“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.”
Chapter Seven
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 s
he 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.
Don’t Call Me Sweetheart Page 9
