Don’t Call Me Sweetheart

by Jeanette Ward

  “I was beginning to think you had chickened out,” Tess teased Whitney as she settled into the bucket seat beside her. Grasping the stick shift Tess threw the cherry-red sports car into gear and they careened down the driveway.

  “You must have because it feels like I’m being kidnapped. Slow down, Tess!”

  Tess laughed and whipped the sleek car onto the highway that would take them into the heart of Manhattan. She grudgingly slowed down but only because one of New York’s finest was fast approaching from two lanes over.

  “Well,” Tess stated, “did you have pleasant dreams last night, mi amigo?” It didn’t take a rocket scientist to interpret the badly veiled implication.

  “Un-huh. Actually, I did.” Whitney replied nonchalantly as she twirled the dial of the radio, looking for anything other than the incessant talk radio that seemed to be everywhere these days. “If I remember right you and I were stranded in some little hick town full of nothing but ugly, foul-breathed bachelors who refused to help us until you, ‘the purty yellar haired one’, planted a kiss on each one of their hideous faces.” She tried to keep the laughter out of her voice but her efforts fell considerably short.

  “You found it all thoroughly humiliating, I do believe.”

  Tess grinned in understanding knowing Whitney was referring to the manner in which she had blatantly paraded her friend before Christian yesterday. “Touché. But, you know, sometimes love has a price.”

  Whitney’s smile faded and she rested her brow against the cool window. Tess couldn’t be more wrong.

  Love, she had found, was the one thing that couldn’t be bought at any price. A heart to beat alongside your own was the only thing worth having and it had to be given away.

  The commute was over before they knew it and Whitney and Tess were soon navigating their way out of the parking garage and across the street from the towering building housing the photographer’s studio. The prickly, tingling feeling in the pit of her stomach was one to which Whitney couldn’t put a name. What did she think she was doing? She should be making plans for the mandatory trip she took after completing a novel, not putting herself through these silly, one-sided high school games.

  She was obviously attracted to Christian but what was the point? She had tried to trust men in the past and been hurt. Her heart couldn’t stand to be crushed like that again. She refused to allow it.

  As they passed through the studio door, Whitney started to tell Tess she was experiencing a sudden change of heart but the opportunity evaporated as a man she assumed was the photographer swooped down upon them seemingly from out of nowhere.

  “Jag!” Tess greeted the black-clad man with a surprisingly lusty kiss. “I was hoping you had gotten the message that we would be here today.”

  While keeping her hands warmly cupped within his own, the middle-aged artist backed away from the petite blonde and answered, “Of course I did, Tess, sweetheart.” Arching an eyebrow Whitney’s direction he asked, “Now tell me who this pretty little thing is?”

  “Whitney Lane,” Whitney answered in a crisp business tone of voice, extending her hand as she spoke.

  Instead of shaking her outstretched hand, the smooth-mannered gentleman immediately brought her fingers to his lips and feathered a soft kiss across the tips, the exact opposite of the kiss he had shared a moment earlier with Tess.

  “Oh Jag, stop it,” Tess admonished him fondly. “Whitney’s far too good for you, so don’t even try to corrupt her with your fake charm.”

  Jag broke into an apologetic smile, glancing wistfully at Whitney’s vibrant hair. “I’ve always had a weakness for beautiful redheads but if she’s going to fill your head with lies about me, my sweet, I guess I have no choice but to move on, do I?”

  “I could fill a book with the things I know about you and not one bit would be a lie,” Tess laughingly corrected him.

  “Ahh, life is so short though. We must work on our chosen reputations at every opportunity, even if they are naughty ones.”

  “Speaking of work,” Tess waved her hand toward a set of glass doors behind which Whitney assumed the set was located. She realized that in a moment it would be too late for her to extricate herself from a potentially embarrassing situation and she didn’t want a repeat of yesterday. She reached out her hand to touch Tess’ arm but before she could speak Jag intervened once more, whisking both women through the doors and leaving little opportunity for Whitney to get a word in edgewise with his constant chatter.

  “I suppose we should get started. You know, that chap you sent me to work with doesn’t seem too impressed with the assignment you handed him. Does he have any idea how hard work like this is to come by?”

  “He just hasn’t done this sort of thing for a very long time,” Tess lied glibly. “He’ll be all right once we get started.”

  “I hope so because he’s not the only problem we have.” Jag led the way down a short hallway and into a spacious studio, directing them to a pair of director’s chairs set inconspicuously in the shadows, far from where he intended to work. They suited Whitney perfectly.

  “That’s why I’m here,” Tess declared settling herself in one of the chairs and draping one leg gracefully over the other, “to make all your problems disappear.”

  “Something, or rather someone, has already disappeared and that’s the problem.”

  “Just what are you talking about?” Tess was beginning to sound irritated. Her foot was tracing furious little circles in the air which, Whitney knew all too well, was the warning usually issued before an explosion. The situation didn’t look good for the unnamed person at the root of the problem.

  “The other model hasn’t shown up. How am I supposed to take pictures of lovers when I only have one?”

  Jag was gesturing to a set that looked exactly as Whitney had imagined the opening scene from her book would have looked, complete with a massive mahogany desk. She was surprised to find that a feeling of relief had stolen into her conscious thoughts upon hearing that the female model hadn’t showed up. Any reprieve from watching Christian hold another woman in those fantastic arms was certainly welcome.

  This is just silly, Whitney pointed out to her much too lively libido. Why on earth was she feeling like this? And why was she thinking in terms of “another woman”. That would imply she was, or at one time had been, one of Christian’s women. Correction. One of Christian’s numerous women. A man couldn’t look as sinfully wonderful as that rake did without attracting the attention of females wherever he went. He was capable of turning the heads of both the old and young, the single and the satisfied. He had probably even made a nun or two take a second look at some point.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Whitney muttered beneath her breath as she drummed her fingers nervously on the narrow arm of the chair. She had to stop thinking like this. Maybe her hormones needed adjusting.

  No they don’t. You just need to fall in love!

  Tess stepped down from her chair, looking extremely put out. “That’s what I get for not taking care of the details myself. We need to get started though. Time is money and we’re wasting both. Show me where to find a phone and I’ll try to get to the bottom of this while you start setting up your lights or whatever it is you do first.”

  A small office hugged the wall of the studio. Tess and Jag disappeared through the open door, giving Whitney a chance to take in her surroundings. The studio was actually a spacious, sparsely furnished room with a large stage area laid out across one end. To her left, just barely visible from where she sat idly glancing about and wishing she were someplace else, was a hallway which she assumed led to the dressing rooms. At the moment there was no one else in the room.

  She kept a wary eye on the hallway, wishing Tess would hurry up and return before Christian made an appearance and she found herself alone with him. She wasn’t sure why the thought of being caught in such a situation was so disturbing; he surely didn’t bite.

  Maybe he does. Let’s find out.


  Whitney just rolled her eyes at her subconscious’s latest idea.

  From where she sat she could barely make out the muffled sound of Tess’ angry voice as she argued with the hapless agent on the other end whose job it was to explain where the other half of the modeling team was, at the present time. Whitney pitied them, whoever they were.

  Catching sight of Jag making his way back into the studio, she breathed a huge sigh of relief. But the feeling was short-lived since Tess wasn’t behind him. She obviously needed more time to make certain the party on the other end of the conversation understood precisely how upset she was. Before Whitney could think of an excuse to leave, the photographer crossed to the hallway and she plainly heard him rap sharply on a door and call, “Come on. We’re ready to get started.”

  Glancing wildly about Whitney wondered if she still had time to make it out of the studio before Christian caught sight of her. She was being a coward. A tucktail, got-no-guts, I’m-in-way-over-my-head, coward.

  She knew it and she didn’t care who else did either. If she could just get to the street she could hail a cab and be home before the only man who had ever actually made her senses reel realized she had been here today, or Tess noticed she had left.

  It was too late. Christian pulled the door to his dressing room shut behind him and crossed to where Jag stood in front of the desk on the set. He still hadn’t seen her but Whitney could certainly see him, each gorgeous detail of him. He literally stole her breath away.

  Christian was Jayce Colter, personified. Her imagination had drawn this man forth on those long nights spent in front of her computer adding one irresistible element after another until she had created the one man her heroine couldn’t live without. Whitney’s mouth went dry as she drank in the picture Christian made in the elegantly tailored gray-striped suit and dashing tri-pointed handkerchief. The stark whiteness of his buttoned collar shirt accentuated his dark presence and his sable hair was swept back from his forehead, giving him an even more commanding air, if that were possible. He was, in a word, perfect.

  And he was looking directly at her. Abruptly finishing his conversation with Jag, Christian strode purposefully to where Whitney perched in silent dread.

  “I see you came after all, Whitney,” Christian commented, placing one foot on the bottom rung of Tess’ vacant chair so he could rest his forearm across his thigh. He sounded as delicious as he looked, the deep timber of his voice sliding past her defenses and leaving Whitney glad she was sitting down.

  Knowing she couldn’t just ignore him her eyes slid upward and met his. She held her breath, not daring to speak for fear she would trip over her tongue. For someone who made their living manipulating words on paper she was having more than her fair share of trouble when it came time to actually speaking them. At least when Christian Dade was around.

  “I was hoping you would but I thought Tess was coming with you,” Christian continued throwing a brief glance over his shoulder. Whitney squirmed uneasily in the chair, wishing Jag would intervene again like he had so many times already today. People could be so irritatingly undependable at times.

  Say something, stupid.

  “She did but there was a problem with your girlfriend—I mean the other model—and Tess had to leave to take care of it right away. I don’t mean she left actually. Um… She’s in the office over there and I’m sure she’ll be right back if you need to speak to her.”

  Well, if you were trying to say something stupid you certainly hit a bull’s-eye.

  Whitney didn’t have time to worry about how clumsy she sounded. Her mind was racing as she thought about the evening ahead and her promise to escort Christian around the city. Tess was just going to have to find a good excuse for her to back out gracefully. She would make an utter fool of herself if she had to spend any length of time alone with this man. A few minutes in his presence and she had already turned to mush. And he, damn his hide, thought it was funny.

  Jag snapped his fingers in Christian’s direction indicating he was needed back on the set. Whitney released the breath she had been holding, grateful that the infernal man was taking his bad boy grin elsewhere. An employee lowered the lights, casting deep shadows into the simulated office and Whitney had to blink several times to help her eyes adjust to the change. She welcomed the opportunity to melt into the darkness.

  Mesmerized, she watched as Christian positioned himself behind the desk, loosening his tie and unbuttoning his coat and shirt. Her eyes grew wide and if asked Whitney knew she would have been unable to look away for all the money in the world. Christian was being paid to look sexy and no one could argue that he wasn’t worth every penny. With no one else in the room except Jag, who was busy making adjustments to his cameras, tripods and lights, it was as if Christian was undressing for her alone and the unfamiliar stirrings brought on by that notion left Whitney squirming in her chair for an entirely different reason. She was immensely grateful for the dimness surrounding her.

  Jag instructed Christian to turn first this way, then that, trying to set the lighting for the shots he would need. For her part, Whitney silently devoured the sight of smooth rippling muscles visible between the unbuttoned front of Christian’s shirt. The dark springy hair curling across his broad chest trailed downward over a firm abdomen before disappearing beneath the waistband of his slacks, just as she had imagined it would yesterday in the restaurant. Knowing she shouldn’t but unable to stop herself, her eyes followed the dark line down each incredible inch of his massive frame. Yesterday she had dreamed of undressing him this way and today that dream was coming true right before her eyes. She would have to be careful what she wished for next.

  “Whitney!”

  She blinked, surprised that Jag even remembered she was there. “Yes?”

  “I’ve called you three times, darlin’. Didn’t you hear me? I can’t get this shot placed right unless Christian has someone to lean across and it’s just not working having him pretend there’s a woman under him on that desk.” Jag walked over to her and took her suddenly cold hands in his. Whitney was horrified. Surely he wasn’t suggesting that she take the model’s place up on that desk!

  “If you would help us out until that twit the agency was going to send over decides she’s being paid to actually work I would consider it a great personal favor.” At her stubborn look of refusal the photographer smoothly interjected, “I promise I won’t let him really ravish you sweetheart, it’s just going to look like that’s the only thing on his mind.” Jag gave her one of his most disarming smiles but its effect was lost on her.

  “N-N-Nooo,” Whitney stammered, mortified by the thought of actually lying beneath Christian while two strong arms cradled her to that splendid naked chest. It had been oh-so-nice to daydream about but having yesterday’s naughty thoughts turn into today’s reality was far too unnerving. And much too dangerous. For her at least. “I just… No! I couldn’t do that!”

  “Of course you can, honey,” Jag answered with a wink and a firm voice, pulling her from her chair and leading her, still protesting, to where Christian waited with his arms crossed over his chest, the corners of his mouth quirking with amusement.

  “We have a bride for you now, buddy.” Jag announced humorously to Christian as he sent Whitney tumbling his direction with little shove to overcome her obvious unwillingness to participate. “Seems she’s a little on the bashful side though. I’ll leave it up to you to see if you can’t convince her we aren’t going to take anything from her other than a little time.”

  Christian grinned and took full advantage of the opportunity to draw Whitney close against him, pulling her tightly against his chest as he ducked his head to whisper, “Just pretend you’re Lane McLaughlin and I’m here to audition.”

  Whitney’s head snapped back and her eyes met Christian’s intense gaze. The moment her sparkling green eyes collided with the blazing black pools above her she was lost. At that moment, time stood still and Whitney discovered that she wanted—no, she nee
ded—Christian’s embrace more than she had ever needed anything else. She didn’t care that the situation was completely contrived, that Christian was only acting. And she swiftly silenced the voice of reason screaming at her subconscious not to abandon all semblances of modesty and morality. For once, her head lost to her heart.

  This man was the phantom lover who had haunted her dreams for years and who had filled her dreams last night as well. And for one indescribable moment he was holding her the way a man was meant to hold the woman he loves. She was in his arms now and she never wanted to leave.

  “I’ve really never done this sort of thing before,” Whitney confessed shyly, peering up at Christian.

  Of course she meant posing in front of a professional photographer but the laughter in Christian’s eyes told her he had heard an entirely different meaning behind her innocent confession. Whitney’s face flushed crimson at the realization. She couldn’t possibly know her companion was captivated by her naiveté, desire heating his blood in response to her in a way no other woman had ever succeeded in doing. If she had, she might have found the strength she needed to escape the pleasurable prison his arms had become.

  Jag was ready to keep things moving along now that he had two people in place.

  “Whitney, I want you to lean backward across the desk, you help her Christian. Yes, just like that. And Christian, I want you to support her back with your arms and cradle her head with one hand. No, I can’t see… Use your right hand. There, that’s better. Now stay just like that while I get off a few shots.”

  Whitney held herself rigid within the confines of Christian’s muscled embrace, finding it nearly impossible to believe she was actually there. Only a short time before, perched on that miserable little chair, hadn’t she been laughing about the impossibility of such an occurrence? But here she was and she couldn’t possibly ignore the way the hard, male body pressed solidly against hers made her feel as Christian leaned across her. Her head was trying desperately to keep things in perspective but there wasn’t a nerve in her body that wasn’t screaming for more as her hands pressed against the naked warmth of Christian’s wide chest, her fingers slipping through the fine black hair she found there. The searing skin beneath her palms left her feeling scorched both inside and out.