Sisters in Love (Snow Sisters Book One: Love in Bloom Series #1), Page 3

  “We’re closing the slopes. Take your last run.” It was the same rescue team member that Blake had seen at the bottom of the hill.

  “That was fast. Bad one, huh?” he asked.

  The man took off his goggles and looked at Blake with serious, dark eyes. “Nothing we could do. The guy didn’t make it.”

  Blake had a sinking feeling in his stomach.

  “Near as we can tell, the guy must've misjudged his direction. Landed in the trees along the edge of the first cliff. Broken neck on impact.”

  The hair on the back of Blake’s neck stood on end. “Jesus. Was he tagged for the mountain?”

  “Yeah, he was tagged. Guy was wearing Arc’teryx and Völkl. He wasn’t a novice.”

  The world spun around him. Blake’s body went numb. “Yellow goggles?”

  “You’ve seen him before?”

  Dave.

  Chapter Five

  Danica sat in front of her television set in her favorite baggy, blue sweatpants and T-shirt, reviewing Belinda Trenton’s file. A typical Saturday night for Danica. Danica knew Belinda’s story all too well. Daddy didn’t pay enough attention to her. She reached out for sex, hoping for love, and couldn’t figure out why she was treated poorly. She had to make sure she wasn’t missing anything from their earlier sessions. She could help this girl; there was no doubt about it. It’s what she did best—helping pull the insecure and needy up by their bootstraps and start anew, with some semblance of confidence and willpower.

  When her cell phone rang, she set the file down on her perfectly organized coffee table and glanced at the time.

  “Hi, Kay.”

  “What’s up, sis?” Her younger sister, Kaylie, was far too chipper for eleven o’clock at night. “Wait. Don’t tell me. You’re sitting in your living room poring over client files to figure out how you can help some poor sap who can’t get it up.”

  “I wish it were that easy,” she answered, thinking of Belinda. “Viagra works wonders. Unfortunately, it’s not what this client needs.” Danica laughed. Her younger sister knew how to get her head out of the office.

  “Yeah, you’re tellin’ me?” Kaylie laughed.

  Danica rolled her eyes. She’d long ago stopped trying to help Kaylie figure out that she didn’t need to sleep with any man who happened to strike her fancy. “Are you drunk?”

  “Let’s just say I’m not exactly sober. Camille and the girls are here. Can you meet us?”

  Danica and Kaylie had grown up on the same block as Camille Rochester, who was getting married to Jeffrey Danber in a few short weeks. They had been inseparable as kids, but now Danica was a twenty-nine-year-old therapist, working from sunup to sundown; Camille, a year younger, was wrapped up in being a bride-to-be; and Kaylie was a twenty-seven-year-old singer who lived life like a pseudo rock star.

  “It’s late, and I’m comfy. Can’t Camille take care of you?”

  Kaylie sighed. “You know Camille. She’s spent the last twenty years planning her wedding. It’s finally her time to shine, and I’m so sick of talking about her wedding, I could puke. So suck it up, put on something with a little cleavage, and meet me in twenty minutes. Please?”

  “Cleavage?”

  Kaylie laughed. “Yeah. You know those things that sit on your chest? Let them show a little. Jesus, Danica, it’s like you hole yourself up in your office and condo so often, you don’t even know how to live anymore.”

  Danica surveyed her cozy living room. “At least I have a condo.”

  “Shut up,” Kaylie snapped. “It’s the same as my apartment, but you have a big-ass mortgage.”

  “And no bitchy roommates. I have to meet Michelle tomorrow morning.” Danica had been mentoring ninth grader Michelle Parce for the past six months through the Big Sister program. When she’d first moved back to Allure, she’d toyed with the idea of opening a recreational youth center, someplace safe where teens could gather and hang out without the constant barrage of commercialization like a mall. She’d even thrown around the idea of having free social services for teens—not exactly therapy, but an ear for listening. A sounding board. Instead, she’d fallen prey to her parents’ pressure of becoming a therapist and following the conventional route, and her dreams had fallen further and further away. Spending time with Michelle recently had rekindled her thoughts. Michelle’s mother, Nancy, was a recovering alcoholic, and Michelle lived with her grandmother. “I can’t show up with a hangover.”

  “Whatever. Then don’t drink too much. You’d better be here in fifteen minutes or I’m sending in the troops. We’re at Bar None.” Kaylie hung up the phone.

  Danica rued the idea of getting dressed and going to a loud bar after a long week of emotionally draining clients, but sending in the troops meant all the girls would show up on her doorstep and there’d be no getting rid of them. They’d camp out until Sunday night. She forced herself off of her comfortable perch and headed upstairs.

  Danica stepped out of the shower and wrapped a fluffy white towel around her body. She cleared the steam from the mirror and inspected her nose, which was no longer red. She squinted her eyes, scrunched her mouth, moved her lips from side to side. She puckered, as if to kiss someone, and felt a slight painful tug on the sides of her nose. Not that kissing was even a remote possibility with her severe lack of a social life. Well, then, guess I’ll be pain free tonight.

  She thought of the last time she’d even tried to look sexy—ages ago. The image of Adonis’s muscular chest and thick hair came back to her, sending a shiver up her spine. She’d liked the way her body tingled when he’d spoken with a voice so sexy it practically caressed her. She thought of the way his jeans stretched tight over his thighs and that too-tight shirt. What did his shirt say? Rossington? Rossignol? Was that a band? Should she know? Was her sister right? Had she holed herself up so much that she was missing out on life? Maybe tonight she’d sex it up a bit. Maybe tonight she’d just play with letting herself be open to seeing men the way Kaylie and Belinda did.

  She used the diffuser to dry her hair, silently praying for a sexy outcome. She flipped her head upside down and held the dryer like a gun, shooting hot air through her thick mass of hair. Please don’t frizz. With one swift flip of her head, her hair fell like a long, wild Afro around her head. Tiny ringlets sprang out in every direction. She groaned and threw the dryer onto the counter. Hopeless. She headed out of the bathroom.

  Danica stood in her closet, staring at the black, silk, knee-length dress she’d worn to her friend’s engagement party last year, then groaned. There was no way her extra ten pounds would fit into it. She’d been working so hard that she never even exercised anymore. Danica’s closet was separated by style and weight. She passed the slinky, skinny section, which she fit into only under complete duress, when her body was so stressed that she couldn’t eat—like when her mother visited. After Danica and Kaylie had graduated from college, their mother had moved to a small house just outside of the town limits—away from the memories of her failed marriage. With Danica’s busy schedule, she didn’t see her mother very often, and sometimes she wondered if her mother was lonely. Unfortunately, when they did get together, Danica still felt pressure to be the smart, responsible daughter, fielding her mother’s questions about the potential husbands and grandchildren she so desired; the pressure never seemed to let up, making the prospect of visiting more often even less appealing.

  She glanced at her work outfits, suits and professional dresses, and immediately nixed them. “Cleavage, cleavage,” she whispered. She eyed the safe section of her closet. The safe section held the dresses and skirts that fit her no matter how thin or heavy she was and hid her muffin top well. She pulled a dark green, thigh-length dress from the safe section and held it against her towel, looking in the floor-length mirror. Cleavage, check. It had a nice wrap style that helped add a waist to her no longer slim figure. Camouflage.

  With a coy smile, she snagged the only pair of Jimmy Choo heels she owned—her calf-hugging, blac
k leather, fuck-me boots with four-inch heels. The ones Kaylie had bought for her in an attempt to bring Danica over to the sexy side. She ran her finger over the stiletto heel and dropped her eyes to row after row of low-heeled, comfortable shoes. Granny shoes. Hmph. Maybe she had gone too far in the other direction, unsexing herself to distinguish herself from her clients. Danica pondered the thought as she went to lotion up her olive skin.

  With her skin moisturized, her dress hiding her extra baggage, and a simple gold necklace, she surveyed herself in the mirror. Her boobs and hips looked in proportion. God, this dress does work miracles. Her hair was a mass of fuzz, with no way to tame it in sight. There was nothing she could do about that; she was born with hair like her father’s, but on steroids. Her father’s hair was coarse, like hers, with tight, little, perfectly formed curls. The kink and curls of her thick, dark hair were so different from her sister’s and mother’s straight, blond hair that she always felt a bit like an alien in her own family. But she couldn’t go there now. Kaylie was waiting for her.

  She grabbed her stiletto boots and reached for the light switch, eyeing the perfume and licorice on the bedside table. She hadn’t had licorice for months, not since John. Boy was he ever a mistake. When they’d first begun dating, he’d been the perfect mix of a professional businessman and a spontaneous boyfriend. He’d taught Danica to loosen up, have fun, and even take a break from her nightly review of her clients’ files. But four months into the relationship, he’d lost his job and seemed unable—or maybe unwilling—to stand on his own two feet. Danica found herself filling the role of therapist. Two months later, she’d finally extricated herself from the relationship and had quickly fallen back into her safe, careful ways. What had she been thinking? Licorice was her after-sex go-to food. She’d had a lot of licorice with John; at least the sex had been good, she mused. She threw the unopened bag of candy into her nightstand drawer and sprayed a quick spritz of Juicy Couture, a birthday gift from Kaylie when she was in her we’re-gonna-get-you-a-man stage. That hadn’t gone over very well. Danica had spent their evenings out looking over her shoulder for her clients instead of loosening up. Now she wondered if she’d given herself a fair shot at a social life. One wrong man and her profession did not necessarily have to drive her to the lonely life of an old maid at twenty-nine. Before she knew it, she’d have a house full of cats and be one of those old ladies. The thought gave her pause. Maybe tonight she really would let herself have a little fun.

  She inhaled, smiling with satisfaction at her image in the mirror, and headed for Bar None.

  Kaylie grabbed Danica’s hand as soon as she walked through the door and pulled her across the hardwood floor toward the bar, where the girls had gathered. It took all of Danica’s attention to remain upright on her fuck-me heels. Maybe they were a mistake. When Kaylie finally stopped pulling her, she braced herself on the bar, preparing for the onslaught of hugs that would surely knock her off-kilter and send her sprawling onto the floor.

  Dressed in a curve-hugging, dark blue dress with a neckline that plunged to her navel, Camille led the pack. She threw her arms around Danica. “You’re here!” she squealed. Stephanie, Laurie, Chelsea, and Marie were right behind her with shrill shrieks and giggles. Danica swallowed her hatred of the fakeness that seemed to be an inherent part of most women. Their overly excited voices and dramatic waving of hands turned her stomach. Sometimes it made her feel like she was a lot older than her friends. What is wrong with me? Danica feigned the same artificial exuberance and hugged the friends she’d grown to love. A moment later she realized that she was excited to see them. Had she been repressing her enjoyment of the social aspects of life? Okay, Danica. Turn off your therapist brain. She was glad she had her stilettos on to level the playing field, because each of these girls was younger, hotter, and more confident than she was, especially in a bar.

  Danica accepted a piña colada from Kaylie and took a gulp to calm her overactive nerves. Bars had never been within her comfort zone.

  “We’re drinking piña coladas and pretending we’re in Aruba.” She looked Danica up and down. “Where’s the prim-and-proper Danica we all know and love? You look ravishing,” Kaylie said as she slid onto a stool next to Danica.

  “Like my nose?”

  “What?” Kaylie laughed.

  “This asshole elbowed me in the nose a few days ago, remember? I told you about it.” Just like Kaylie to forget Danica’s ten minutes of drama. “When I was going for coffee? I swear. Then, he had the gall to leer at some blonde as I stood there with blood all over my face.”

  “Really? What a jerk.”

  “No kidding.” It felt good to unload her emotions on someone else for a change. Danica downed her drink and asked for another.

  “Whoa, sis. Slow down. We have hours.”

  Danica looked at the other women. Camille, Stephanie, and Laurie were impossibly skinny, with collarbones poking out and not a speck of fat on their bare arms. Chelsea, Marie, and Kaylie looked like perfectly formed Barbie dolls—perky breasts, slim waists, and just the right amount of cushion in the trunk. Each were perfect for the handsome Blake. Danica put her arm over her stomach and reached for her drink.

  Kaylie moved Danica’s arm and whispered, “Stop it. You look great. You always worry about how you look, and you’re stunning.”

  Danica rolled her eyes. “Right.”

  “You’re a freakin’ therapist and you can’t even fix yourself. You’ve always been the exotic-looking one. I’m like plain Jane next to you.” Kaylie touched a wayward curl on Danica’s shoulder. “What I wouldn’t do for your hair.”

  Danica took a drink. If I had your body, the jerk wouldn’t have looked at the blonde.

  Chapter Six

  It was almost midnight when Blake finally hugged Sally one last time and told Rusty he’d take him to his basketball practices when he was ready to play again. He stepped out the front door of his dead best friend’s house and into the frigid air. The door closed softly behind him. He pulled his shoulders up against the chill. A crushing guilt paralyzed him. He was alive and Dave wasn’t. He stood there in the darkness, tears welling in his eyes, and sobs that he’d held in for the past several hours bubbling from his chest. He clenched his teeth against the sadness. He’d seen the woman Dave loved, seen the son he adored, hugged them, assured them he’d do anything he could to help them through the tragedy of Dave’s death. And the whole time, all he could think about was how it should have been him that had died instead of Dave. It felt like a betrayal, being there with Dave’s family. Blake had nobody waiting at home for him. He was just a blip on the radar screen of life, and once he was gone, he’d bet there wouldn’t be many people who would cry for him. He was a selfish man, he realized. He’d been living his entire life caring only about himself and his own pleasures, never looking back at the hurt he caused others.

  The woman he'd accidentally elbowed earlier in the week floated into his mind. The appalled look in her beautiful eyes when he’d glanced at the blonde came back to him. Selfish. He should have stopped Dave from going toward the back of the mountain. He should have considered that he might double back and take Little Hellion instead. If he’d been less self-absorbed, he might have pushed Dave to talk about the phone call, and then he might have realized that Dave’s frustration would hinder his judgment.

  The lights inside the modest two-story home went out. Blake stepped off the porch in a stupor of sorrow and guilt. His shoulders rounded forward as tears filled his eyes. He opened his car door and sat in the driver’s seat, wanting desperately not to be alone.

  Danica was on her third drink, feeling less inhibited and enjoying the feeling of having her guard down. She drank so rarely that she had an almost immediate reaction to it.

  “Hey, there’s Jeffrey and Mike.” Kaylie pointed at Camille’s fiancé. “Oh. My. God. Yummy, yummy.” Kaylie stared beyond Jeffrey and Mike, to the entrance of the bar, where two men filed in like rowdy football players. One of the men
leaned down to hug a woman as he passed. Behind him, the man from the coffee shop came into clear view.

  Oh shit.

  “Dibs!” Kaylie squealed.

  “Oh no, you do not want him. Trust me.” Danica downed her drink, while Kaylie nursed hers.

  “Are you kidding me? Want him? I need to taste him, feel him, own him—at least for a night or two.” Kaylie’s eyes danced with mischief. “Look at that body. Where on earth has he been hiding?” In a serious voice, she asked, “Do you know him? Can you introduce me?”

  Danica’s throat tightened. Behind Jeffrey and Mike, Blake was making a beeline for the bar, right where she and Kaylie were standing. She couldn’t take her eyes off of him. This was impossible. Too coincidental.

  “Danica, you look beautiful!” Jeffrey was the mirror image of Bradley Cooper. He was athletic, smart, witty, and very, very rich.

  Danica kissed his cheek. “What are you doing here?”

  “I can’t let my fiancé go out alone on a Saturday night, can I? I brought my guys to make sure the bridesmaids weren’t misbehaving.” Behind him, his posse of groomsmen were greeting Kaylie and the others. Danica told herself that Adonis’s presence was just a coincidence; he wasn’t one of Jeffrey’s groomsmen. They couldn’t know each other, could they? Wouldn’t she have known that? She’d seen the list of the bridal party and there was no Blake on it. Why, then, was he walking toward her, his eyes locked on hers, his goddamned gorgeous body coming closer by the second, rattling her nerves until her legs were trembling. She yanked at the hem of her dress, wishing she’d worn pants, something, anything to cover up her body a little more. Now that she was among the bold and the beautiful, she didn’t feel quite as in proportion as she had in front of her mirror.