by Brenda Novak
“You don’t have to work today?” he asked Stacy.
“Not until Thursday.”
“Must be nice to work only four days a week, huh?”
“Chantel wouldn’t have to work even that many if she went back to New York,” Stacy said. “Her boyfriend’s a model, too, and he’s in town right now, trying to talk her into going back with him. He insists she’ll be on the cover of next September’s Vogue if she does.”
Dillon felt a prickle of alarm. There might not be any hope for them right now, but he didn’t want to see Chantel go anywhere, especially to New York with that jerk he threw out of her house. Especially when she was still fighting the anorexia that had nearly killed her. Even for the cover of Vogue. “Is that a possibility?” he asked.
Chantel shook her head. “Not right now.”
Stacy drank some of her water. “Personally I think she’s crazy if she doesn’t go.”
“Maybe there’s something here she cares more about than fame,” Dillon suggested mildly.
“I doubt it. Wade’s the love of her life. And fame and fortune are pretty alluring to Chantel. Or at least they used to be.”
“Fame and fortune are pretty alluring to everyone,” Dillon said.
“Wade’s not my boyfriend anymore,” Chantel pointed out, although she said nothing in her own defense. She tried to act indifferent, but Dillon knew Stacy’s barb had hit its target, and he hurt for her. If only Stacy knew how hard he and Chantel were working to avoid a repeat performance of what had happened with Wade. He wanted to give Chantel’s knee a squeeze to reassure her, but he kept his hands to himself.
“Wade still thinks you belong to him,” Stacy said.
“Wade has a hard time understanding the word no,” Chantel replied.
“Well, Wade’s not the only man in New York, you know. Giving up your boyfriend doesn’t mean you have to walk away from your career.”
Chantel anchored a lock of hair behind her ear. “We talked about this outside, Stacy. I don’t want to go back, okay?”
Stacy shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
The waitress brought their food, and they fell silent as they started their meals. Stacy moved quickly through her enchiladas, but Chantel mostly picked at her salad, doing more stirring and rearranging than she did chewing and swallowing. Eating was probably hard enough for her when she wasn’t upset, Dillon thought.
“How are your girls?” Stacy asked.
He swallowed and wiped his mouth with his linen napkin. “They could be better. I had to pick them up from their grandmother’s early this morning. On Friday, their mother went to Las Vegas with one of her boyfriends, and she hasn’t come back. We’re trying to locate her, but until we do, I’m pinch-hitting.”
“But you’re not used to having them during the school week, are you?”
Dillon barely heard Stacy’s question. Chantel had looked up at him with those incredible eyes, turning her full attention on him for the first time since he’d sat down. He managed a crooked smile. “Not really. But I’m improvising.”
“Who picks them up after school?” Stacy asked.
“Actually I’m going to have to do it today.” He checked his watch. “In just a couple of hours, as a matter of fact. Sometimes they go home with a friend, but I’ve called and called and haven’t been able to reach anyone at Mary Beth’s house.”
“That means you’ll have to leave work early.”
He nodded.
“There’s no need to do that. I can pick them up for you.”
Dillon took a drink of his Coke, just to stall for time. What should he say? He could certainly use the help, but he didn’t want to accept anything from Stacy that she might later resent. “That’s okay. I’m going to take some work home with me.”
Finished, Stacy shoved her plate away. “But there’s no need. They know me, so they should feel comfortable about it, and I have the entire afternoon yawning before me with absolutely nothing to do. You know I’m not working today. Let me pick up the girls and help them get their schoolwork done. Then you can come by on your way home.” She grinned. “If I’m super-industrious, I might even be able to manage a hot supper for the three of you.”
Which sounded entirely too domestic to Dillon. He cleared his throat to refuse, when Chantel lent her support to Stacy.
“Stacy’s great with kids,” she said. “And she makes a mean lasagna.”
“Really, it’s no problem for me to—”
“Dillon, stop,” Stacy said firmly. “I think your girls are great. I want to do this. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to use the ladies’ room.”
As soon as Stacy was out of sight, Dillon shot an accusing glare at Chantel. “I don’t want her to pick up Brittney and Sydney,” he said. “That could mislead her into thinking that…I don’t know, that there’s something more between us than friendship.”
“She’s already too far down that road.”
“But what about this dinner thing?”
“You’re making a big deal out of nothing. She’s an attractive woman with plenty of prospects—”
“Which is exactly what I keep trying to tell you. She certainly doesn’t need me.”
“—so it’s not like she’s going to attack you.”
“I’m not afraid she’s going to attack me! Attacks I can handle. I’m afraid she’s going to accuse me of using her when she realizes I don’t reciprocate her feelings.”
“Then maybe tonight would be a good time to talk about how you both feel.”
“You say that like you have no personal stake in it.”
Chantel played with the condensation on her glass. “I don’t.”
STACY STUDIED HERSELF in the bathroom mirror and groaned. How could she be so stupid? She’d wanted to counteract Chantel’s incredible beauty by making her appear shallow.
Instead, she’d made herself look bad and caused Dillon to become defensive of Chantel. She had to get a grip on herself. One minute she felt sorry that she and Chantel weren’t closer and wanted to forgive her for everything. The next she did her best to drive a bigger wedge between them.
Love…hate. Love…hate. How did she really feel about her sister? And how badly was she willing to treat her to keep her away from Dillon?
If she kept going on like this, she’d probably chase the two of them right into each other’s arms. Somehow she had to calm down and try to develop some confidence. How could Dillon fall in love with her when she couldn’t think of one reason why he should?
Leaning closer to her reflection, she stared at the small wrinkles that were forming around her eyes and mouth. Laugh lines, she told herself. But they spoke more of age than laughter. She wasn’t getting any younger. If she wanted marriage and a family, she needed to coax a proposal out of Dillon—sooner rather than later.
He loved children. Over the past two years, she’d seen him with his daughters lots of times, heard the loving way he spoke of them and to them. They were the center of his life.
Right where she wanted to be.
Stacy pulled her lipstick out of her purse and applied it. She needed some sort of advantage. Something to reassure her that he wasn’t going anywhere. Something to make him realize what she already knew: that they’d be perfect together.
She put her lipstick back in her purse and quickly brushed her hair.
Maybe that something should be a baby.
Stacy started to walk out of the rest room, then slumped back against the door, unable to believe her own thoughts. Was she really that desperate? She’d never tried to trap a man before, and she wouldn’t stoop to that level now. But if it happened naturally…
She forced a smile to her lips and headed back to the table. If it happened naturally, well, she wouldn’t do anything to stop it.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“I HOPE THAT’S a frown of concentration.”
Chantel glanced up to see Maureen standing over her desk. She’d been thinking about how Stacy had treated her at lunch. She knew she deserved
anything her sister decided to dish out, but that didn’t lessen the melancholy that had settled over her in the two hours since then. On top of everything, it had been more difficult than Chantel had ever imagined to see Stacy touch Dillon’s arm when he said something funny, or brush against him as they left the restaurant, or smile as though they shared an inside joke. At the cabin they’d had a bunch of friends around and had behaved just like part of the group, but Stacy had treated Dillon differently at lunch.
What if he did as she’d told him to and pursued a relationship with Stacy? What if they got married?
Chantel would have to stay well away. She doubted her attraction to Dillon was something that would ebb with time, but she hoped it would. Especially because she couldn’t get close to Stacy if she was always trying to avoid contact with her sister’s boyfriend—or husband.
“Are you stuck?” Maureen asked.
Gazing down at the stack of invitations she’d been trying to sort through, Chantel held up one she’d set aside. “I know I’m supposed to schedule the field reps to attend only the functions in their individual areas, but Layne has a chamber mixer at the same time as this ribbon-cutting ceremony. Should I ask one of the other reps to fill in?”
“That’ll work. If no one can go, send our regrets. Or pin on a badge and go yourself if you want.” She checked the invitation. “It doesn’t look like it’s going to be that big an event. They’re not asking for anyone to speak or anything.”
Chantel had secretly hoped to attend some functions in the district. She needed to get out more, meet people. But she hadn’t been working for the senator long enough to feel confident representing him. She wasn’t even sure of his stand on some issues, only those she’d heard the others talking about over the past two weeks. “Maybe when I’ve been around a little longer,” she said.
“That’s fine.” Maureen went back to her desk as Lee, another of the senator’s three field reps, came in the door.
“Hi, Chantel. Any messages?”
Chantel handed him a couple of slips of paper. “There’s more on your voice mail.”
“Got those. Thanks.”
She was about to ask him if he wanted to attend the ribbon-cutting ceremony, but the telephone rang just then.
“Senator Johnson’s office.”
“Chantel? It’s Stacy.”
“Hi, Stace. Did you find Dillon’s kids okay?”
“Yeah. I’ve got them with me now. They’re beautiful girls, really sweet, and we’re having fun. But you’re never going to believe what’s happened.”
“What?”
“The hospital called. They need me to come in to work. And I’m not expecting Dillon until six-thirty or so.”
“Can’t you call him?”
“I’ve tried a couple of times, but the receptionist says he’s in a meeting.”
“Tell her it’s about his kids. I’m sure she’ll interrupt.”
“I hate to do that. He was so relieved that I was going to do this for him. He must have thanked me three times.”
“So you’re calling me because—”
“I was hoping you could take them for a little while.”
“Stacy, I don’t get off until five, and sometimes I stay much later than that.”
“You don’t have to stay late. No one at the office expects you to.”
But they expect me to know something about current events and how to work a computer, and they’ve given me a huge stack of letters to read and answer. I have so much to learn to make up for the ten years I spent being oblivious to everything but fashion. “I’m just trying to ensure that I’ll be successful here.”
“You’ll be successful. Don’t worry. It’s not like I’m asking you to get off early or anything. I just want to drop the girls off as soon as you get home so I can run a quick errand at the mall and make it to the hospital by six.”
Chantel sighed. She didn’t want to take Dillon’s kids, because she didn’t want to know them. She didn’t want to know them, because she didn’t want to care about them, or him. She wanted no more links between them.
But this was the first favor Stacy had asked since they’d started speaking again, and she couldn’t refuse. “Okay. Will he pick them up at my place at six-thirty, then?”
“Yeah. I’ll leave him a message.”
“Another call is coming in. I’ve got to run. See you after work.”
Chantel put the call through to Lee, then tried to concentrate on the scheduling again, but it was nearly impossible. Later today she’d meet Brittney and Sydney, the girls she’d heard Dillon talk about with such tenderness that night in his truck. She already felt an emotional connection with them.
How? She and Dillon had had a one-night stand, nothing more, she told herself sternly. And even if what they’d shared was much more than that, she had to get over it.
STACY SMILED to herself as she hurried through the crowded mall, searching for the lingerie store she knew was somewhere near Macy’s at the far end. She’d never planned to seduce a man before, but just the prospect of sleeping with Dillon made her feel reckless and excited and aroused. She’d been wanting him to take their relationship into the physical realm for a long time now, but just as he seemed about to get there, he’d suddenly backed off—ever since the cabin in Tahoe. There, they’d gotten into the jacuzzi together, skied together, stayed up late talking and laughing, but there’d been no privacy and he hadn’t made a move to touch her since that one chaste kiss after their last date.
That was all going to change, she promised herself. She just needed to buy something he’d find irresistible, make him a great dinner, serve an excellent wine and hope he’d figure things out from there.
Stepping into Monique’s Lingerie and Hosiery, Stacy began to admire the filmy nighties and teddies that surrounded her.
“Can I help you?”
A tall thin blonde, who looked a little like Chantel, came forward. For a moment Stacy felt guilty for using Chantel to get the kids out of the way without telling her sister her real plan. But she knew Chantel would only try to talk her out of it. He’ll make the move when he’s ready. That was her favorite line, but Stacy was sick of hearing it.
And she was tired of waiting.
“I’m looking for something that will show my figure to its best advantage,” she said.
“A negligee?”
“Or a teddy or something.”
The girl’s gaze ran up and down her body, assessing her attributes. “Why don’t we try something that slims the hips and enhances the bust line? Like a black corset?”
“Fine.” Stacy watched the girl select three possibilities, then held them up in front of her while she gazed into a floor-length mirror. A red see-through baby doll with panties was tempting. The feather trim at the top concealed her small breasts. But she wanted something even more wanton, more wicked. Something in black.
“How about this?” the salesgirl asked, presenting Stacy with a black lace push-up bra and matching garter belt to be worn over a pair of thonglike panties. “There’s not much fabric here, but it will accentuate your figure in all the right places. Add a pair of silk stockings and high heels, and you’ll look absolutely fabulous.”
Stacy smiled. Fabulous. That was how she wanted to look. Just like Chantel.
She pushed the thought away. She was short and stubby, with dark hair and ordinary eyes. She could never look like Chantel.
But no man in his right mind could refuse her in an outfit like this.
DILLON SIGHED as he put his briefcase in the backseat and climbed into his rented Taurus. It had been a busy day. He was glad he hadn’t had to reschedule all his appointments to go and pick up Sydney and Brittney, especially since he and Jason had just landed another big job this afternoon—drawing the plans for a set of twin towers in downtown Walnut Creek. But he had no doubt Stacy would have dinner waiting for him, and he wasn’t looking forward to accepting more of her hospitality while trying to avoid further romant
ic entanglement. It made him feel like a jerk—even though he would have helped her, had the shoe been on the other foot. They were friends, after all. He just hoped friendship would be enough for Stacy.
Fortunately the girls were going to be there, he reminded himself, missing them. They would make good chaperons and what with homework, baths and school in the morning, they’d provide the perfect excuse for leaving right after dinner. He also wanted to take them shopping for some new clothes tonight. If they left Stacy’s early enough, maybe they could swing by the mall before it closed.
Picking up his cell phone, he dialed Helen’s number then started his car and eased into the busy street.
“Hello?”
“It’s me, Dillon. Have you heard anything?”
“No. I filed a police report today, but like I said, they don’t seem to be too worried. They act like she’ll turn up when she’s ready.”
“What do you think’s going on?”
There was a long silence. “I don’t know. I’d like to think Amanda’s not capable of abandoning her children, but I’m not so sure anymore. She really liked this guy.”
“She’s liked them all. Why is he any different from the rest?”
“He wasn’t interested in the girls. Treated them like excess baggage. Amanda always had me take them when he was going to be around.”
Dillon was more than eager to have his kids back, especially without further legal complications, but he couldn’t imagine the hurt they’d suffer if they ever learned their mother had walked out on them. “Maybe something’s happened to her,” he suggested.
“Maybe.”
It sounded like Helen was crying, but she was a proud, hard-bitten woman, and he knew she wouldn’t like him knowing it. “Do you think I should hire a private investigator?” he asked.
“You’d do that?”
“I’m thinking about it.” He hadn’t made a decision yet. Maybe he and the girls were better off not knowing. For now. But what about later? Amanda would come back eventually. She didn’t stay with one man long enough to give Dillon any confidence that things with this new boyfriend would work out.
