Scent of Danger

There was no time to react, no time to protest—not that Sabrina wanted to. Dylan's mouth took hers in a kiss so consuming she felt it down to the tips of her toes. Like everything else about him, Dylan's kiss was hot and proficient, his lips slanting over hers, moving with hungry precision as he deepened the caress. His tongue plunged inside, rubbing against hers with a sensual thoroughness that awakened every nerve ending in her body.

Sabrina heard herself moan, responding to him on sheer instinct. One minute she was standing there, drowning in sensation, and the next minute she was kissing him back, her motions just as fervent as his, her fingers clutching the lapels of his suit jacket, gripping tightly and holding on for dear life.

The wildness between them swelled, exploded, and Dylan lifted her up and into him, swerving around and pinning her to the wall with his body. Through the confines of their clothes, his erection pulsed against her, made her insides clench in response.

"So good," he muttered, cupping her breast. "So damned good." His thumb found her nipple, rubbing back and forth until it hardened and throbbed through the sheer material of her silk blouse and bra. "God, this is an even bigger mistake than I thought." He kissed her again, his mouth eating at hers as his fingers began unbuttoning her blouse.

Somewhere in the insanity of the next few moments, Sabrina pulled her mouth away long enough to drag air into her lungs. "Dylan..." she managed, feeling the air against her skin. Her blouse was open. She wanted it to be open.

What in God's name was happening?

"What?" he ask

ed thickly, his breath hot against her mouth.

"We can't...."

"I know." His lips shifted to her neck, her throat, tasting her skin as they burned a path down to her collarbone, then back up to her mouth. "I know—but I don't care." He was kissing her again, one hand tangling in her hair, the other tugging her blouse out of her slacks, pushing the sides apart to give him access to her skin. His fingers shook as they found the front clasp of her bra, working to release it so he could touch her.

He was backing her toward the bed when she jerked her mouth away. "We have to stop."

"Do we?" He paused, raising his head as her legs came up against the mattress.

"Yes. We do." Her palms flattened against his chest, creating a barrier that was as much for her as it was for him. "I'm supposed to meet my mother at nine. It's probably close to that now."

Dylan swallowed, hard. His breath was coming fast, and his eyes burned with tiny flames that made Sabrina's whole body run hot and cold. "Is that the only reason we're stopping—your dinner appointment?"

She stared at him, too torn to think clearly, much less to answer. "I don't know. Is it?"

A muscle worked furiously in his jaw, and he said nothing for a long moment. Then, he released her, turned away. "Shit," he muttered, dragging a hand through his hair. "I knew this would happen if I touched you. But I couldn't keep my hands off you. That's not about to change. So what the hell do I do?"

Sabrina had sunk down on the edge of the bed, her entire body trembling. She was hardly the one to ask advice on this subject. She'd never experienced such blind passion in her entire life. She was reeling from it. And she had no clue how to go from here.

She busied herself by rebuttoning her blouse.

"Sabrina."

She raised her head, met Dylan's gaze.

"You're Carson's daughter. Things are already way too complicated. If we get involved..."

"I know," she said quietly.

"Yeah, well, I'm glad you do." He rubbed the back of his neck, and Sabrina could see that he, too, was reeling from what had just happened—or almost happened. "I need a drink," he said flatly. "Do you want one? Or would you prefer to wait and have one with your mother?"

"In this case? Both." She gave him a shaky smile. "I'll need one later. And I sure as hell need one now."

Dylan glanced at his watch. "It's eight forty-five."

She nodded. He was letting her know that she had just enough time to get herself together and get over to the hotel. Whether or not she decided to ignore that and share a drink with him, was her call.

She reached for the telephone on the night table. Lifting the receiver, she punched in her mother's cell phone number.

"Hello?" Gloria's voice sounded preoccupied. "Mother? Are you all right?"

"Yes, dear, I'm fine. I'm just in the middle of a meeting."

Sabrina's brows drew together. Had her mother run into a client? "With whom?"