Don’t Call Me Sweetheart (9 page)

“I told you I wasn’t going back to banking, so no, I don’t
have anyone waiting for me at home,” Christian replied impatiently. “Now, about
the places Whitney likes to go?”

“Uhmmm, let’s see,” Tess said at length, enjoying putting
Christian through a little hell of his own. She hadn’t appreciated him yelling
at her one bit.

“She did mention that one day she might like to visit the
nude beaches on the Riviera, or maybe catch some of the night life in Rio.” At
the look of skepticism she received she went on, relishing each opportunity to
remind him that he had made a huge mistake putting Whitney in the same class
the other women in his life fit into. “Oops, my mistake. That must have been
some other friend because we both know our little Whitney wouldn’t act like
that.”

“Tess,” Christian said menacingly.

“Oh, all right. But I still don’t see why it’s so important
for you to talk to her. We both know she’s not your type, so why not just move
on to the next beautiful female to catch your eye and let Whitney be?”

Christian wondered the same thing but he instead answered
vaguely, “I have my reasons.”

“I’ll just bet you do,” Tess agreed knowingly.

“Are you going to answer my question or do I have to drag it
out of you?” Christian actually looked as if he would the way he cocked one
eyebrow at Tess in a silent dare for her to continue dodging the issue.

“Still the tyrant when it gets right down to it I see,” she
laughed. Tess had always been allowed to press him further than anyone else but
she could see he was quickly approaching the end of his patience, given what
little he possessed of the quality.

“She’ll go to the mountains, I’d bet my last dollar on it. She
almost always goes where she can either see or be near them. She says they help
fill her soul, or some such nonsense. Personally, I think she must have fallen
off one at some point or another, because I fail to see the attraction.”

Christian did. At every turn it seemed he moved closer to
Whitney. There were too many coincidences between the lives they led for him to
believe their meeting had been just chance. The love of mountains, the
Victorian furnishings, these things told him that she longed for the same
things he did. A simple existence. Freedom to be who he really was. Could it be
she felt the same way?

“What kind of mountains does she like?” he wanted to know as
he drummed his fingers along the railing.

“How many kinds are there? The tall, pointy, snow-capped
ones, I would guess.”

Christian grinned and rephrased his question. “I meant,
which mountain chains interest her. The Rockies? The Tetons? Does she have a
favorite spot that makes her feel good?”

“You need to ask me that?”

“Tess, could we just stick to one subject at a time! I let
some personal feelings get in the way of my regard for her and now I want to
find her so that I can apologize for my rotten behavior. That’s all. Are you
going to help me, or not?”

“I don’t know,” Tess answered and pretended to ponder the
question. “You don’t seem ready to move mountains to apologize to me for all
the nasty things I’ve heard out of you over the years. Whitney must be pretty
special.” She slanted a look in Christian’s direction as she jumped up and
began to pace back and forth in front of him, stretching his discomfort as much
as she dared. “To answer your question though I’ll help when I know something. And
right now, like I already told you, I don’t.” She peeked at him over her
shoulder as she passed him. “Will you leave me alone if I promise to call the
minute I hear anything?”

“No. That’s not good enough. You have connections, so use
them.” His voice was demanding as he stood to block her path. He was all
business again. “Find out where she went, who saw her leave. When you do, I’ll
stop harassing you, otherwise you’d better get used to having me around,
because I plan to be on you like bees on honey until you deliver.”

“Do I get to vote on this little arrangement?” Tess asked
hopefully.

“What do you think?” was Christian’s firm response.

“I think that before I agree to call in favors you should
tell me a little more about why you called me needing modeling work when before
you had always said you’d rather flip burgers than stoop to flaunting yourself
in front of a camera. Why the change of heart? You weren’t exactly a fountain
of information when you called a couple months ago.”

“I told you I was in need of more money than I could readily
get my hands on.”

“I know that,” Tess reminded him exasperated, her face
earnest now with concern. “What you didn’t tell me was why? What happened that
would make you leave a career that I thought meant a lot to you and take up a
dreaded modeling career instead?”

“Banking never meant anything to me. It was a means to an
end, something to do until I could follow my real dream.”

“Which was?”

Christian leveled a dark look at Tess, unsure how much of
his personal situation he was comfortable divulging, even with her. He wondered
if it would help to get some of it off his chest. Share the burden with a
fellow human being. Lord knew he couldn’t talk with Cole about the loss that
they shared. And Tess had always been a good friend, a trusted confidant from
way back. It would probably be all right to open up to her. He supposed he
needed to do so with someone before he destroyed every relationship he had.

“My parents were killed a few months ago,” he stated flatly,
slumping onto a couch and dropping his dark head into his hands. “They left all
they had to me just as I had always dreamed they would.” Looking up his
pain-filled eyes bored into Tess’.

“Do you know what that meant, Tess? Do you?”

Numbly Tess shook her head. She had never seen Christian
when he hadn’t personified strength and control. In the blink of an eye he had
become a broken man and her heart twisted for him.

“They gave me their inn, they gave me back my home. I could
go back to the mountain that I had grown up on and live there away from the
corruption and greed of the business world. I could get away from all the
backstabbing, the manipulating, the competition. On Rainier I could be my own
boss.”

“But?” she prompted. With the incredible sadness enveloping
him, Tess knew there was a huge “but” coming.

“But Cole ruined it all.”

Cole. Tess hadn’t thought about Christian’s waste of a
brother for years. What had he done this time?

“He talked Mom and Dad out of their life’s savings to
finance his high-priced lifestyle. When that ran out he convinced them to take
out mortgages on the business. My business. And now I need a hundred and fifty
grand to set things straight or I’ll lose it all.”

“Oh, Christian! Why didn’t you just say so?” Jumping from
her seat Tess raced to her desk and pulled her checkbook from one of the
pigeonholes. “You had to have known I’d give you whatever you needed if you
just asked.”

“No!” The single syllable answer was shouted so forcefully
that Tess could only stare dumbfounded at Christian.

He stood, drawing himself to his full height and went to
her. “I mean,” he started over, fighting to control the anger within him, “I
don’t want to take your money, sweetheart. I don’t doubt for one instant that
you’d give me the food out of your mouth if I needed it but this is my problem.
My family, my problem. I’ll solve it my way or not at all.”

“Now you’re just being stubborn.”

“That’s one of the reasons you like me, isn’t it. We’re two
of a kind.”

“But you wouldn’t have to model anymore. We could consider
it a loan.”

“There’s nothing to consider, Tess,” Christian told her,
gentleness replacing his anger in the face of her generosity. “I should have
what I need in time to beat the foreclosure proceedings. My lawyer is keeping
me apprised of the situation back home. I’ve even authorized him to sell the
property if necessary, with a one-year buyback clause in the contract. That
should give me the time necessary to get what I need here without having to
take from my friends.”

“I wonder. I think what youneedleft a week
ago,” Tess observed wisely, watching Christian’s eyes flare at the reminder of
Whitney.

“A man has many needs, Tess.”

“Yes and love is one of them. It’s something both of you
have managed to avoid for far too long.”

Christian laughed but there was little amusement in the
sound. “What in the world makes you think that Whitney and I are destined to
love each other, especially after the way I’ve treated her?”

“Maybe I’ve just read too many of those damned novels Lane
McLaughlin writes. Who knows? Just mark my words, Romeo. You may think you’re
suffering here in New York but I think your heart just may be wandering among
the same mountains that a certain mutually loved friend is hiding in at this
very moment.”

Again the raised eyebrow.

“We both know she’s carrying it in her hands.”

The vast evergreen forest stretched in every direction as
far as the eye could see, a beautifully woven tapestry of richly hued greens,
teals and blacks. Light and shadow chased each other up each incline and into
each crevasse among the hills and mountains surrounding her new home. Whitney
found it hard to believe that she had found sanctuary here in this wondrous
corner of the world, far from the turbulent turn of events that had left her an
emotional basketcase.

Her thoughts turned automatically to Christian, as they
seemed to do far too often these days. She could still envision his dark,
compelling eyes, hear the sound of his deep, sensuous voice calling her name to
stay in his arms, feel the wonderful breadth of his shoulders beneath her
trembling fingertips.

His unreliable shoulders, she reminded herself sternly. Not
the kind that you could lean on for support, or you could count on to be there
when you needed him. No, his were only good for one thing as far as she was
concerned and it certainly wasn’t providing comfort and stability. Christian
Dade had turned out to be an empty package, albeit a beautifully wrapped
package, but undeniably one with little of value inside. For her anyway.

Closing her eyes against the glorious majesty surrounding
her Whitney easily recalled the last few minutes they had spent together. The
hateful words followed by those unforgettable burning kisses. He had treated
her so cruelly. And for no reason. Why? Had she misinterpreted the signals she
had received from him when they had been at the studio? He had seemed
interested enough then even though she had tried to keep her distance. Maybe
that was it. If a woman didn’t fall at his feet when he expected them to
Christian felt justified taking what he wanted from them regardless. There was
no doubt in her mind that he had wanted more from her than he had gotten.

Well, that was just too bad, wasn’t it. She had survived
this long without giving in to men like him and she could get along fine
without Mr. Christian Dade too, thank you very much!

Or could she?

As hard as she tried, Whitney couldn’t make herself stop
thinking about him—that other side of him—the part that called to the sleeping
sexuality she had believed was destined to remain buried within her forever. Each
night he returned to haunt her troubled sleep, leaving her exhausted when she
awoke from her unsuccessful attempts to escape his overwhelming presence. She
couldn’t write. She couldn’t eat. There was nothing to fill the void in her
mind and help erase the memory of his strong hands expertly tracing the
contours of her traitorously responsive body, or the sweet agony of remembering
his blazing kisses, branding her lips with a previously unknown passion. She
had written of such things countless times but to actually experience the mixed
feelings, the volatile emotions brought to bear as the result of just a few
hours spent in the presence of a virtual stranger was more than she could cope
with. So, in the end she had left.

Of the numerous places she had seen during her travels, none
stirred her blood or made her feel as drawn to settle down as much as the quiet
inn that sat nestled at the base of Mt. Rainier in Washington. Standing at the
top of the back porch steps of the quaint, rambling home that had been
converted to a country resort by the previous owners, Whitney had instantly
fallen in love when she had arrived two days after her fight with Christian. To
find that it was for sale had been a stroke of luck she couldn’t believe. And
the one-year buyback clause the current owner had insisted was necessary had
worked into her plans beautifully. By the end of one year she should have had
time to once again prioritize her personal life and complete the new novel she
wanted to start. Then, with a bit of luck, she could recoup her investment and
return to her old life in New York. That was, if she could manage to focus on
something other than Christian.

She let her eyes move over the crisp outline of her new
home, drinking in the sight the one-hundred-year-old three-story made against
the dense line of trees surrounding it. In the distance the tree line gave way
to join the thick forest that rose to blanket the mountain. She truly loved
this place, especially the wide verandah that wrapped itself around the front
and sides of the house, a sight that was responsible for captivating her
imagination in the first place. Carefully tended flower beds provided a warm
sense of welcome and a large maple tree in the front yard beckoned for her to
share its shade and enjoy the two-seated swing suspended from its lofty
branches. It was the first place she could truly call home since her parents
had died so long ago. Not even her lavish home in New York with its rich
collection of Victorian furnishings compared with the natural setting the inn
made for its equally fine cache of antique treasures.

Early autumn sunlight filtered through the thick branches
and warmed Whitney’s upturned face, making it almost possible to forget the
scathing words Christian had used that last night to describe her profession
and her creations. It was immaterial that he didn’t know he was speaking of her
while he was condemning Lane McLaughlin. The fact remained that he had blindly misunderstood
the meaning her books held for her faithful readers—the very reason for their
popularity. With each word he had proved he had no appreciation for the power a
romance novel possessed to elevate a woman’s oftentimes stifled sense of
sexuality and worth, how it helped to break the constraints she might place on
herself. Whitney’s gift lay in knowing how to reach the deepest recesses of a
reader’s imagination and draw them, along with her characters, toward a climactic
ending that could, for a moment in time, leave the reader with an appreciation
of whatever romance she could discover in her own life.

But Christian didn’t see that. He refused to see it. As he
had complained about Lane McLaughlin and other authors like her, Whitney had
realized that he only saw her as a money-hungry “employer” who, in his opinion,
was intent only on exploiting her readers’ frustrated sense of missing romance
for personal gain. In his mind she was bent on raping the minds of pathetic
women caught up in stale, hopeless relationships with men incapable of
recognizing romance, or their partner’s need for it.

Being forced to listen to his diatribe against her had left
a bitter taste in Whitney’s mouth that steadfastly refused to leave, even on
such a splendid day as today. She drew a deep breath of the evergreen-scented
breeze that wafted past as she sat rocking.

It had been a glorious day just like this one when she had
made the drive in from Tacoma and first met Hannah and Stuart Walsten, the
elderly proprietors the previous owner had left in charge during his absence. She
found herself quickly taken under their wings once she purchased the inn and it
was apparent for all to see that she had no idea what it took to run her new
business. A special fondness sprang up between the three of them as they helped
each other through their day-to-day duties. To the lonely Walstens, Whitney
took the place of their only daughter who had left home at an early age and who
found it frustrating to visit often enough to suit her lonely parents. Whitney
found the warmth and loving compassion the elderly couple offered a much needed
commodity. She still missed her own parents even though they had been gone for
years. Being pampered and worried over for a change suited her just fine.

And she had given them plenty to worry about. Especially
when she had met Stephan Thayer, the previous owner’s lawyer and made the
necessary arrangements to purchase the property. She had nearly abandoned the
idea once she discovered the name of the seller.

Mr. C.W. Dade. Christian, as she knew him. The one person
she most needed to distance herself from. The enormity of the coincidence was
staggering and she had to remember just how much she loved Mountain Meadow Inn
in order to keep things in perspective. She knew that if she entered into a
business arrangement with him she could fully expect to see him again at some
point. Especially if she believed the stories Tess told her during the few
phone calls she had placed to her friend. Tess had tried to convince her that
Christian hadn’t taken her rejection of him well at all as he was apparently
trying to find her on the pretext of wanting to apologize for his boorish
behavior. Her friend’s insinuations that there might be more to his motive for
finding her were written off by Whitney as the delusions of an overzealous
matchmaker.

Whether or not she came face to face with him Whitney knew
that she wanted—no, needed—to proceed with the purchase. There was something so
compelling about the inn and the nearby little town of Reflection Ridge that
silently called out for her to stay. She knew that if Christian came home she
would have to give the inn back before the end of their contract in order to
preserve her sanity. Even knowing that she went ahead with the purchase anyway,
pinning her hopes on the fact that Christian would probably be so enamored of
his reportedly huge success in the big city to notice anything as meaningless
as the name of the person who had purchased a property he wanted to get rid of,
especially since the sale was temporary. Hopefully he would trust his lawyer to
handle the details for him.

“And if he didn’t…”

“Shh,” she chided her pesky subconscious. She had more
important things to think about such as having an explanation ready in case the
errant landowner decided to return home and found her there. But so far he hadn’t.
Whitney knew she should be glad he stayed away. Elated actually. But she wasn’t.
In fact, she was thoroughly miserable and it got worse each day.

As days turned into weeks and weeks to months and still no
word came from Christian to acknowledge that he knew who had bought his
property Whitney’s misery had slowly turned into a seething, white-hot anger. He
dared to treat her the way he had, pretend he was looking high and low for her
supposedly to apologize and then, when he was told she was living under his own
roof—well, her roof actually—he chose to ignore her. Her resolve to turn the
inn over quietly if he returned before the end of the contract year changed to
a cold, self-made promise to see him beg before she returned what was now
legally hers. Then and only then, if he could comply with the terms of the
buyback. Otherwise, he could rent a room like everyone else if he wanted to see
his former house again.

With the deed safely tucked away, Whitney had wasted no time
clearing Christian’s things out of the master suite and ensconcing herself
there instead. She was then in possession of the entire west upstairs wing of
the sprawling home, complete with a sitting room, an immense bedroom furnished
to her taste so completely that it was as if she had done it herself and a
luxurious bath with a Victorian clawfooted bathtub perfect for long soaks in
layers of bubbles, a luxury she often found irresistible.

Her favorite time of the day was dusk when she would slip
unnoticed from the private entrance leading to a spacious deck outside her
sitting room and descend a set of wooden steps to a covered breezeway leading
away from the back of the house. It was draped with honeysuckle and the living
green tunnel eventually opened onto a beautiful glassed-in gazebo at the crest
of a small outcropping near the rear of the meadow. From there Whitney had an
unobstructed view of the mountain as she relaxed in the hot tub that had been
installed for the pleasure of the lovers who had lived there previously. Unaware
of the intent behind the addition, Whitney was simply grateful for the
forethought involved and the many hours she was able to spend there alone with
her thoughts.

Shaking her head to clear away her reflective mood Whitney
turned her thoughts to more pressing matters, namely Stephan’s insistence that
she accompany him to a movie that evening at the only theater the small town
could boast of. Stephan had frequently asked to take her out but each time she
had gently refused. But he had persisted, especially after Whitney had relaxed
her reserve and treated herself to a makeover, complete with a new hairstyle. Caruso
curls now framed her lovely features, setting them off to perfection and
Whitney had trouble keeping Stephan and at least a half dozen other men, at arm’s
distance.

She closed her eyes as she rocked, struggling to envision
the lawyer who had befriended her. It wasn’t as if she wasn’t attracted to Stephan.
Who wouldn’t be with his blond hair and all-American good looks? Sparkling blue
eyes that spoke often of their owner’s interest in her. But Whitney couldn’t
bring herself to spread her wings and practice what she preached in her books. Stephan,
along with the rest of the new friends she had made in Reflection Ridge, were
unaware of the one secret she had kept from them, the fact that they had a
reclusive author living in their midst.

Tonight, Stephan had told her, would be different from the
numerous other times he had asked her out. No more excuses. He had said to
expect him to come for her at seven sharp and to make sure she was ready for an
evening she wouldn’t regret the next day.

Whitney felt a little of the old trepidation creep over her
as she watched a brilliant yellow butterfly flit from one marigold to the next
along one of the flower boxes bordering the edge of the porch. It reminded her
of Christian, content to move from woman to woman like he had done with her and
Charisse, always searching for the one with the sweetest offering. She wondered
how many women he had been with while he’d been in New York.

A humorless laugh escaped her, startling the butterfly and
sending it fluttering further out into the meadow. He had probably had a flavor
of the week since she had left, Whitney thought morosely. She didn’t stop to
consider why the thought made her uncomfortable. She was content knowing that
Stephan was different and perhaps, if she gave him a chance, he could make her
forget those maddening two days she had spent in the company of Christian Dade.