Joan Kilby - Child of Her Dreams

“It’s not a hang-up. After reading about other people’s experiences, I’m more convinced than ever that it’s real. So don’t tell me I’m talking rubbish,” Geena shot back.

“I wouldn’t dare, but there are facts you should be aware of…. Apparently when the brain is starved for oxygen the neurons that deal with vision fire at random, creating the sensation of bright light. Because more neurons are at the center of our visual field and fewer at the edges, you get a tunneling effect.”

She shook her head. “You don’t understand.”

“I’m trying to help you understand. All these so-called paranormal incidents can be explained scientifically.”

She slung her bag over her shoulder. “Science doesn’t have all the answers, Dr. Ben Matthews. Open your mind. You might be surprised at what flows in.”

And then she was gone, hurrying around the corner. Ben gazed after her, shaking his head. Just when he thought he was beginning to know her, just when they were beginning to connect, some damn thing would blow up in their faces. If it wasn’t her modeling, it was her near-death experience. Baby-sitting for a relative stranger, believing in the paranormal…studying algebra?

Who the hell was Geena Hanson, anyway?

Dear Reader,

Tales of near-death experiences have long fascinated me. Whether you believe they are a spiritual journey or merely the result of a lack of oxygen to the brain, there is no doubt that for many who undergo this profound experience, it is life altering. Among other things, love, in all its forms, becomes a reason for existence. As a romance writer, this seems to me only natural.

When supermodel Geena Hanson experiences near death after collapsing on a runway during a fashion show, she’s no longer content with her materialistic lifestyle. Change is difficult and scary, but her newfound reverence for life helps her grow. When she falls in love with Dr. Ben Matthews, their opposing beliefs cause them to challenge each other on every level. Their conflict comes to a head over a young boy with cancer, whom they’ve both grown to love.

Child of Her Dreams is the second of three linked books about the Hanson sisters of Hainesville, Washington. Previously readers met Geena’s eldest sister, Erin, in Child of His Heart.

I love to hear from readers. Please write me at P.O. Box 234, Point Roberts, Washington 98281-0234, or send me an e-mail at www.superauthors.com.

Joan Kilby

www.millsandboon.co.uk

While researching Child of Her Dreams I read, watched and listened to everything I could find on near-death experiences. Two items were particularly helpful: the book Transformed by the Light: Life after Near-Death Experiences by Cherie Sutherland, and the BBC series The Human Body, done by Robert Winston.

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

EPILOGUE

“BREATHE IN, signorina.”

Geena sucked in her stomach, and the Italian seamstress wielded needle and thread to take a tuck at the waist of her ivory silk creation. Holding her breath made Geena feel even fainter; she hadn’t eaten for two days in preparation for the launch of a new collection of Milan’s hottest designer.

Throbbing techno music swirled through the dressing room as models returned from the catwalk, hurriedly stripping off one set of clothes in exchange for another. Geena’s tightly strung nerves jittered with the warring effects of too many pills and too little food and sleep. She reached for another cigarette.

Lydia, her agent, glided over and ran a hand down Geena’s back, pinching as though testing for flab. Penciled eyebrows lowered under a fringe of jet-black hair. “You look…fabulous, darling.”

Geena tweaked the strands of her waifish coif and shook her head in self-disgust. “I need to lose five pounds before the Paris show.”

“You seem on edge, Geena.” Lydia eased the cigarette from between Geena’s fingers and took a drag. “I’ve got plenty of girls for Paris if you want some time off at a Swiss spa.”

Geena’s heart raced at the thinly veiled suggestion that she wasn’t needed. “I’m fine. Honestly.”

“Think about it,” Lydia said, blowing smoke over her shoulder as she drifted off to another client.

Geena’s worried gaze followed her agent in the mirror. If Lydia wasn’t insisting on her coming to Paris, if Lydia wanted her to take time out to go to a spa, Geena must be overweight. Maybe even on her way out.

Glancing at her image, she saw haunted blue eyes shrouded in gray and purple eyeshadow. Maybe Lydia wanted to replace her with some dewy-skinned teenager. At twenty-eight Geena was getting old to be a supermodel.

She was aware suddenly that her breathing was shallow and her rapidly beating heart had taken on an irregular rhythm. Please, no, not palpitations now; she was due on the runway in seconds.

She gulped air, trying to fill her lungs, scrabbled in her tote bag for a vial of pills and swallowed two with a gulp of mineral water. This was crazy. Forget Paris; after Milan she needed a break. After pushing her feet into a pair of four-inch heels, she made her way to the stage entrance.

The master of ceremonies detained her with a hand on her arm. “You okay, signorina? Your face, she is blanca—white.”

Geena ignored the spinning in her head and gave him a brilliant false smile. “I’m fine.”

She willed herself forward with an exaggerated sway of her hips and emerged into a blaze of klieg lights and popping camera flashes. Beneath the music and blinding lights she was uneasily aware of her erratic heart. For whole seconds she couldn’t feel a beat. Then, just when she was sure she was about to die, blood thundered through the chambers as her heart raced to make up time.

She wanted to turn around right then, but the designer had paid big money for her to make an appearance. Smile, Gee. You can do it.

Midway down the catwalk, she faltered as pain traveled along both arms and a massive hand seemed to reach into her chest to squeeze her heart. She stopped dead and half turned, as if to go back to the dressing room. The next instant, everything went black.

Geena drifted upward, confusedly wondering where she was, what was happening. Below, a model lay facedown on the catwalk, long limbs sprawled awkwardly. A crowd had gathered around her, and people were shouting, gesticulating. Someone rolled the model over. With a jolt, Geena saw her own face staring unseeingly at her.

She was high above the room, floating among the klieg lights. Odd, she couldn’t feel their heat. With detached interest she contemplated the hysterical urgency of the people trying to revive her. Some of the other models were crying. Excited shouts for a doctor yielded a small man in a black suit pushing his way through the crowd. Help was on its way, but it was too late.

She was dead.

The babble of voices formed a wall of sound that she turned away from, wanting peace. A tunnel appeared before her, and she went into the cavernous darkness, marveling at the soft, warm atmosphere. Then she was moving, traveling faster and faster through the darkness amid strange whooshing noises that came from nowhere. A pinprick of brilliant white light came into view. As she came closer the light grew larger and brighter, like the light of a trillion suns.