If You Can't Take the Heat

by Melissa Brown

  Whitney paused before offering him a weak smile. “No, thanks. I’ll take care of it.”

  Charlie turned back to look at Nolan, who was rolling up the sleeves of his oxford shirt, ready for a fight. A cocky grin formed on Charlie’s face as he glanced at Whitney, as if he’d already accepted the challenge. “You sure? It’s no trouble.” He returned his attention to Nolan. “No trouble at all.”

  The three of them stood awkwardly, Charlie’s hand pressed against the door and Nolan with his arms crossed against his broad chest. Whitney glanced between them.

  “Um, Charlie, can you give us a minute?”

  Charlie hesitated, glaring at Nolan. “Sure. I’ll be in the shower. Holler if you need me, love.”

  “Thanks.”

  Nolan’s face was as red as a tomato as he stormed past Whitney and paced the room.

  “What the fuck? Who is that guy?”

  “Why do you care?” Whitney placed her hands on her hips. If she was being honest with herself, seeing him like this—angry, jealous, incensed—was such a turn-on. The constant push and pull of their tumultuous relationship was exhausting, yet exhilarating when he was near.

  “Whitney, who the hell are you sleeping with?”

  “I’ll ask the questions, thank you very much. What the hell are you doing here? I haven’t seen you in weeks.”

  Nolan’s demeanor softened. “I had to see you.”

  “Why?” She’d thought that her pull with Nolan was less intense. She liked the feeling of detachment that she’d managed to carry throughout the first couple of legs of her travels. But now . . . with him in her hotel room, his strong arms reaching toward her, his voice gentle and inviting . . . she felt that familiar pull once again. And she hated herself for it.

  “You know why.” He stepped forward, wrapping one arm around her waist. She pulled back slightly but allowed his hand to remain on the soft cotton robe. “When I heard you were in Chicago of all places, I had to come. We always talked about coming here together.”

  No, we talked about visiting Boston. Good Lord. Is this man a moron or can he just not be bothered to give a shit about me . . . about us?

  “Nolan, we’ve been over this.” An audible sigh left her lips.

  “Give me another chance, Whit. Please.” His dark eyes pleaded with her.

  “I’ve moved on,” she whispered, looking at the floor, avoiding his eyes. “I’m fine.”

  Nolan pulled away and glared at the bathroom door. “I can see that.”

  Anger built within her. She had every right to be there with Charlie. She and Nolan weren’t together anymore. Besides, Nolan was the cheater, not her. She could feel her cheeks growing hot with frustration.

  “You should go.”

  “Are you serious? I came all the way from L.A. I took the red-eye just to see you, I—”

  She shook her head, looking away. “I didn’t ask you to do that.”

  “God forbid you ask for what you want, Whitney.” He rolled his eyes.

  “Oh please, I have no problem speaking my mind and you know it.”

  “Right.”

  Whitney’s chest rose and fell, expressing her fury. He was doing what he did best—pulling her into his drama. “So let me get this straight, I’m supposed to ask you to not sleep with someone else while we’re together? Oh good, thanks for clearing that up. I was confused.”

  “Stop it,” Nolan huffed as his jaw ticked.

  “No, I won’t.” She crossed her arms, tipping her chin forward.

  Do not let him win.

  “This entire relationship has been about you. What you want, what you need. And I’m officially tired of it,” she said.

  Nolan closed the gap between them, his stance aggressive, persistent. They were almost nose to nose as he spoke. “Then why am I here, huh? Why did I fly halfway across the country?”

  “I don’t know.” She shrugged, stepping back. “To get laid?”

  His eyes grew wide and his hands jumped to his hips. “Whitney, c’mon . . .”

  “You always did like a challenge,” she persisted. “Maybe that’s all this is. You don’t actually want me, you just wanna know if you can still get me.”

  Nolan broke eye contact, shaking his head when he looked back at the steam billowing through the crack beneath the bathroom door. “That’s not true.”

  I call bullshit. “Oh really? So let’s say I get rid of Charlie, you and I have a nice roll in the hay . . . and then what? We’re right back where we were before. I still can’t trust you, and you still don’t give a rat’s ass about my career, my wants, or my needs. Nothing has changed, Nolan. Don’t you get it?”

  “But I do care!”

  “Not enough.” She shook her head as sadness crept into her heart. That’s what it all boiled down to. Ultimately, he made her sad because he didn’t care the way she needed him to. He didn’t love her the way she needed to be loved.

  Nolan pulled at the sash of her robe. “Baby, aren’t you happy to see me? Even just a little bit?”

  Whitney took a moment to ponder that question. Of course, there was a familiar voice in her head that wanted to give him another shot, to think they could have a fresh start, to bask in the grand gesture of his trip to see her—telling herself this time would be different—but she couldn’t let that voice win. Being near him was exhausting and she was too tired.

  “No, I’m not.” It was a lie, but she needed to say it. She needed him to go, to give her a break. To let her breathe.

  Nolan froze. “So that’s it? You meet some English dude and we’re done?”

  “It has nothing to do with him.”

  Nolan looked at the wall, avoiding Whitney’s eyes. “Sure it doesn’t.”

  “It’s just . . . I’m exhausted. Aren’t you? We’re toxic, you and me. We’re just two people who have really hot sex and fight like Balboa and Creed.”

  “No.” He pursed his lips, shaking his head. “We’re not and I’m gonna prove it to you. Sooner or later, you’ll see.”

  “What will I see?”

  “That we belong together.” He paused. “That I love you.”

  Shock ran through her. Nolan had never said the “L word” before. Ever. Even when they were at their very best, at their most passionate, at their most smitten. It had to be a sign of desperation. He felt her slipping through his grasp, it was as simple as that. Nothing more, she told herself, nothing more. It wasn’t love, not really. She had to resist the urge to kiss him, to let him back in, to tell herself it would all work itself out if they were together. To reciprocate those words . . . because deep inside, she’d always wanted to, but never had.

  “Do you honestly believe that?” she deadpanned, harnessing her best poker face. She couldn’t let him see how much those words affected her. “Do you really think you’re in love with me? Do you really think you know how to be in love?”

  Nolan’s eyes watered and he breathed in deeply, scratching his neck. “I’ll prove it. You’ll see.”

  “Fine, Nolan. Prove it. I’ll be waiting with bated breath.”

  “Don’t mock me,” he snapped.

  “I’m not. But I’ll believe it when I see it.” Whitney paused as she heard the water from the shower come to an abrupt halt. “You’d better go.”

  Looking defeated, Nolan walked out the door and said nothing as he walked down the hall toward the elevator. Whitney stepped into the hallway and watched him walk away, wondering deep down if she’d done the right thing. He’d told her he loved her and she’d sent him away. This was definitely a turning point in their relationship, that was clear, but whether or not it was a good thing for her remained to be seen.

  “Whitney?” Charlie was wrapped in nothing but a towel, his washboard abs glistening as he stood in the bathroom doorway. “Everything all right?”

  Whitney took a deep breath, closing the door behind her, and returned to Charlie. “Everything’s fine.” She pulled the towel from his waist and dropped it to the floor. “Just
fine.”

  “So . . . you have a boyfriend, eh?”

  “Is that really what you want to talk about?” She gripped him with her hand. He was ready for her. “He’s gone, that’s all that matters.”

  “True,” Charlie agreed, his teeth digging into his lower lip as Whitney stroked him with her hand. She was relieved Nolan was no longer the focus of conversation. The truth was, she had no idea what to call Nolan. As much as she wanted to hate him, to move on, and leave him completely in her past, he still owned a piece of her heart. But that wasn’t something she wanted to admit to Charlie. She wanted to stay in the moment . . . with him. Nolan had disturbed them enough already.

  “I’ve made my decision, you know,” he said with a devilish grin.

  Whitney stopped. “About . . .”

  “You forgot already? How many drinks did you have, exactly?” He laughed as his fingers set to work removing the robe. “I’m coming to L.A. Can you imagine if I win?”

  Then she remembered. Charlie had originally offered to quit the show to be with her.

  My, how things change. “So you’ve made your decision then? You want the show.”

  “I’m a greedy bloke. I want you, I want the show. I want it all.”

  Whitney shook her head. “I told you yesterday, it’s one or the other.”

  “Why can’t I have both?”

  She didn’t answer, but swallowed hard and shook her head again, eyes boring into his. She’d already pissed Geldermann off, and she couldn’t imagine the shit storm that would ensue if she continued this dalliance on set.

  “Bad idea. My producer is already up my ass and—”

  “Come on, at least think about it. We’ll have more time together. We’ll see each other every single day. I can’t think of anything better.”

  “I have a lot riding on this, Charlie. My career means everything to me—I’ve worked my ass off to get here.”

  He nuzzled into her neck as he removed her robe. “I can be discreet.”

  “Seriously, are you listening to me?” She was getting irritated with his casual attitude. She pulled away, tying the robe tight. I need you to hear me. Nolan never did.

  “I hear every word you’re saying, love. But, do you hear me?” His icy blue eyes grew serious as he reached for her once again. “No one has to know. I’ll treat this with the utmost discretion. I’m not joking.”

  “Promise?” she asked with a reluctant smile, relieved with his change in tone.

  A sense of calm came over Whitney as she looked into his eyes, appreciating the way he helped erase Nolan from her brain. Even if their affair was forced to end before filming, she wanted to enjoy the present, to enjoy the way he soothed her muddled brain.

  “Absolutely. You have my word. Is that a yes?”

  Whitney pulled at the sash of her robe, tossing it to the floor. Charlie grinned, picking her up by her waist. She giggled and wrapped her legs around him. “Now, take me back to bed.”

  NEW ORLEANS

  I still can’t believe you’re here.” Whitney stared dreamily at Elle, so grateful her best friend had decided to meet her in the Big Easy for their two days of casting.

  “I can’t believe how incredible these things are.” Powdered sugar dusted Elle’s pale lips after she took another generous bite of her fresh, hot beignet. The sun had been up for barely an hour and the two friends were enjoying breakfast at the famous Café du Monde before Whitney began her casting session. Elle had volunteered to be a guest judge for their time in New Orleans. Her second trimester was in full swing and she was eating everything within reach. She’d never had authentic Louisiana cuisine, so Whitney insisted she join her for a few days in New Orleans.

  “What is that? Number four?” Whitney asked.

  “Don’t judge. I’m pregnant and I’m eating whatever the hell I want.”

  “Hey”—Whitney put her hands up—“no judgment. They’re ridiculously good.”

  “Oh my God, yes.” Elle closed her eyes tight and licked her lips.

  Whitney laughed, wiping the sweet powder from Elle’s lips with the crisp paper napkin. “You’re starting to sound like me, ya know.”

  Elle sipped her steaming hot chocolate. “I know. I can’t even imagine what you’ll be like pregnant. You’ll probably hump your food.”

  Whitney faked exasperation, but deep down she knew Elle was right. She shuddered at the thought of actually carrying a baby. “It gives a whole new meaning to the term food porn, doesn’t it? Good thing you’ll never have to see that.”

  The appeal of children, pregnancy, and motherhood had always eluded her. It wasn’t part of her plans . . . at all. When she pictured herself as an old woman, she was usually traveling the world wearing some outrageously large hat and gigantic sunglasses, not sitting in a rocking chair with grandchildren crawling on her lap. Not that there was anything wrong with that . . . it just wasn’t one of her priorities.

  “One day you may just change your mind.”

  “I highly doubt it.” Whitney shook her head and raised an eyebrow. “It’s not like I hate kids, I just don’t want any of my own. I’m so not maternal and you know it.”

  “Sure you are.” Elle tapped Whitney gently on the arm. “You mother me all the time.”

  Whitney rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”

  Her phone chirped and she glanced at the screen.

  Morning. I woke up hard and thinking about your sexy mouth.

  Whitney shook her head and laughed to herself.

  “What’s that all about?”

  “Charlie. I’m surprised he’s even awake.” She couldn’t hide the smile on her face as she stared at the screen.

  You’re acting like a stupid schoolgirl, Whit. Get a grip. Seriously.

  “Another dirty text? I’m starting to think you’re made for each other.”

  Whitney shrugged. “It’s just fun.”

  Elle finished her last beignet, rubbed her protruding belly, and leaned in closer, placing her elbows on the table. Her blue eyes punctured Whitney’s tough exterior. “How are you?”

  Whitney flinched, feeling vulnerable and exposed. She knew she was safe with Elle, but she was in work mode. And when Whitney Bartolina was in work mode, she didn’t allow her personal life to cramp her style. She had to remain strong, professional, and composed. “What do you mean?”

  “You know, everything with Nolan, a British hottie sending you dirty texts every five minutes, a new city every couple of days . . . it’s bound to weigh you down. You’re keeping it together, that’s for sure. But how are you? I mean really?”

  Whitney sighed and mirrored Elle’s position, elbows digging into the cool table. The sudden urge to check her phone for texts from Charlie came over her. “I’m fine. Seriously. Nolan left me alone yesterday, which was a relief.”

  “Wow. It’s a miracle.” Elle snickered. “I don’t think he’s giving up, though, do you?”

  “Not sure.”

  And it was the truth. Since their confrontation in Chicago two weeks prior, Nolan had attempted to win Whitney’s affections back with several grand gestures in three different cities, most likely orchestrated by his personal assistant. When she arrived in New York City, dozens of roses awaited her in her suite, along with Broadway tickets for her, Chris, and the crew. In Baltimore, a gift card was waiting at the front desk for a local seafood place. And in Austin, a candy bouquet was waiting on the nightstand. Even though they were Nolan’s favorite candies rather than her own, she appreciated the gesture.

  Whitney knew Nolan wasn’t afraid to throw money at the problem in fun and creative ways, but that’s not what she needed from him. She needed his heart, his dedication, his love. But most of all, she needed to trust him—and considering their rocky past, she wasn’t sure that would ever be possible. Though every single time a tiny piece of her wanted to crack, to let him back in, to get swept up in his seduction, she kept him at bay, not even acknowledging the gestures with a phone call or text message. And for tha
t, she felt guilty. She knew Nolan meant well, she knew his intentions were good, but that didn’t change the scars he’d created the past few years. His deceptions trumped his intentions.

  Her phone chirped again from the table. She grabbed it, expecting another provocative text from Charlie. But, that’s not what she found.

  “Oh crap, I spoke too soon.”

  Seriously, he has Whitney radar . . . every single time.

  She handed the phone to Elle, who read the text from Nolan aloud. “Baby, my bed is so cold without you. Please come home.”

  “I have no words.” Whitney shook her head.

  “Oh, he just sent something else. A picture.” Elle laughed, rolling her eyes as she passed the phone back. Whitney stared at the photo of Nolan, sprawled in his bed, half-naked with one perfectly rounded ass cheek peeking out from his satin sheets. An overly practiced sad expression decorated his chiseled face. Always an actor.

  Whitney sighed. “I mean, Jesus, even when he’s trying to woo me, he shows his ass. So freaking selfish.”

  Elle pressed her lips into a thin line and scrunched up her nose. Whitney knew the subject was about to change. “Let’s talk about something else. Something that doesn’t make the vein in your forehead bulge.”

  Whitney laughed, rubbing her forehead gently with her fingertips. “Go for it, I beg of you.”

  “Okay.” She drummed her fingers against her chin before widening her eyes and smiling wide. “Tell me more about the rugby guy. Aside from the naughty text messages, I don’t know much about him.”

  A sly smile crossed Whitney’s lips as she thought of Charlie.

  “He’s fun. Like, really fun.”

  “You like fun.”

  “I do indeed.” Whitney laughed. “His thigh muscles are insane. You’d never know just by looking at him, he’s long and lean. But take off his clothes and damn . . .” Whitney stared off into space, remembering Charlie above her, his firm thighs pressing hers apart, his hands pressing hers to the mattress. A sensuous shiver shot down her spine as she remembered the many orgasms Charlie provided her two mornings ago. When it was all said and done, her legs had wobbled, and her brain was mush. Thirty minutes into her flight to New York, she passed out on Katie’s shoulder, completely spent from her activities with Mr. Hutchins.