by Brenda Novak
Mrs. Sutton sat up taller. “My son’s more virile than most,” she replied. “Lord knows he has enough testosterone for two men.”
At that moment Chantel’s discomfort fell away, and she could no longer keep a straight face. The harder she bit her cheeks to stop herself from smiling the more tempted she was. “He’s quite a man,” she murmured.
Dillon waggled his eyebrows at her, making it even more difficult not to laugh.
Judging by the unchanged tone of his mother’s voice, however, Karen Sutton missed these undercurrents and thought they accepted her words at face value. “At least he’s doing right by you.”
Chantel had no idea what Mrs. Sutton meant—probably the fact that Dillon was taking care of her now. But she’d finally caught on to Dillon’s tongue-in-cheek manner where his mother was concerned and realized she shouldn’t take her too seriously. “Yes.”
“So when’s the wedding?”
“Wedding?” Chantel echoed weakly.
“When are you getting married, dear?” his mother asked, obviously trying to hide her impatience.
“We haven’t decided on that yet,” Dillon said smoothly, finally coming to her rescue. “We’ll let you know as soon as we set a date.”
“Well, you don’t want to wait too long. It won’t look right.”
“No,” Dillon agreed. Chantel made no comment.
“I’m exhausted,” Mrs. Sutton announced abruptly. “I need to go home to my husband. He’s not used to being without me.”
“Mom’s a newlywed herself,” Dillon said.
“That’s wonderful,” Chantel replied. “You sound very happy, Mrs. Sutton.”
“We are, but it took me long enough to find the right man. I hope you and Dillon have better luck.” She stood. Only five-three or so, she looked especially small next to her tall strapping son, but the force of her personality gave her an undeniable presence.
“If Chantel’s feeling up to it, why don’t we have a family get-together this weekend?” she asked Dillon. “I’m sure your sisters will want to meet your fiancée.”
Fiancée? Wedding? Chantel wondered if something had been decided at the hospital, something she didn’t know about. When had they gotten engaged? When had they even talked about marriage?
Dillon sent her a sheepish look. “I think she has enough to get used to for the time being. Let’s not scare her away before the vows are spoken.”
Mrs. Sutton didn’t blink. “Nonsense. She’ll love Janet and Monica. We’ll make it a picnic, on Sunday. Brittney and Sydney will enjoy it.”
Dillon didn’t argue, but neither did he let her commit him. “It depends on how Chantel’s feeling.”
“We’ll see you on Sunday, dear,” his mother said, and suddenly Chantel understood where Dillon got his stubborn streak.
Their voices dimmed as Dillon walked his mother out, leaving Chantel to wonder why he’d let Karen Sutton blindside her like that. She could tell he thought it was funny, but she’d hoped to make a much better impression on his family, if and when they actually met. Blurting out their news about the baby was emphatically not how she would’ve done it.
“Would you mind explaining that to me?” she asked as soon as Dillon returned.
He shook his head. “My mother’s not easy to explain. She’s tough as a Sherman tank and twice as direct, but for all that, she has a soft heart. I learned long ago that the only way to handle her is to let her go, and just focus on damage control.”
“That smug smile you were wearing while she was grilling me didn’t suggest much worry about damage control.”
“I knew you could handle her.” He sat down on the bed and took her hand to kiss the very center of her palm. His lips felt so good on her skin. Her irritation started to seep away, and she knew then just how terribly hard she’d fallen for this man.
“I didn’t want to ‘handle’ her,” she said, her voice calmer now that her attention was on his mouth—and on the possibility that he might kiss her elsewhere. “I want to get to know her. I want her to like me.”
“Mother likes anyone she can’t bulldoze.”
Chantel bristled. “See what I mean? That might have been good information to share before you brought her up here.”
He chuckled but was quickly becoming absorbed in running his hands through her hair and entwining the strands around his fingers.
“Why did you tell her about the baby? Couldn’t we have talked about it first?”
“I wanted to let her know up front that she didn’t have a choice about whether to accept you. A mom can behave almost like a jealous lover at times. I didn’t want to leave that door open even a crack. Besides, I don’t like secrets.” He bent to kiss her neck, and Chantel closed her eyes, her body warming in response to the gentle insistence of his touch, the subtle smell of his aftershave.
“Stop it,” she said halfheartedly.
“Why?” he murmured, trailing kisses up to her earlobe, which he took in his mouth and tickled with his tongue.
Chantel shivered. “Because you’re making me forget that I’m mad at you.”
He pulled back, looking wounded. “Why would you be mad at me? I’m the father of your child, remember?”
He slid a possessive hand up her shirt onto the bare skin of her stomach, and Chantel couldn’t resist the smile that started in her heart and spread through her whole body. She could be mad at him later.
“God, I love it when you smile at me like that,” he said. “It lights up your whole face and makes me feel as if I’m the only man on earth.” Finally he kissed her mouth. As his lips moved over hers, Chantel decided he kissed the way he lived the rest of his life—with passion, confidence and complete absorption. At that moment she felt more desirable, more beautiful than ever before.
“Take this off,” she murmured, yanking on his shirt. Then she threaded her fingers through the shiny black locks of his hair and kissed his neck, enjoying the salty taste of his skin and the sensation of his heart beating beneath her lips.
He immediately removed his shirt and let her touch what she’d longed to feel again, ever since the night of the snowstorm: the hard sinewy muscles of his arms and stomach, the soft hair that swirled on his chest.
Dillon was nothing like Wade, she thought distantly. To others, he was probably less attractive. But the strength of his character, combined with his raw masculinity, was a potent combination Chantel could not resist. He was capable and confident, but not conceited. He was possessive, but not selfish. He was a leader, but not an autocrat. The biggest difference between the two men, she realized, was in her own response—because she not only loved Dillon, she respected him. He was far more admirable than most men, and old-fashioned enough to marry a woman simply because he’d gotten her pregnant. But she didn’t want Dillon to feel obligated to do the “right” thing. She wanted him to love her.
“Why did you tell your mother we’re getting married?” she asked.
He propped his head on one fist. His eyes, darkened by desire, caused Chantel’s stomach to flutter, tempting her to throw her pride to the wind. She loved him, and he was willing to marry her. Did the reason he was doing it really matter?
To Chantel it did. The fact that she’d wound up pregnant was her own fault. She wasn’t going to use her baby to force Dillon into something he wouldn’t otherwise have done.
“Because we are getting married, aren’t we?” he said.
“I don’t remember ever talking about it.”
He stroked her arm, obviously still distracted by the passion that had flared so quickly between them. “Then let’s talk about it.” He pressed a kiss to her lips. “There’re several reasons. One, you might not be able to work through the pregnancy. You need someone to take care of you, and I want that someone to be me.”
Chantel cringed to hear that she’d been right.
“Two, I want my baby to carry my name.”
Of course he’d want that. He was too proud and responsible to accept anyth
ing less.
“And three?” she asked hopefully.
He nuzzled his face in her hair and breathed in. “Three, my daughters are living here. I can’t have you sleeping in my room unless we’re married.” He flashed her a grin. “And I’d go mad if you slept anywhere else.”
Chantel’s desire fled, leaving her cold. He’d just given her three reasons to marry him, and not one of them was the reason she needed to hear. Trying to hide her disappointment, she slid away from him.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“While that was definitely a most romantic proposal, I’m afraid I must decline.” She hoped he couldn’t detect the slight wobble in her voice.
His brows knitted together. “I don’t understand. We’re going to have a baby—”
“There’s nothing to understand. I said no. You didn’t really ask, but I’m telling you, anyway. I’ll share our baby with you, but I won’t foist myself on you as your wife.”
He sat up, looking angry. “Who said anything about foisting?”
Chantel blinked rapidly, refusing to cry. “You did.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
WITH A HAND on her chin, Dillon forced Chantel to look at him. “What are you talking about?”
“Nothing. I’m just trying to say it’s my own fault I’m pregnant.”
“Oh, really? Last time I checked, it took two.”
“But I’m the one who said we didn’t have to worry about birth control, remember?”
He did remember. He also doubted it would have made much difference. Not that night. “We didn’t have anything to use.”
“We might have been more careful—”
He cocked a skeptical eyebrow at her. “If you think that, then you’re more optimistic than I am. Or you weren’t feeling what I was feeling.”
She blushed. “I think we were feeling the same thing. But I’m happy about the baby and willing to take care of him on my own.”
“That’s what you keep saying, but who’s going to take care of you?”
“I’ll manage.”
He sighed and glanced at his watch. “Unfortunately we’re going to have to finish this discussion later. I have an appointment. You rest. I’ll go to work, then leave early and pick up the kids. We’ll get some take-out dinner—keep things simple. You and I will talk more tonight.”
“Let me pick up the girls.”
“I don’t think you should get out of bed.”
“I won’t need much energy to drive to the school, and having company will keep me from getting bored. I can do homework with them here on the bed.”
Dillon considered this, wondering if he dared let Chantel take the risk. They’d come so close to losing their baby. But it wasn’t very realistic to expect her to do absolutely nothing for the next seven months. And a drive over to the school did seem fairly undemanding. “If you’re feeling up to it,” he said at last, climbing off the bed. “I’ll call the school and let them know you’ll be getting the girls. But check in with me before you leave here. If you don’t feel well enough, I can do it or they can go to Children’s World for an hour or two. Do you know my cell-phone number?”
Chantel nodded.
“Good. I’ll bring you some catalogs and brochures to look at tonight.”
“I have plenty of reading material at my place. We just need to go over and pick it up.”
“Do you have Bride Magazine?”
Her delicate brows lowered. “No.”
“Then the reading material you have isn’t the kind we’ll need. We have a wedding to plan.” He grinned and ducked out of the room before she could argue. She was going to be his wife. He’d eventually convince her. He had to. Regardless of the baby, he couldn’t face the thought of losing her.
BRITTNEY AND SYDNEY chattered happily as they sat on Dillon’s bed, telling Chantel all about their day at school.
“This boy in my class named Ryan grabbed my ponytail and pulled so hard it almost made me cry,” Sydney complained.
“That means he likes you,” Chantel replied, glad that Dillon had let her pick up the girls and that they had this time together.
Sydney’s eyes rounded in protest. “Ryan doesn’t like anybody. He’s just mean. He’s always getting into trouble and—”
“I saw him on his way to the principal’s office yesterday,” Brittney chimed in.
“He has to go there all the time,” Sydney added, as if this confirmed how rotten Ryan truly was.
Chantel chuckled. “Well, this boy might not be all bad. I think your dad probably visited the principal a time or two.”
“For what?” they asked in unison, sounding shocked.
“Probably for pulling a little girl’s ponytail.”
Sydney looked skeptical, but it was Brittney who responded. “I don’t think so.”
The doorbell rang, and both girls scampered off the bed and charged out of the room to answer it. Chantel could hear them talking and giggling all the way down the stairs, but then they fell silent. “Who is it?” she called.
A feminine voice Chantel didn’t recognize floated up to. “Where’s your father?”
In her haste to get up, Chantel missed the next exchange between the girls and their visitor. But the woman’s voice came through loud and clear when she said, “Get your things. You’re coming with me.”
A shiver of apprehension slithered down Chantel’s spine as she hurried to the top of the stairs. Below she could see a woman standing just inside the front door. A woman about her own age with brown shoulder-length hair and dark eyes, wearing slacks, a shirt and sweater vest, and a pair of pumps. She was hugging Sydney, who looked just like her.
Brittney seemed less sure of giving the woman such a warm welcome, and Chantel didn’t need anyone to tell her why. It was Amanda, their mother.
Clearing her throat, she smiled as Brittney and Sydney glanced up at her expectantly, a hint of fear and worry in their eyes. “Do we have company, girls?”
Brittney nodded. “It’s our mom.”
“Wonderful. I’ve never had the opportunity to meet her.” Trying to remain calm, Chantel descended the stairs and crossed the floor. “I’m Chantel Miller, a friend of Dillon’s.”
The woman didn’t take her outstretched hand. After an awkward moment, Chantel dropped it to her side, but she kept her smile stubbornly in place. “Unfortunately Dillon isn’t here right now, but he’ll be back shortly. Would you like to leave him a note?”
Amanda chuckled humorlessly. “No. I didn’t come to see him or to write him any notes. I came for my girls. I’m back in town now, and I’m ready to have them come home.” She gave Sydney a slight push to prompt her into motion. “Hurry up. Grab your stuff, honey. Mommy’s got to go.”
Chantel swallowed hard. She could not allow Amanda to take the girls. What if Dillon couldn’t get them back? “I’m afraid they can’t go with you right now.”
Amanda’s brows rose toward the widow’s peak at the center of her forehead. “I’m sorry?”
“I said they can’t go.”
Her eyes hardened, but Chantel stood her ground. She could see why Dillon would have found this woman attractive, physically. She had a small compact figure, a pretty face and obviously took good care of herself. What her personality offered was yet to be discovered, but Chantel doubted she’d be impressed there. Divorce often turned both people into the worst possible versions of themselves.
“Who are you to say anything?” Amanda demanded.
“I told you. I’m a friend of Dillon’s and I’m watching the girls until he gets home from work. I can’t let them go anywhere until he’s back.”
Chantel stood a good six inches taller than this woman, but Amanda didn’t seem intimidated. “They’re my kids.”
“I realize that.”
“Then you should also realize you have no right to keep them from me.”
Chantel stepped between the girls and their mother. “Go upstairs, Brittney and Sydney, and finish your homework,
please. When your daddy comes home, he’ll work all this out, okay?”
Craning her head to see around Chantel, Amanda snapped, “Forget your things. Just come on. This lady is nothing to you. You don’t have to listen to her.”
The girls looked torn. Brittney moved toward the stairs, but Sydney hovered in the middle of the floor and started to cry. Chantel lowered her voice. “See what you’re doing to them? Please, just come back when Dillon’s here.”
“You’re the one who won’t let them come with me. They want their mother.”
Chantel drew a deep breath and lifted her hand to the open door. “I think they wanted their mother a lot more two months ago. Now go, or I’ll call the police.”
“You think the police will support you over me? I should call the police myself. They’ll come and escort the girls out.”
A glance behind her told Chantel Brittney and Sydney were standing on the stairs, watching the drama unfold. Concerned that they might hear, she spoke softly. “Not after they learn that you abandoned them,” she said.
Amanda’s face went red, and she put up a hand to keep Chantel from closing the door. “You think you know the whole story?” She laughed, then dropped her voice. “Did you know Sydney isn’t Dillon’s? One blood test is all it would take to get her back, regardless of what I’ve done. And Dillon wouldn’t want her separated from her sister, now would he?”
“No, he wouldn’t.” Both women looked up in surprise as Dillon came around the front walkway and entered the house. They’d been so immersed in their power struggle that they hadn’t noticed his car pull up. Jaw clenched, eyes grim, he glared down at his ex-wife. “And I don’t ever want to hear you say that again.”
She gave a brittle laugh. “It’s true. Remember that good-looking trainer at the gym? Phil?”
The muscles stood out along Dillon’s shoulders and back, and Chantel could only imagine the powerful emotions he was feeling. Her heart twisted—for him and for the little girl in danger of overhearing and understanding the significance of what her mother was saying. “The girls…” she warned.
They turned to see Brittney and Sydney inching toward their father, but Amanda didn’t seem to care if they heard her. “It would only take a blood test to prove—”
