Dragging herself back to the present she addressed the older woman as she watched her pile platters high with food, “Bette, you know Stephan and I are just friends.”
Refusing to be so easily dissuaded Bette smiled knowingly. “Deny it all you like, dear but mark my words. That man intends to have you for his wife, or my name isn’t Bette Laird.”
Deny it all you like.
The words rang in her ears, taking her back to another time when she had heard them thrown at her, reminding her how easily her body betrayed her. Whitney sighed. She didn’t like to remember those days, or the handsome devil who returned again and again to plague her thoughts.
“Well, he’ll have a long wait since I don’t intend to get married anytime soon. Frankly, I don’t think I’m the marrying kind.” Whitney scooped a finger through the nearly empty frosting bowl Bette had set aside earlier, licking her finger daintily. She hadn’t noticed that Stephan had entered the room behind her just in time to hear her carefree words.
He frowned. Christian did that to her. He had broken her heart. Stephan wished one of them would tell him just how they had met each other and what had happened but Whitney point-blank refused to have a conversation about Christian and he hadn’t been able to reach Christian since the night he had called Whitney.
Trying to appear as if he had not overheard her last remark, Stephan spoke up. “The dining room is filling up, Whitney and it looks as if your ace in the hole here has everything under control. Are you ready to watch that movie you promised me?”
“Oh Stephan, I didn’t hear you come in,” Whitney said, turning her head at the sound of his voice. Her searching eyes found no evidence that he had heard her comments regarding marriage. That was close. She wouldn’t have hurt him for anything in the world. He had become much too important to her as a friend for her to treat their relationship casually. And while she was well aware of his feelings for her she just couldn’t return them yet. She had made sure she was blatantly honest with him about the way she felt, not wanting to give him false hope that she would ever be capable of more but she would have felt bad if he had heard her discussing their relationship with someone else.
With a little more time, she hoped to return the feelings of love that Stephan harbored for her. She couldn’t think of anything more perfect than to live out her days at the base of Mt. Rainier with a well-educated, handsome husband, a successful writing career and a bustling business.
Whitney continued to keep her writing a carefully guarded secret. The Walstens were of course aware that she spent a lot of her spare time alone in her room working at a her computer but she had confided in no one, not even Stephan, that she was a committed author. She wasn’t sure what their reaction would be and since she had no experience portraying someone of Lane McLaughlin’s elevated stature, she choose to remain just as she was, Whitney Lane, a woman of considerable means but nothing more.
And, she thought to herself as she hastily washed her sticky fingers, at the moment Stephan was waiting to follow her up to her sitting room, a video cassette in his hands. She asked Bette to bring them some hot chocolate a bit later before leading the way to her private wing. Stephan plopped the movie into the VCR and she shooed Gabbycat off the couch to make room for the two of them. She noticed as she did so that it had started to snow again. According to those who had been in the area far longer than Whitney, they were having a greater than usual amount of snow this year and it was only mid-February.
As Stephan turned off all but one small lamp in a far corner of the room and settled himself beside her, Whitney watched the delicate snowflakes falling past the open lace curtain at the window. It felt nice when Stephan draped an arm casually behind her and Whitney snuggled closer, tilting her head up from where it rested comfortably against his shoulder.
How could she not be attracted to this man, she marveled, taking in the sight of his firm chin where a fine sprinkling of stubble had returned with day’s end, the strong, clean scent he always exuded, the golden waves of hair that begged a woman to her to slip her fingers through it. She was a fool. This man could be hers. He was everything a woman could hope for; successful, handsome, gentle, compassionate. Why couldn’t she love him?
You know why.
True. But she was going to change it if it was the last thing she ever did. If she could only shake the constraints chaining her heart, she would be free to spend countless evenings just like this one, safely cuddled within the arms of a man who loved her. She wanted that. Maybe if she just tried harder…
Of their own, her arms slipped upward around Stephan’s neck and he turned questioning eyes toward her. She answered his look by rising up and gently pressing her lips to his, moving them softly against his own. She knew that she was surprising him with her forwardness but she didn’t care. After nearly a year of being shackled to the memory of the responses Christian had drawn from her, she was determined to remove his presence from all aspects of her life, including her relationship with Stephan. She had to make herself forget.
Stephan groaned and gathered Whitney closer, never stopping to think about what had provoked the uncharacteristic behavior. He hungrily took what she offered, letting his mouth explore the graceful column of her neck, nibbling at her sensitive earlobes and eliciting an answering moan from Whitney as well. Ever so gently, he pressed her backward onto the couch, lowering himself onto her slim form and straining not to go too fast and end up frightening her. Whitney pressed herself to him, opening herself to the feelings of desire she could feel coursing through his body. She returned his kisses with a passion that surprised her and Stephan but she knew they were only a facsimile of those she had shared with Christian. The fire and excitement just was not there, no matter how much she willed it to be.
Stephan was unaware of Whitney’s inner turmoil and had begun to stroke her ribs, subtly brushing the side of her breast with his thumb. With his other hand he reached to undo the top button of her soft, suede shirt. His lips followed his exploring hand and he traced a path with his tongue to the point where her full breasts met. He feathered kisses against the sensitive spot, causing Whitney to cry out, not with passion as he thought but with alarm that she had allowed, no instigated, this action.
“Stephan, stop. Please.”
“I can’t, Whitney,” Stephan breathed against her skin, continuing the sultry massage of his lips on her exposed upper breast. “I need you so badly, don’t you know that?”
Whitney pressed upward with her whole body, trying unsuccessfully to dislodge him. She could feel his need and she knew that she had made a serious miscalculation. Bringing her hands up to cradle Stephan’s face, she stopped him long enough for him to see the sadness in her glittering green eyes, the unshed tears brimming there.
He instantly drew back and swept her into a comforting embrace, whispering soothing endearments against her soft hair. Whitney couldn’t bear the terrible look of remorse that had flashed across his face, knowing that he was blaming himself again for what had been entirely her fault. Damn Christian Dade.
“Stephan, I’m so sorry. All I ever seem to do is hurt you.” The tears began to fall in earnest and Whitney gave in to them, sobbing uncontrollably as Stephan rocked her back and forth.
“No, sweetheart. I did it again; it’s my fault I lost control.” He paused to push her tangled hair out of her face. “You’re not to blame. You could never hurt me.”
“But I have,” Whitney choked out between sobs. “You need more than I can ever give you. You deserve so much more. I-I don’t think we should see one another any more because I just can’t bear to keep hurting you.”
She jumped up from the couch and crossed to the window where she stood blindly staring at the snowflakes as they one by one hit the warm pane of glass and melted, leaving a wet trail behind them as they snaked their way downward. They reminded Whitney of tears. Her slender arms wrapped themselves around her waist and Stephan could see her shoulders quaking as she cried piteously. His h
eart broke seeing her that way and he cursed himself for bringing her to such a state again. Each time he touched her she broke down. What kind of a monster had Christian been that he could have had such a lasting effect on her?
“Whitney, I have to know. What did Christian do?”
He got no further before she turned her tear-streaked face to him, silently imploring him not to question her about the past. Sighing in resignation that he might never have answers to his questions, he went to her instead and simply held her, tenderly soothing her pain away with softly uttered words of comfort. How long they stood there silhouetted against the dark, snowy sky Whitney had no idea. She remembered that her sobs had eventually quieted to shuddering little gasps. Stephan never left, holding her as she cried for what had been and what would never be.
Finally she found the strength to pull back from the safety found within Stephan’s arms. She looked up into his strong, caring face, wishing for the thousandth time that she could do so with love.
“Stephan, I can’t tell you how desperately I want to give you what you want. To love you, be with you, touch you.” Her voice trembled and she fought the urge to start crying again. “I just can’t and I can’t even tell you why. All I know is that I’ve been hurt and until I work through this I’m not fit to be with any man, especially one as wonderful as you.”
“Let me help you then, Whitney,” Stephan crooned to her as he tenderly stroked her face with the back of his smooth knuckles. “We can get past this together.”
Whitney let her cheek rest against his fingers, closing her eyes, longing for it to be that simple. But it wasn’t. A black-eyed devil had entered her life and eliminated her chance to be with another man. What made it unbearable was that he didn’t know, or care, that he had done so. Even as she leaned against Stephan for support she couldn’t block the memory of the way Christian’s body had felt pressed intimately against hers. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t exorcise him from her thoughts, her memories, her dreams.
“Where were you a year ago, Stephan?” Whitney whispered brokenly. “Why couldn’t I have met you first?”
“I wish you had, sweetheart,” Stephan answered sadly. “I wish you had.”
“I was serious about not seeing you for while, Stephan,” Whitney went on wretchedly. “It’s not fair to you to make you think I might change. Find someone who can make you happy.” Lifting her eyes to his she finished by saying with regretful finality, “I don’t think I ever will.”
“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that? I can’t just stop seeing you, Whitney. I’ve come to care very deeply for you, so don’t ask me to stop.” He pulled her to him, holding her tightly as if he would never let her go. “We’ll take it day by day, just as we have since last summer. And I promise not to take advantage of you again.”
“You didn’t take advantage of me. I started that kiss if you recall,” Whitney corrected him.
“A true gentleman would never hold a lady accountable for a situation that was out of her control,” Stephan answered her in a cool, even tone, the hint of a smile dispelling some of the tension within her.
We know one who would.
“All right but I need a few days to collect my thoughts. I have a lot to sort through and I think the time has come for me to deal with my demons.”
“A few days, no more,” Stephan agreed, placing a chaste kiss against the silky strands of her hair before releasing her and retrieving the forgotten movie from the VCR. As he turned to leave, he flashed an encouraging smile at her, heartened to see a tentative one grace her lips in response.
The next day Whitney’s demon came calling.
Chapter Eight
As the gleaming silver jet made its final approach to the airport north of Tacoma, Christian scanned the familiar horizon. The grand Cascades rose majestically along the skyline, silent sentinels throughout the centuries and a welcome sight to a man who had been away from home too long. It was good to be back.
The months spent in New York had left a bitter taste in his mouth and he was glad to put them behind him. He hadn’t thought he would be able to work past the summer, especially after talking to the new owner of the inn, a conversation he vaguely remembered. He’d downed enough whiskey that night to know he’d made the call but he couldn’t remember a word that was said.
It hadn’t mattered because he had still been well short of his financial goal. With no other options he had forced himself to continue modeling for romance novel covers. The money had been too good to walk away from. Christmas had come and gone though and Christian had found the prospect of working into the new year about as appealing as the decision to sell his home had been.
Thinking about Mountain Meadow Inn made him feel better, as always. Thoughts of being in his own comfortable rooms after months of living in a cramped apartment refreshed him as little else had since he had left from this same airport nearly a year ago. Had it really been a year since his parents’ death and the loathsome decision to leave had been forced on him? Christian thought back to when he had arrived in New York at the beginning of March the previous year and how he was now returning to Reflection Ridge in mid-February of the next, still short of his goal but willing to cross swords with the new owner in order to regain possession of his home and a life he could once again be proud of. The attention he had endured as a model had been tolerable but removing his clothes and making love to a camera lens with different women each day had left a vile feeling coiled in his gut like a poisonous serpent, consuming his pride and leaving him feeling little like the man he knew he was. Funny how woman looked at the end result of his work with just the opposite reaction, seeing the virile fantasy, the ultimate male specimen.
Switching his thoughts to the business he had to admit that it was apparently thriving under the short-term owner’s tutelage and Stephan had told him that he would be quite impressed with the changes she had implemented. He should have made time to ask again what her name was. Somehow Stephan had always avoided mentioning it, referring to her as simply “the new owner” or “the present owner”. Christian searched his memory, trying in vain to recall the name of the woman who had purchased the inn. At the time he had signed the papers, he had been so beside himself, agonizing over the chain of events that was forcing him to take the drastic step, he had failed to register the name. Then it hadn’t mattered, he was too busy using the extra time to meet his goal. Now it did.
Oh well. He’d find out soon enough.
It galled him to no end to know that he was not only going to have to ask a stranger to sell the inn back on the anniversary of the date of sale as per their agreement but also allow him to finance the remainder of the purchase price, as he was shy by nearly twenty thousand dollars. He hoped that whoever she was had made the investment strictly as a business venture, a passing fancy in her indulgent existence. Once she was made aware that his was a personal attachment, she would surely agree to his offer. He’d see to it that she did. There was no way in hell that he wasn’t going to get his land back.
The plane landed and Christian wasted little time collecting his baggage and retrieving his truck to make the drive home. He made his way onto Highway 410 and was soon headed east toward all that was familiar, everything that mattered in his life. He drank in the beautiful spectacle of snowcapped summits in the distant north as he drove along, marveling as he always did at their incredible majesty. He had missed their presence in his life, just as he had missed seeing the rolling forests of cedar, hemlock and Douglas fir stretching as far as the eye could see. What would Whitney think of his mountains? he wondered.
It seemed she was never far from his thoughts even after so long. Catching his reflection in the rearview mirror he found himself looking into the eyes of a man who knew he had lost something truly precious. Sadly he shook his head to clear it of thoughts best left behind.
Despite his misgivings about Whitney, Christian could feel the tension flow slowly out of him with each passing mile
and he began to relax. He decided he would enjoy a leisurely bath upon his arrival before confronting the new owner. He wasn’t looking forward to meeting her but he figured he might as well get that business out of the way as soon as possible. The lady needed to know right up front that he wouldreclaim what was his. It was too bad he would never claim a certain lady as his own.
In less than two hours he pulled into the driveway of his home, drinking his fill of the sight the house presented, a sight that had kept him performing for many long months when he had wanted nothing more than to abandon the whole modeling idea. He had to admit it looked well-cared for and the sight of several strange cars parked alongside the drive was a welcome one. Paying customers were his bread and butter now. It was good to see that “the new owner” had a nose for business.
Following the drive to the back of the inn he parked the car in the garage alongside his Bronco. The sun had slipped well below the horizon as he pulled his luggage from the trunk of the car and stomped through the snow to the front porch. Inside, there was no one visible at the front desk to greet him, a mistake he would see was not repeated. He hefted the suitcases higher and made his way up the stairs leading to the master suite of rooms he had taken over after his parents’ deaths.
Reaching the landing at the top, he located his key and opened the door, pausing for a moment just inside the spacious sitting room before he let his luggage drop heavily to the floor.
Something was wrong. The furniture was different and faint strains of music could be heard from somewhere within. Curiously he turned his head to better assess from where the sound originated. The connecting door between the bedroom and sitting room was open and it was from that direction that the music filtered. Between the two rooms was a large area that served as both a walk-in dressing closet and bath. Glancing around, Christian’s eyes narrowed as he spied a pile of discarded woman’s clothing just inside the door. At a loss to understand why his rooms had been let out to a guest in his absence, he added his coat to the pile.
Don’t Call Me Sweetheart Page 11