her chin between his fingers and bringing her around to face
him. "Are you sorry?"

"That we made love, that it was so mind-blowing, or that it
triggered a whole new set of emotional complications?"

"Take your pick."

She blew out her breath. "No, no, and no." A quizzical
look. "You?"

"Not on your life."

"We shouldn't get ahead of ourselves." Sabrina wondered
who she was trying to convince—Dylan or herself. "We should take it a day
at a time. No expectations, no commitments. There's so much going on right now,
neither of us can shoulder more pressures and demands. So let's just take it as
it comes, okay?"

"Sounds like a plan."

Sabrina cleared her throat. "What about rule two—are you
upset?"

"Only that you didn't tell me." Dylan's fingertip traced
her shoulder. "I would have gone slower, been more gentle.... Oh, who am I
kidding?" He gave a humorless laugh. "No I wouldn't have. I was wild
to get at you. Nothing short of death could have stopped me or slowed me down.
I was surprised, yeah, but not shocked. I knew you were inexperienced. You told
me what your life was like. Somewhere in the back of my mind I'm sure it
occurred to me that this was a possibility. It wouldn't have made a damn bit of
difference." A grimace. "So, that's two cardinal rules out the
window."

"I'll keep you honest about rule one," Sabrina vowed with
a faint smile. "It's the least I can do after being the cause of your
abandoning the others."

"Fair enough." Dylan was reaching over to his night
table, clicking on the lamp.

"Please tell me that doesn't mean what I think it does."
Sabrina gave him a wary look. "Please say I'm getting more than five
minutes to recover."

He chuckled. "You are. In fact, you're getting help
recovering."

"Meaning?"

"See that door?" He pointed to the far corner of the
bedroom. "Yes."

"It leads to my bathroom. In there's the most amazing,
relaxing, enormous stall shower you've ever seen—complete with massage sprays
and twin shower heads. Great for sore necks and any other parts that need
soothing. Interested?"

"Maybe." She shot him a deliciously seductive glance.
"Are you joining me?"

He flashed her that irresistible, sexy grin. "It might cut
down on your recuperation time."

"I'll take the risk. I'm a fast healer."

"In that case..." He rolled to his feet, lifting her off
the bed and into his arms. He paused long enough to scoop up the box of
condoms, before heading purposefully for the bathroom. "I've got a
Jacuzzi, too. After you're recovered, we'll put it to good use."

Monday, September 19th, 7.15 A.M.

Ruisseau Fragrance Corporation

Sabrina stared out her office window, watching the city come alive
as she sipped a cup of very strong, very leaded coffee. She was exhausted,
having flown in from Manchester late last night following a whirlwind weekend
at CCTL—a full three-day session with two Fortune 500 companies, including
three intensive training workshops a day per company, plus mounds of paperwork
to catch up on, and mega-questions to answer from Melissa. She'd worked with
the companies, conducted the workshops, tackled the paperwork, and fielded the
questions—answering some, deferring others—then hopped on the last plane to
LaGuardia, collapsed in the waiting limo and finally, finally toppled into her
bed—only to find that she was too wound up to sleep. It shouldn't surprise her.

Two careers. Two homes. A father she was getting to know and like
more every day. Tests about to come back that would hopefully change the course
of her life and give Carson back his. And a torrid love affair that had
exploded out of control the minute it began.

She sighed, massaging the back of her neck and reminding herself
that there were departmental reports sitting on her desk waiting to be read—the
main reason she'd come in here at dawn.

She'd wanted to visit Carson first. But Dr. Radison had said he
was asleep after a fitful night. The fitful night, he'd assured Sabrina, was a
positive sign—at least in Carson's case. He was healing, getting his strength
back, and, as a result, going bonkers lying in that hospital bed. All his parts
were on the mend—all except his kidneys, which still hadn't shown any sign of
kicking in.