Don’t Call Me Sweetheart

by Jeanette Ward

  Hungry. That’s what she was. And the thought of food sounded good too. Maybe, Whitney thought, she should ask Christian if he would like to go eat. He read her mind.

  “All that hard work has left me famished,” Christian said lightly, trying to dispel any anxiety Whitney might be feeling. She was feeling a lot. “I bet you are too, hanging around here all afternoon. Let’s see if we can find a quiet restaurant where we can get to know each other a little better.”

  He settled his hand at the small of her back and gently steered her out the door, obviously unwilling to take no for an answer. Heat immediately began to radiate from the point where his fingers nestled against her and Whitney had to turn her head so that Christian wouldn’t see how much she was affected by his touch.

  “If you want to wait inside, I’ll get a cab,” he continued, stepping toward the front door.

  Whitney spoke up at last, swallowing hard to push the words past the boulder-sized lump formed in her throat. “That-that won’t be necessary. Tess left with Jag and gave me the keys to her car, so we’re free to go wherever we like.” Why couldn’t she treat him like she did any other date? Why couldn’t she talk without sounding like a stuttering wallflower? And why were her palms sweating?

  “Oh.” Christian replied, pausing with his hand on the door handle. “And where would you like to go?”

  Whitney glanced shyly at the floor, then back at Christian. Had there been a hint of suggestive innuendo in the seemingly innocent question?

  “Well, if you like Italian I know a quiet little place that makes the best scampi in the city.”

  Christian winked at her and held out his hand for the keys. “That sounds perfect! Just tell me which way.”

  “Wouldn’t it make more sense if I drove since I know where the restaurant is located?” Whitney asked, logic finally replacing the incoherent idiot who had been in charge of her emotions since the moment Christian Dade’s path had crossed her own. Maybe she could get through this night after all if she pretended she was talking to Tess rather than the most prime specimen of manhood she had ever laid eyes on.

  “No, I always drive,” was Christian’s equally illogical answer.

  “But we’ll never get there! This is New York City and you don’t know…”

  “I know I’m hungry and I’m getting hungrier by the minute,” Christian announced firmly, plucking the keys from Whitney’s fingers.

  “Fine, drive then,” Whitney answered, pasting on a perfect Sunday school smile, while wondering if Christian was this arrogant about other things as well. Was she beginning to see the real Christian Dade? She turned on her heel and headed for the garage where Tess had parked the car and as she passed Christian she flung over her shoulder, “But I started to say that you don’t even know where the car is, or what it looks like.”

  So the little kitten had claws, Christian noted as he followed Whitney through the garage to the car. He wondered what would happen if he rubbed her the wrong way. Or for that matter, what would happen if he rubbed her the rightway.

  With as much grace as she could muster Whitney waited beside the passenger side, trying not to look annoyed, as Christian unlocked the door and held it open for her. Within minutes of giving him directions they were speeding toward the freeway. Christian took to New York City driving faster than anyone Whitney had ever met. It was almost as if he had been there before. But if that were true, he wouldn’t need an escort about town, would he?

  “When was the last time you were in New York?” she asked innocently, hoping to catch him off guard. If this was another one of Tess’ setups, she wanted out right now.

  “I’ve never been here before but I’ve certainly enjoyed my stay so far. Wouldn’t want to live here but it’s nice for a change of pace,” Christian replied, glancing at Whitney’s profile as they were swept along in the flow of traffic.

  “It sounds as if you won’t be here long then,” Whitney continued, surprised how easy it was becoming to carry on a conversation once she was willing to look at Christian as a human being with flaws instead of the perfect dream lover.

  “Actually, I only plan to stay until I complete my objective,” Christian replied, pausing to change lanes, then he added, “In case I never get the opportunity to thank her personally, you’ll have to let Lane know how much I appreciate the chance to appear on her cover.”

  “I’m pretty sure she already knows how you feel,” Whitney answered evasively, keeping her eyes trained on the passing city lights.

  “I’m curious about something,” Christian went on, unaware that he was beginning to tread on dangerous ground. “Are the kind of books she writes really all that popular? It seems to me that there’s not much to them except one bedroom scene after another.”

  Whitney whirled back toward him, unable to believe that her precious stories were being disparaged by someone willing to pose for the cover of her book but who questioned the content.

  “Have you actually read one?” Her quiet voice took on an icy tone that Christian couldn’t help but notice.

  The look he flashed Whitney said that he noticed all right and he was going to have a hell of a lot of fun ruffling her feathers over it.

  “I flipped through a few after Tess offered me this assignment, just to get an idea of what they were about. I started wondering what sort of woman would write that stuff, no offense to your boss,” he added in a voice that said he didn’t really mean it.

  My employer might not take any but I damn well do, she thought.

  “It just seems,” he went on, his deep voice cutting through Whitney’s rapidly rising fury, “that she doesn’t have much respect for herself, or her readers, if she’s unable to deliver anything more substantial.

  “There’s a lot more to a relationship than just sex. I won’t say it’s not the best part but deep down a guy knows there has to be more to it than that.”

  Without thinking twice Whitney retorted angrily, “If it weren’t for the sex appeal of her books, there wouldn’t be a need for muscle-bound machines like you to flaunt yourselves on the covers. And if you had cared to read an entire book instead of just thumbing through it looking for the juicy parts you would have noticed that they are written entirely about relationships and the sex that is described is just one part of the whole. Next time maybe you should think before you speak and you might, just might, realize that it isn’t smart to criticize something you obviously know so little about!”

  She wasn’t exactly sure where that had come from but as steely black eyes swung around and locked with her own, which she refused to flinch. All traces of amusement disappeared from Christian’s features but Whitney didn’t care. He had no right to condemn her, or her talent, even if he was unaware that they were actually talking about her. The evening was going downhill fast. So much for all that needless worry about falling hopelessly back into his arms.

  “I see,” Christian answered slowly, his voice taking on a decidedly cold tone that rivaled Whitney’s. “My apologies, Miss Lane. As I said earlier, I am immensely grateful to the author, I just have reservations about her choice of subject.”

  Christian couldn’t be sure why he had purposefully followed this line of conversation but he had been having more fun than he had for a long time teasing the beautiful redhead and watching the soft flushes staining her cheeks as her frustration grew. When she began questioning his motives though, she had managed to press the wrong emotional button. He had been consumed with anger for weeks, an anger which he had worked doggedly to keep hidden from those near to him. It was exhausting work and right now, staring at Whitney’s soft lips pursed with determination, Christian realized he was spoiling for a good fight. And Whitney was willing to oblige.

  “It would seem to methat for someone possessing such immensely honorable reservations, you should spend some time re-evaluating your own recent career choice, rather than judging those of someone you don’t even know,” she retorted hotly.

  Damn her green eyes. She mig
ht be sweet temptation at the moment but she was also getting under his skin more than he wanted to admit. Christian cursed under his breath. His own temper, never far from the surface these days, flared at her strong words of admonishment and he found himself saying things he knew he would regret later.

  “I don’t have to meet her to know her type,” he retorted coldly, knowing the words would hit home. “She writes what sells and what sells better than sex? Those poor women who shell out their husband’s hard-earned money for those kinds of books are just buying into a lie.”

  “That proves you really don’t know anything about Lane, or authors like her,” Whitney ground out between clenched teeth as they pulled into the parking lot of the restaurant. The man obviously had no problem breaching boundaries. How dare he insinuate such an archaic notion. Her readers were incredibly independent women, capable of deciding when, and on what, to spend their money. No matter who brought home the paycheck.

  Christian snapped off the ignition and stared into Whitney’s stormy face. He noted the angry rise and fall of her breasts, punctuated by her agitated breathing. He had let things go too far. A good fight was one thing but he wasn’t ready to burn his bridges with this tempting little angel over romance novels.

  He closed his eyes and tried to rein in his racing emotions, giving Whitney the chance to do the same. When he opened them again, he drew a ragged breath to clear his head and started to apologize. He never stood a chance.

  “I don’t seem to have much of an appetite any longer, Mr. Dade.” Whitney’s beautiful green eyes had turned to emerald ice. “I think you should just get a taxi. Now.”

  Christian might have been prepared to call a truce but clearly Lane McLaughlin’s assistant wasn’t. Every delicious curve of her body was screaming defiance, challenging him to contradict her. Fine. He wasn’t even sure why she was so damned mad. Good judgment and sanity were quickly shoved aside as his combative nature took over, fueled by weeks of simmering anger. If she wanted something to be angry about, he’d make sure she had a good reason.

  Suddenly Whitney found herself crushed against Christian’s chest as he pulled her from her seat and held her pinned across his lap. Her mouth was claimed hungrily as his swooped down in a ravishing, searching kiss that was both punishment and pleasure. She tried, unsuccessfully, to withstand his torrid tongue as it sought entry into the soft recesses of her mouth. He explored, tasted, awakened. Whitney struggled in desperation, pushing wildly against Christian as her traitorous body began to respond within his embrace all over again just as it had each time he touched her.

  She warmed to the searing passion of Christian’s burning kisses despite every attempt at self-control. Unable to stop herself, she met Christian’s thrusting tongue with tentative explorations of her own and was immediately rewarded with a low growl of pent-up passion, as he rained even more demanding kisses across her brows, her eyelids and her flushed cheeks. Christian’s mouth was everywhere, branding Whitney’s as his own. Two strong hands, no longer needed to still her struggles, drew Whitney’s face upward so that the assault on her bruised lips could continue at a more leisurely pace.

  Whitney slipped one hand around Christian’s neck, thrilling at the raw strength she felt beneath her fingertips. Her other hand found its way into his thick mane of hair, luxuriating in the softness as she twined her fingers slowly through the sable softness. She was lost to the fiery feelings Christian was awakening within her. With each touch, each caress, she was drawn deeper into the web of desire that had begun to wrap its silky strands around the two of them from the first moment they had met. She had been so angry at him but she couldn’t remember why anymore. As Christian’s stroking hand found and encircled the soft outline of her breast beneath the confines of her blouse Whitney jumped in response to the newest sensation, murmuring a weak protest. Softly whispered reassurances from Christian and the continued intimate kneading of his hand played havoc with her reeling senses. She tried to gather her jumbled thoughts but it was impossible to concentrate on anything other than the hot, moist lips pressed against the ivory column of her neck and the strong fingers tracing the hardness of first one taut nipple, then the other.

  When the intimate exploration led Christian’s hand lower to the soft curve of her hip and Whitney felt him possessively cup the swell of her bottom she knew she had to put a stop to what was happening. With renewed strength she surged away from him, desperate to put as much distance between them as the compact car would allow, before she lost complete control of her senses.

  “Whitney, angel,” Christian began, his deep voice husky with passion. He reached to draw her back.

  “Don’t. Touch. Me. Again.” Whitney’s great, green eyes stabbed him with accusation, laying the blame for her behavior irrationally at his feet. “You had no right to do that.”

  His eyes still glazed with passion, Christian shifted reluctantly so that Whitney could slide back into her seat. She didn’t waste a moment.

  “Maybe not,” he said, “but we both know you enjoyed it as much as I did.”

  “I didn’t!” The look in Christian’s slanted obsidian eyes told Whitney he knew she was lying through her teeth…and that he wasn’t done with her yet.

  “Deny it all you want, sweet thing but if I didn’t know better I’d think you were the one providing all the research notes for those ridiculous romantic fantasies your boss churns out.”

  Whitney gasped at his blatant audacity. Of its own volition her hand streaked out and caught him square across the face with a slap so forceful her hand stung. She didn’t need to be told that she had made a monstrous mistake.

  All traces of civility left Christian as he firmly grasped Whitney’s wrists with one of his hands. In the span of a single heartbeat he was within inches of her terrified face, purposefully overlooking her trembling body trapped against his own. He knew he had provoked her reaction with his disparaging remarks about Lane McLaughlin’s books but at the moment he didn’t care. His life had gone to hell just as this evening was. His parents were dead and mountainous debts threatened his inheritance. Those were situations that he hadn’t had any control over but this one he did.

  His whipcord voice and icy words chilled any remnants of fire and passion left between them. “Don’t ever hit me again, Whitney. If you do, I won’t stop with just a few kisses designed to put you in your place. I would never hurt you but I’ll make sure you can’t lie to yourself about the desire inside you.”

  He paused to allow the callous words to sink in. He knew he was being unfair, taking out his frustrations on the innocent woman staring up at him as if he was a madman but he was beyond caring. The pain of losing his parents had been bottled up for far too long, festering and feeding upon itself. He shouldn’t have lost the people that he loved but he had. He shouldn’t be selling his soul to hold onto the legacy they had left him but he was. And he shouldn’t be arguing with the most beautiful woman he could ever recall meeting but he was powerless to stop himself. Whitney’s words had stirred to life the dangerous emotions he had tried so hard to keep locked away.

  “Yes, you should be scared, little girl.”

  To ensure Whitney completely comprehended his meaning, Christian once again captured her lips with a searing, punishing kiss. He plundered her mouth with his own, tasting her, wanting her, wanting more. Whitney steeled herself against him, trying to contain the overpowering urge to respond to even this harsh ecstasy. But her lips responded, unbidden, unbridled, softening beneath the harsh onslaught and turning it back upon her tormentor.

  “Sweet Jesus!” Christian thought wildly as he tried to control his surging reaction to the beauty in his arms. What kind of a woman was this that she could so quickly turn rage into rapture? He broke away and started the car. The tires screeched as he threw the vehicle into gear and tore through the parking lot.

  “Better tell me which way to go, sweet. I’m not the cab taking type.”

  Whitney seethed silently to herself, saying
nothing but gesturing where he needed to turn until they were on the freeway that led to her estate. She didn’t want to give Christian the satisfaction of knowing he had left her so shaken. So he had meant to humiliate her with his kisses, had he? What had she done to make him so angry? If anyone had a right to be mad it was her. He had ripped her pseudonym’s reputation to shreds and denigrated the very essence of her talents. She tried to concentrate on the criticisms he had hurled at her alter ego but found it impossible to recall anything other than the impression of blazing kisses still warm on her lips.

  Closing her eyes she focused on how angry his features had been. In her mind she replayed each arrogant word he had uttered since they had left the studio. Had she really spent any time at all fantasizing over this man? How could she have been such a fool! He was no different from the rest. They had only wanted her for her money. Christian didn’t know about that aspect of her life, so he had obviously decided to take another, far more precious treasure from her. And she had no intention of ever giving up her self-respect for another person’s agenda.

  Like he’d said, deny it all you want but you liked the way he made you feel and you know it.

  Whitney tried to banish the voice reminding her of her brazen behavior but couldn’t. She had responded to him, encouraged him, answered him. In Christian’s arms she forgot who she was, or even why she existed. He made her forget everything except the magic of his touch on her oh-so-willing body.

  Whitney knew that if she was going to preserve her sanity she had to get away from him. Far, far away. She prayed for the ride and the evening, to end.

  Careening to a stop in front of the house Christian started to get out but Whitney jumped from the car before he could open the driver’s side door.

  Turning back she bent forward to look through the open door and said in a stilted voice laced with hurt, “Thank you so much for such an enlightening evening. I wish you all the luck you deservewith your career. And here’s a word of advice. Don’t walk around this town biting the hand that feeds you. New York has a habit of chewing people like you up and spitting them out.”