Snow Baby. Brenda Novak

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      “I take it the two of you aren’t friends now.”

      “Actually I’m just trying not to dislike her too much. Not for the old stuff, her betrayal of me—that’s history. It’s the problems we’re having now that make me mad. It kills me that I’m missing so much of my girls’ lives. Their mother changes boyfriends like she changes underwear and insists Brittney and Sydney welcome each new guy with open arms. Sometimes she even makes them call whoever it is ‘daddy.’”

      Instinctively Chantel reached up to caress his cheek. “You sound like a wonderful father. Can’t you gain custody somehow?”

      “I’ve spent thousands of dollars trying to do just that. California is touted as being liberal, but the judge still won’t award me custody. I’d have to completely discredit Amanda to get them, and I just can’t bring myself to destroy my daughters’ mother.”

      “What about visitation rights?”

      “I pick up the girls whenever I legally can, but a lot of the time Amanda takes off so that they’re not home when I arrive. Or she leaves them at her mother’s, who thinks I’ve let her daughter down and won’t even open the door to me.”

      “Fighting all of that must get old.”

      He paused. “I’d rather fight it than not see them. Now Amanda is trying to get permission from the court to move to Iowa.”

      “Iowa!”

      “Yeah.” He scrubbed his face with his free hand. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”

      “Because it’s the middle of the night, and we’re naked and huddled together in your sleeping bag.”

      “I’m fully aware of the naked part, but how come I’m the only one baring my soul?”

      So I don’t have to tell you about the skeletons in my closet.

      “Do you like being an architect?” she countered.

      “I love my work, but we’re going to talk about you now. What do you do?”

      “I work in the district office of my state senator.”

      “Were you involved in politics in New York?”

      “No.”

      “‘No’? That’s it? What, were you a stripper or something?”

      “I was a model.”

      “Really? Who’d you model for?”

      Chantel bit her lip, reluctant to discuss her modeling experience because she was afraid of where the conversation would lead. “Let’s talk about something else.”

      “Why? You didn’t like modeling?”

      “I loved it.”

      “Then tell me about it.”

      Cocooned against the weather, Chantel breathed in the smell of the aftershave she’d first noticed when Dillon had leaned into her car, and smiled. She could trust him. He’d come for her despite the storm, even after the police had given up.

      “I did runway modeling, and some work for high-end catalogs. I was in the Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue a couple of years, used to model for Calvin Klein a lot. Oh, and I was on the cover of Vogue once.”

      “Wow, sounds like you were pretty successful. What happened?”

      Chantel thought of Wade and his demands, demands that increased with her success. “I had a boyfriend…well, more like a husband, really. We lived together for the ten years I was in New York. He modeled, too, and when he didn’t get the breaks I did, he became fanatically jealous. He insisted I cancel contracts I never should have canceled, had me refuse jobs I should have taken. I did it to preserve the relationship, to prove he came first. We’d talked about having a family, and I wanted to get married, but he kept putting me off. He said he didn’t see the point of making it official since all that mattered was what we felt, not some piece of paper. The harder I tried to please him, the more difficult he became. And then I got sick and had to quit altogether.”

      “What kind of sick?”

      Chantel sighed. She hated telling people what had happened to her and usually didn’t. They didn’t understand anorexia, were generally frightened of the self-hate that spurs it on. “It wasn’t anything communicable.”

      “I wasn’t thinking that.” He smoothed the hair off her forehead, and Chantel closed her eyes, wishing he’d go on caressing her until the devils from her past were forgotten. “Tell me what happened,” he whispered.

      “I had anorexia.”

      “How bad?”

      “I had to be hospitalized. The doctors didn’t think I’d make it. Neither did Wade.”

      “Wade’s the man you were living with?”

      She nodded. “Wade Bennett. I believe, deep down, he was hoping against me. Maybe that’s what made me decide to prove them all wrong.”

      Dillon was silent for a long while. “Where’s Wade now?”

      “In New York, still trying to make it, I guess. I won’t open his letters.”

      Dillon’s arms tightened around her. “And you’re well now, aren’t you? You look…I mean, I’ve never seen a more beautiful woman.”

      She’d heard those words before, over the years, from numerous men who’d tried to pick her up. But Dillon sounded sincere. “Anorexia is like alcoholism. You’re never really cured. It’s a constant battle.”

      “It’s a battle you’ll win.”

      Unable to stop herself from giving him a simple gesture of affection, Chantel played with the hair on his arm, then slid her hand up to his shoulder. “I think your wife must’ve been crazy.”

      He laughed and rolled her onto her back. In the process his hand brushed her nipple, which immediately drew up hard and tight.

      “Chantel?’

      “Mmm?”

      “Are you seeing anyone now?”

      The huskiness of his voice told her he wanted her, and Chantel felt an answering warmth in the pit of her stomach. “I’m not dating anyone. I only recently moved back to California.”

      “Good.”

      “Why?”

      “Because I’m going to kiss you.”

      His head descended and his lips found and molded to hers, tasting her, teasing her, gently prodding. The practical side of Chantel screamed that she’d known this man for mere hours. But her heart felt as though she’d known him for years.

      She opened her mouth СКАЧАТЬ