Don’t Call Me Sweetheart

by Jeanette Ward

  Whitney regarded him suspiciously, wondering where this was leading.

  “If we could find a way to coexist amicably would you be agreeable to sharing the inn?”

  She almost laughed. He didn’t know, in fact, he didn’t even have the means to meet the terms of the agreement or he wouldn’t be suggesting a truce. So why would she consider living with him under the same roof? Why force herself to actually see him day in and day out, always knowing that she could never have what her heart desired? The thought didn’t merit consideration. Whitney wanted a solution that saw to it that he was out of her life for good but her curiosity was piqued just enough that she raised one finely sculpted eyebrow encouraging him to continue outlining what he considered an answer to the perplexing puzzle they were trapped in, feeling confident that she might actually walk away from this situation and retain the upper hand.

  In the next moment she blanched as Christian’s rapier glance cornered her and his words stung her senses. “I want you to marry me.”

  Whitney gasped at the blatant declaration and she realized she was gripping the arms of the chair so hard her knuckles had turned white. Never in her wildest imagination would she have expected a proposal from him. Why? Why would he ask such a thing, what could it accomplish? Before she could open her mouth to ask he supplied the answer.

  “I want this house back, pure and simple. But I’m short twenty thousand dollars of the price.” Christian’s features were grim and determined. Cold, actually.

  But Whitney’s heart leapt at his words. She had been right and if he didn’t have the money she was under no obligation to sell to him. Her happiness was short-lived.

  “We both know that you want this house too but more importantly, you want—or is it you need—me to stop reminding you of the weakness you suffer whenever we’re…together. Am I right?” Put so bluntly Whitney found the observation quite crude and started to say so before she was cut off.

  “If you agree to this marriage I promise never again to take anything from you against your will.”

  “Why in the world would I even consider such a ludicrous suggestion? I don’t need to marry you to get what I want. You’re the last man in the world I would ever consider marrying. If you don’t have the money, then you can start packing right now!” Whitney blazed at him, finally finding her voice.

  “I think you’ll find that giving me half interest in this place by marrying me will vastly preferable to the alternative, love,” Christian answered her in a low compelling voice as he leaned her direction, his piercing black eyes trained on her face.

  “The alternative? Which would be?” Whitney breathed the question, trying to tear her eyes away from the hypnotic black pools holding hers prisoner.

  The seductive timbre of Christian’s voice set her nerves on fire. He had cloaked himself in steely determination up to this point but now it fell away to be replaced by a sensuous purposefulness that fanned Whitney’s sleeping passions.

  “If you don’t agree I’ll find my way into your bed tonight and every night until you agree to give me what I want. I’ll remind you in a hundred different ways that while you may hate me I can make your body love the things I do to it.” Pressing his advantage, knowing that he had to leave no doubt of his sincerity in order to force her hand, Christian continued to describe what she could expect should she refuse.

  “You’ll beg me to take you. I’ll make you beg me to never leave you. You know that I can, don’t you, Whitney. Ahhh…you don’t have to answer, I can see it reflected in your eyes. You want me to make sweet love to you, over and over, don’t you? You want to feel me possess you, body and soul, feel my hands against your beautiful breasts, my hardness throbbing inside you. I’ll do all those things and more, if you don’t agree to my offer.”

  Mesmerized and frightened by the truth he spoke Whitney could barely whisper, “If that’s the alternative, what would happen if I did agree?”

  “We would be married and share the running of this place.”

  “And the…other?”

  Christian laughed harshly, knowing he had already won. “I’d never force myself on you again. Is that what you want to hear?”

  Was he really so desperate that he would sacrifice himself to an empty marriage to get the inn back? She had thought he didn’t care. Why else would he have sold it in the first place? Did it mean enough to her to subject herself to an unfeeling marriage, to give up her hopes of finding happiness with Stephan and building a life with him? Dear, sweet, wonderful, Stephan, she thought sadly. He would be devastated if she went through with this but what choice did she have? If she refused, she could expect to be betrayed by her own worst enemy, those damned desires that Christian had so artfully awakened, as she knew that Christian would undoubtedly make good on his promise to steal into her bedroom and strip her of all dignity. He already had proved he could do just that, hadn’t he? And she had in turn nearly surrendered to his skills more times than she cared to remember. How much longer could she expect to keep him away, unless he did so of his own accord?

  By marrying him she assured herself that he would keep his distance and she would keep part ownership of her dear home. But the cost was high, her perfect life with Stephan for the peace of mind she had found on this mountain. The mountain had given her strength and courage. Here she had found her true self and a sense of well-being she had never known before. She couldn’t let that slip away from her.

  He didn’t want her money. Perhaps he had at first, but not now. Now controlling her seemed to be his goal. She’d escaped one controlling man, she wasn’t about to fall into the clutches of another. He clearly didn’t love her, nor realize her true feelings for him. And if he did? Would that make a difference? She was unprepared to answer that particular question, and thankfully would never have to. The chances their relationship would grow into anything beyond mutually antagonistic were minute at best.

  Opportunity. She had told herself that she had to grab it in whatever form it appeared. Realization that it had just been handed to her set in. In two weeks Christian would realize that this little partnership was completely unnecessary, that he could have it all. Without her. And if she said no and took her chances that Stephan could figure out a solution to the problem she had been promised those same weeks would be filled with nights of passion that she would never have the strength to resist.

  She had questions that demanded answers if she didn’t want to lose the inn. And if she were honest with herself, she needed the inn much more than she needed Stephan and the dream of a life with him. Being alone became easier with each passing year. Life married to Christian would provide the perfect buffer to the one she currently spent living alone. Free to write her books. Free of worrying she was being used. Free of hurt.

  A marriage to Christian, while not perfect, could ultimately work to her advantage.

  “How could you possibly be happy living celibate?” she demanded, anger pushing away her fear for the moment.

  “Who said I would? I just wouldn’t turn to you when I felt the urge to ease my needs.” Christian’s devilish grin told her he probably would do just that too. Hot tears burned her eyes as she pictured him loving another woman.

  “What about decisions that would be required to operate the inn?” She hastily changed the subject to avoid the chance he would see how upset she was.

  “We’d handle them like any business partners would,” he replied coolly, “by putting the best interest of the business first.”

  “Why should I believe you won’t argue with every little decision I make? You’ll debate the color of paint I want for the upstairs bathrooms when we remodel, and which wines we offer on the wine list, and what to buy the Walstens for Christmas.”

  “And you’ll reject the furniture I like, and the way I trim the trees, and when I refuse to serve quiche on the menu. So?”

  “So?” she asked. “So, we need a system for deciding important matters. Something more efficient than two-hour bick
er sessions.”

  He gazed steadily at her. “Rock, paper, scissors?”

  “Can you be serious for a change?”

  “Weekly meetings at the dining room table while the Walstens are working and can referee if needed?”

  “That’ll do,” Whitney agreed. “We’ll try it to start at least. Try not to mess it up, okay?”

  She leveled an uncompromising look his direction. “You’ll sign a prenuptial agreement of course. You may own the inn again, but that doesn’t entitle you to half of what’s mine before we enter into this farce.”

  “Of course. Sweetheart.”

  Seething, Whitney stood up and turned her back to Christian before asking one final, critical question. “Last one. Where do you plan to live?”

  Again the harsh laugh. “I’ll defer to you, sweet thing and take a suite on the other side of the house. We don’t want to have scheduling problems, do we? Something that’s bound to happen if we were to share a bed.”

  “I won’t be sharing my bed, sir!”

  “Remind me to ask you if you’ve been able to keep that promise five years from now,” Christian jeered, knowing that in much less time than that he would be rid of her untrustworthy nature. Somehow the thought was a hollow victory.

  Rising, Christian followed Whitney, stopping a scant inch behind her and sliding his arms around her waist. He pulled her against him. “What’s it going to be?” he murmured into her ear, nibbling at the sensitive flesh. “Will you be my wife and business partner, or my lover?”

  It was impossible to think with his lips and tongue paying sweet homage to her neck and earlobe. Still, Whitney managed one last attempt to extricate herself from the situation. “I don’t believe you’d go through with it. You grew up here, you know how people will talk if we don’t share a bedroom and spend every waking moment sounding as if we hated one another.”

  “I’m counting on how people will talk, Whitney,” he answered softly as he splayed his hands possessively down the front of her hips, pressing her bottom even tighter against him. But if you behave yourself I’ll promise to be discreet.”

  Whitney gasped at his intimate touch and broke free. What choice did she really have unless she was willing to leave? And she wasn’t. She couldn’t. She would be leaving too much of herself behind if she did. Whirling she cried, “Yes then! Yes, I’ll marry you! Just keep away from me, do you understand?” Her voice was tinged with the wild, scared emotions racing through her veins.

  Christian smiled to himself, well satisfied that Whitney would see to it that the next three weeks remained as quiet as the hallways of a convent. True to his word he moved his things into another suite that night.

  The next day they drove to Tacoma and applied for a marriage license. By the following week, they found themselves standing before the county magistrate where they were pronounced man and wife. At that moment, Christian knew and savored the taste of reclaiming his destiny, while Whitney feared her fate would never again be her own to decide.

  Chapter Eleven

  By the evening of the second day after their return, Whitney was beginning to bristle under the constant strain of Christian’s domineering presence. Her normal schedule was completely disrupted by his abrasive intrusions. If her weekly schedule included taking inventory of supplies, he had already seen to it. If she tried to go over the menu with Bette, she found him already discussing the details with the plump little cook.

  And that very morning she had planned to discuss her plans to remodel the entryway with Stuart, only to discover that he had been instructed that under no circumstances was he to proceed with any structural changes without first consulting with Christian. She had spent the better part of an hour trying to calm the poor man down, he was so beside himself trying to please two owners, rather than one.

  With news of an approaching snowstorm and a roster wiped clean by cancellations, Whitney had suggested that the innkeeper and his wife might enjoy a few days off, giving her and Christian a chance to iron out some of their differences and establish a work environment that everyone could live with. Stuart had agreed and within the hour he and Hannah had left for Seattle, hurrying to beat the snow.

  It was then that Whitney had searched for Christian, intent on discussing the finer points of sharing their so-called business decisions, as he had agreed to do but, as had been the case since their return, he was nowhere to be found when she needed him.

  So instead, with her responsibilities to guests eliminated due to all the cancellations and after sending Bette home too knowing that she could fend for herself when she got hungry, Whitney had decided that an afternoon of uninterrupted work on her book was in order. Perhaps by losing herself in the drama of her characters’ lives, she could forget the nasty twists and turns her own had taken lately. Seated at the antique desk in her front room, the laptop resting on the smooth wood, she had managed to do just that. In fact, she had worked so diligently that she failed to notice the fading light as predicted thick storm clouds moved over the valley, enveloping the surrounding mountain peaks in dense gray shadows. By the time she looked up from her work it was nearing suppertime and a heavy snow had begun to fall. From her window at the back of the house she could see that a pristine blanket of white was already covering the meadow.

  Standing, she arched her back to stretch the cramped muscles and walked over to turn on the television. A weather advisory was playing across the bottom of the screen, warning against all travel as record-breaking snow was expected overnight and residents in her area could expect roads to close and remain that way for some time as even more snow was forecast for the next two days. They were in for a veritable blizzard and Whitney began to shudder uncontrollably. If he was still in the house she was alone with Christian. Alone. Possibly for days.

  She bit her lip pensively as she turned the television off. Suddenly she rushed from the room and downstairs, needing to know if Christian was there or not. She clung to the hope that once he had talked to Stuart, he might have had an excuse to head for town and was now trapped there. She didn’t mind being trapped herself, as long as he wasn’t with her. The house was well equipped to ride out a storm of this magnitude; it had to be in the event they had a house full of guests, so Whitney wasn’t worried about provisions.

  What did worry her was finding Christian lounging in the dining room, a plate piled high with warmed up meatloaf and mashed potatoes before him. He looked up as she flew through the door and skidded to a stop at the first table.

  Whitney’s heart sank and all she could manage was a weak, “Oh, you are here then.”

  “Where else would I be, Mrs. Dade?” Christian asked in an amused voice before taking a mouthful of the delicious smelling casserole.

  “I thought… When I couldn’t find you earlier…I thought,” Whitney stammered, too flustered in finding that she was caught in the now raging snowstorm with the one man on the face of the earth who could destroy her will, her soul, her heart to form a coherent thought.

  “You were hoping that I had left and had gotten stuck anywhere other than here, right?” Christian supplied for her, watching her expression while he continued his meal.

  “Right, I suppose,” Whitney replied lamely. “And don’t call me Mrs. Dade.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you, sweetheart but it appears we’re stuck with each other.”

  In more ways than one, thanks to you.

  “Are you hungry?” he asked, indicating the plate in front of him.

  From where she stood across the room, Whitney nodded. She was hungry. Making sure she skirted the table at which Christian was seated, she made her way into the kitchen and rummaged in the refrigerator until she located some fresh fruit and cheese. She didn’t think her nervous stomach could handle anything heavier.

  She carried the food back into the dining room and plunked down across from Christian, who had just finished and was wiping the corner of his mouth with a napkin. If they were going to be forced to endure each other’s
company, they might as well make good use of the time.

  “Just a moment ago you were too scared to walk near me,” Christian observed dryly, unable to keep his dark eyes from raking over her as she settled herself and began to pick at her plate. It had been hell keeping away from her the last two days knowing that nothing stood between him and his need to take her other than his pride.

  “I’ve never been scared of you,” Whitney replied hotly.

  “You, my sweet, are a very poor liar,” Christian laughed, a low, throaty sound that sent shivers up Whitney’s spine.

  “What I am,” Whitney paused to spear a slice of banana, “is mad. I thought we were going to discuss all the decisions that need to be made around here together? You’re running around like you’re the only one whose opinion matters. Well, it’s not. Is that plain and simple enough for you?”

  Christian’s eyes narrowed perceptibly as he regarded Whitney’s flushed face and eyes which seemed to be shooting green shards of ice directly at him. Damn, if he didn’t want to carry her up to that prissy bed she’d put in his room and make love to her that very moment. He could almost taste her silken skin, remembering how it had felt to nuzzle the smooth column of her neck, how it had felt to ravage her honeyed mouth with his own hot, hungry tongue. Even now, he could feel himself responding to her nearness, his body aching to possess her, to put an end to their endless arguing by turning her angry words into the passionate pleadings of a woman writhing with need.

  But he couldn’t. There would most certainly be other women after her, women who wouldn’t demand he bow to their whims. Women who would be willing to use him as much as he would use them, neither expecting anything more with the dawning of the next morning. Hell, half the women in America wanted him now that he’d appeared on the cover of that McLaughlin woman’s new book. But Whitney would never be that way. She wanted commitment, security. He couldn’t give her that, so he’d never be able to give in to himself and purge the frequent fantasies he had about her by turning them to wondrous reality.