Stepping into the front room she knew that Christian had come and gone while she was in the shower since the scanner was missing. That meant he was worried about the weather. Wanting to be prepared for the worst Whitney made her way to the nearest window and drew back the curtains. Alarms started going off in her head as she saw that the world was a swirling white blur. Snow was blowing past the window so fast that she couldn’t follow it with her eyes. Where normally she would have a view of the backyard and the gazebo from her vantage point, now she wasn’t even certain where the tree tops were just below the window frame.
The television was on and as she turned from the window she caught the tail end of a news report that indicated all roads in the vicinity of Mr. Rainier were now closed and that the storm wasn’t expected to abate until later in the day. Well that was just great, Whitney thought. There was an abominable snowstorm outside and an abominable husband inside. She had trouble deciding which was worse.
Her stomach growled just then prompting Whitney to make her way to the kitchen. She realized that she hadn’t eaten much of her supper last night before she had used it for target practice on Christian’s head. If she had kept her mouth shut would the evening have turned out differently? She would never know now. Besides, Christian deserved everything he had got and more. For crying out loud, what kind of man told a woman that he would provide her with an opinion when and if, he thought she needed one. Maybe that was why he was so large. He needed someplace to store all that arrogance.
Cautiously Whitney peeked around the kitchen door. The coast was clear so she swung it wide open. She was alone but signs of Christian were everywhere. Broken egg shells littered the counter and a skillet had been set to the back of the stove after the contents had been scraped from it. The man’s domestic habits were atrocious. Whitney cleared the mess away, thinking all the while that she would need to be sure to bring up his serious lack of conscience when it came to cleaning up after himself. It only took a few moments before she was happily munching on a piece of toast herself and washing it down with some orange juice she had found mixed in the refrigerator. Once her hunger was taken care of she knew that it was time to find Christian and start sorting out the mess left over from last night. She wished it could be as easy as scraping dishes.
He was in the small room off the front lobby that served as an office. When she entered he failed to look up from the ledger books Whitney had carefully maintained since her arrival. Half of her dreaded meeting those obsidian eyes that had stripped her soul bare, among other things. The other half desperately wanted to see if the softness she had glimpsed last night in Christian’s gaze still shone for her. There was only one way to find out.
“Ahh-mmm.”
Black eyes met hers and she had her answer. The look in them sent shivers along her spine. He wanted her again. It didn’t matter that she was dressed like a frumpy housewife, his eyes said he’d make love to her ’til she was as old as Methuselah if she’d let him. She had to say something quickly before things went too far again.
“Are you any neater at keeping accounts than you are in the kitchen?”
He threw his head back and laughed. Something Whitney had never heard. She liked it. “I’ve never taken time to learn the finer points of being a respectable maid, although several of them have tried to teach me.”
“They didn’t try hard enough,” Whitney added, grinning back.
Christian drank in Whitney’s fresh-scrubbed beauty, raising a dark eyebrow when he caught sight of her footwear but he didn’t stop his appraising scrutiny until he had covered her from head to toe. As he leaned back in the chair behind the desk he was again struck by the idea that marriage to this woman might not be so very bad. And since an annulment was now completely out of the question, they might as well make the best of the situation. Especially since he knew what the best included.
“Whitney, about last night…” he began, rocking slowly back and forth on the back legs of the chair.
“I think so too,” Whitney interjected, “it was a huge mistake. And we won’t let it happen again. Ever!”
“I was going to say,” Christian told her, letting the front legs of the chair smack back down onto the floor, “that I had been wrong to hold you hostage to a marriage you didn’t want but I’m not sorry it turned out the way it did. You’re different from every other woman I’ve known before. You don’t pretend to be something you’re not and you certainly don’t pull any punches saying what you think. I can’t stand a hypocritical woman, like that McLaughlin dame you worked for. Saying one thing and meaning another.”
“What are you talking about,” Whitney choked out, unable to believe they had gone from discussing the consummation of their marriage to her supposed former employer.
“You know, the way she says that she want to give her readers what they want, stories about passion and romance the way it should be. Then she pastes pictures of men like me panting over a woman on her covers and fills the pages with scenarios that would only be believable in a fairy tale world. Nothing could be further from true romance.”
“And I suppose you consider yourself an expert on whatreal romance should consist of?” The iciness in her voice caused Christian to glance sharply at Whitney. Hell, he thought, she acted as if he was putting her down.
“You were pretty much convinced last night in the gazebo as I recall.”
“And you think that’s what women really want, to be manipulated into succumbing to a man’s desires, give in to his directives, forget her own feelings the moment he deigns to touch her? Let him give her opinions to her like he would give scraps to a dog?”
By the time she got to the last remark she was practically shouting. Good lord, he knew just how to get under her skin. All her good intentions disappeared as Christian blindly attacked her, never knowing he was doing so. Whitney suffered a moment’s remorse that she was continuing to deceive him by not confessing that she was also Lane McLaughlin but she got over it quickly.
“I think,” Christian responded, flinching a little as his own words were thrown back at him, “that we’re getting off track. I don’t want to fight with you this morning, Whitney. If I’ve offended you by voicing an opinion on the type of person you chose to work for in the past, then I’m sorry. I’m entitled to think as lowly of her as I choose to, just as you’re entitled to place her on a pedestal if that’s your wish. To me, she epitomizes all that was wrong with the corrupt world that I was forced to use and consider best left behind. If another author had approached me first, I suppose I would have these feelings about them but I don’t. I have them about Lane McLaughlin and there’s nothing you can say or do that will change them.”
As he spoke Christian stood and rounded the corner of the desk where he leaned one hip against the edge. He switched his devastating smile into overdrive. “All that’s in the past so let’s forget about Lane McLaughlin. Neither of us works for her anymore so it’s not as if we’ll ever have to see her again. I would much rather discuss my feelings for you, sweet.”
“You don’t want to discuss anything and we all know it. And I would much rather be by myself, that is if I’m allowed to say so.”
Whitney whirled and raced up the stairs, slamming the door to her bedroom shut when she reached the top. The man was impossible! No, this situation was impossible! Her husband thought her work was reprehensible, her efforts just a cheap con job being foisted off on her faithful readers. She wondered what had made him to go to Tess in the first place and ask for her help if he felt this strongly about romantic fiction. What had made him so bitter? It didn’t matter. He blamed her for it. Well, he was blaming her alter ego anyway. He didn’t deserve her sympathy, or her love. Unfortunately, she could only control the one.
She was glad to see that he didn’t try to follow her this time. She was able to spend the entire day in solitude working on her manuscript, madly typing scenes that required the heroine to rant and rave at the hero. It was late in the afternoon b
efore she realized that she had been cooped up in her room for hours and was once again famished. A quick glance outside told her that the storm had finally stopped, leaving behind a landscape obscured by a two foot thick blanket of snow and drifts higher than the roof of her car.
Switching the television on she flipped channels until she found one reporting on the progress being made cleaning up in the aftermath of the storm. If one could believe what was said, they could expect the roads through their area to be cleared by morning. Mercifully, she wouldn’t be trapped with Christian for too much longer.
The kitchen was quiet once again as she made her way downstairs to find something for supper. There was no ignoring the fact that Christian had raided the refrigerator several times during the day judging by the number of dirty dishes piled near the sink. At least he had managed to head them in the right direction.
Whitney plopped a piece of honeyed ham between two slices of bread and added a few leaves of crisp green lettuce to complete her sandwich. Poking around in the refrigerator she produced a bowl of potato salad and the last piece of one of Bette’s famous lemon meringue pies. How in the world Christian had missed it was beyond her. She was just glad he had. Smiling with satisfaction, she carried her plate back up to her sitting room, anticipating a quiet meal in front of the television. She hoped there was a something good on. Maybe she could concentrate on someone else’s problems for awhile instead of her own.
The plate slipped from her numb fingers as she entered the room. Christian was seated in front of her laptop where she had been working all afternoon. He was scrolling through her manuscript, a furious expression etched across his usually handsome face. It was apparent that he now knew there was more to Whitney than met the eye. He had been played for a fool and Whitney knew she was going to suffer for it. Why hadn’t she remembered to turn the stupid computer off? Why couldn’t he just stay away from her?
As the plate hit the floor, sending food splattering across the carpet, Whitney reeled and ran back the way she had come. She didn’t wait for Christian’s response and she didn’t care where she was going. Just knowing that if he found her he would punish her in the only way he could helped propel her flying feet as she bounded down the stairs. The sound of a chair hitting the floor above her head told her he was coming. He was going to make love to her again, make her beg him to weave his magic around her. He’d humiliate her. Torture her. Touch her. Kiss her. God help her.
“Whitney!” The thunderous shouting echoed through the quiet house.
Whitney slipped into the darkened dining room and waited anxiously, hoping that he would tire of chasing her. Slumping into a nearby chair she tried to convince herself that he wouldn’t hurt her.
“No. The scars he’ll leave won’t show.”
The dining room door smashed open against the wall, rattling the china on the buffet. “Whitney! Damn it, woman, don’t make me tear this house apart to find you!”
Why hadn’t she told him? Why? Why? Why?
She heard him fumbling for the switch and suddenly the room was bathed in blazing light. She knew she was lost as she watched him push his way through the tables to her. He yanked her out of her chair so fast it skidded across the floor and into another.
“Whitney Lane…Lane McLaughlin. How quaint! How simple! So simple that you’ve probably laughed your ass off thinking about all the poor dumb fools who haven’t put the two together. Fools like me, right?”
In his anger Christian grasped her arms and shook her. Whitney’s teeth rattled in her head and she held her hands out reflexively against his heaving chest to steady herself. She had never seen him like this, not even that night in New York. The burning condemnation in his piercing eyes sparked Whitney’s anger.
“There wouldn’t be a problem if you had kept your hands off my computer! What was on it was personal and any decent person would have left well enough alone! Or do the rules of decency not apply to you?”
The narrowing of his dark eyes told Whitney that she was approaching the danger zone again. Instead of backing down she narrowed hers too.
“This is my house and everything within these walls is my concern, including the personal belongings of my wife. If you didn’t want it read, you shouldn’t have left it on the screen in plain sight. Or perhaps that was your plan all along. Have you been gathering material for your next novel? Tell me, darling. Do you need more research like we had last night?”
“No!” Whitney screamed, her composure buckling. She knew if he touched her with anything but anger she would never be able to stop the overwhelming emotions that would conquer her. “It’s not like that, Christian!”
“No? Well, I think it is,” he answered menacingly as he whispered into her ear. “I think I’m a just a great, big experiment to you, a source of endless, raw, up close and personal, male reactions that you can plug into your little stories and peddle to those unsuspecting creatures who buy your drivel.”
He doesn’t mean it, Whitney girl. He’s just angry over being deceived.
Yes he does, she sobbed to herself. He thought her writing was a vile, horrid affliction on society.
He doesn’t. You’ve just cut him too deeply. He has his pride, you know.
Before she could reply, Christian caught her chin between the strong fingers of one hand, turning her face to his. Black eyes speared hers as he murmured softly, the subtle tone belying the rage he felt at her latest betrayal.
“If you needed a willing partner you only need to ask, sweet. I’ve never denied that I find you irresistible. I’ve craved your luscious body since the moment I laid eyes on you, all shy and demure in that restaurant. What a joke! You’re a Jezebel, a wanton little vixen, aren’t you? Don’t bother denying it, I know you schemed to get where you are, so now you’re going to get what you came for. I just don’t understand why you went to all the trouble of marrying me.”
You would if you knew the whole truth.
“Christian, I…” Whitney didn’t get the chance to finish her protest. Her lips were claimed in a fiercely savage kiss that set her blood on fire. It wasn’t punishment, it was paradise. Kisses were rained over her lips, her eyes, her cheeks. Christian seared her neck with burning caresses and was careful not to forget the delicate, sensitive areas around her ears. Whitney moaned with desire, her knees trembling, her heart racing with the need for more.
“You like that don’t you, vixen?” Christian teased as he ran the tip of his tongue up the side of her neck and let it dip into the shell of her ear. “You want more, don’t you? Yes, I thought so.”
Whitney arched into him despite herself. She didn’t want this but she was powerless to stop it. Christian’s hands were everywhere, stroking her back, kneading her breasts beneath the heavy confines of her cumbersome shirts, sliding down past the elastic waistband of her sweats, touching all her private places. She pressed tighter against him, crying out his name shamelessly.
“Tell me what you want, sweet thing.” His voice was dispassionate, cold, but Whitney didn’t care. She knew that he was doing this to hurt her, to humiliate her as he felt he had been. She was past caring. She wanted him so badly she could no longer think clearly.
“Christian…I need…I want…”
“Tell me what you want!” His fingers were teasing her unmercifully and Whitney sobbed against his shoulder where she stood, mortified that she could so quickly be reduced to begging.
“Christian…oh, God.!”
“Tell me!” he commanded harshly, increasing the tempo of his hand. “Beg me to end this for you!”
“God, Christian. Yes. I need you, please! Please!”
Abruptly Christian released her, leaving Whitney sagging against the wall, bewildered and still caught in the throes of her incomplete arousal. She turned confused questioning eyes his direction and was struck by the hatred she saw there.
“I thought about really screwing you but you would have enjoyed it too much. You certainly enjoyed doing it to me. No, this is bette
r. Now we both know that even the great Lane McLaughlin can be reduced to begging for what she wants.”
“What? What did Lane McLaughlin ever do to you?” Whitney gasped.
“Nothing I suppose, unless you count forcing me to prostitute every scrape of dignity I possessed in order to fulfill a dream. In order for me to keep my home I had to sell my soul to an industry that perpetuates the idea, your idea, that romance is all wine and roses.” Christian stepped away from her, forcing himself to look past the wounded green eyes of the only woman he would ever love. The woman he could never really love now.
“You, Whitney Lane McLaughlin…don’t have a clue what real love is all about.”
Without another word he turned and disappeared. Whitney made her way woodenly to her room and collapsed on the bed too numb by the experience she had just endured to care that she was still fully clothed.
Right. Christian was right about her and now he hated her. He hated her. She had lied to him and this was her punishment. Funny. He thought by breaking her spirit he could humble her but it hadn’t worked. Breaking her heart had.
Somewhere around two a.m. she got up and sat before her beloved desk to write for the last time. No story this time though. Instead she wrote a letter. Christian found it the next day where the keys to his truck had hung.
Chapter Thirteen
Don’t Call Me Sweetheart Page 18
