If You Can't Take the Heat

by Melissa Brown

  Whitney laughed. “No, I love it. But our next activity requires an empty stomach, so we’d better not fill up too much.”

  “You have me intrigued.”

  “How about something simple?” He took her hand and lead her to the candy area. “Maybe some dark-chocolate-covered almonds?”

  “Perfect.”

  “I’ve never seen a Ghirardelli shop attached to a Disney Store before.” He took in the sights around them. “Is this a hint? Are you taking me to Disneyland next?”

  “Noooo.” She narrowed her eyes. “Did you want to go there?”

  Wes shrugged. “I’ve never been. Could be fun.”

  That idea of a family flashed in her head once again as Wes purchased the bag of chocolate-covered almonds and offered her the first taste. The richness of the dark chocolate summoned a sigh. “Mmm, delectable.”

  “Would you like me to buy you a stuffed animal?” Wes asked, gesturing to the stuffed Disney characters on display.

  “Nah, I’m good.” She paused, focusing back on them with their future kids. “But would you really go to Disneyland?”

  “Does that surprise you?”

  “Well, yeah.” Her eyes were wide. “I mean, look at you. You’re this rugged, serious, put-together guy. I just don’t see you craving the happiest place on earth.”

  “Well, maybe you don’t know me as well as you think,” he said, popping an almond into his mouth. Whitney watched him chew.

  For God’s sake, how does he make chewing sexy?

  “Well”—Whitney took another handful of almonds—“enlighten me.”

  “I always wanted to go as a kid. I mean, who didn’t? But I kind of see it as a family place, you know? Like, it’s where you take your kids. It’d be more fun that way, seeing it through their eyes.”

  Whitney swallowed hard. Wes had no idea how his simple words had her unglued. He didn’t know about her daydream that morning, nor did he need to. For now, it was just for her.

  “What’s going on inside that gorgeous head of yours?” he asked.

  “Nothing, I—” She glanced at her watch, distracting herself from her thoughts of the future. “Ooh, we’d better get going. Our next adventure starts in an hour and we can’t be late!”

  They took a scenic drive to Santa Monica Pier. Whitney watched as Wes took in the sights of the people, the palm trees, the gorgeous beach below the pier. As most Saturdays were, it was loaded with tourists and locals alike. A bright red, somewhat full double-decker Starline Tours bus stood before them and Wes removed his sunglasses.

  “Are we taking a tour?”

  “Not quite,” Whitney said with a mischievous grin, walking to her trunk and removing a duffel bag.

  “What’s that about? What are we doing?”

  Whitney began to sing, taking Wes’s hand and twirling, “He flies through the air with the greatest of ease . . .” She raised both eyebrows.

  “The circus? Is there a circus here?”

  She didn’t want to just blurt it out, she was enjoying the suspense. She clenched her teeth behind a wide smile. “Warmer . . .”

  “Where else would we find a flying trapeze?” Wes looked around them. “Are we—?”

  Whitney nodded, jumping on the balls of her feet and placing both hands on Wes’s now tense forearms.

  “No way,” he said, searching for the trapeze. “Seriously?”

  “What?” She cocked an eyebrow. “Are you afraid?”

  “No, I’m not afraid.” But the expression on his face told her differently. She imagined this was just how she’d looked when he mentioned the shooting range back in Billings. Totally and completely out of her element. Wes cleared his throat. “So, uh, where do we do this flying trapeze? And what exactly is in that bag of yours?”

  “This”—she tapped the bag—“has comfy clothes for both of us. You can’t exactly wrap your knees over the bar with jeans and leather boots, Cowboy. Plus they have a dress code here. You and I are going to trapeze school.”

  “Trapeze school? I’ve never heard of it.”

  “Yep. It’s a thing . . . and I signed us up for the next class, which starts in ten minutes, so we’d better hurry.” She took his hand. “C’mon.”

  Wes was silent as they walked quickly to the Trapeze School. She knew he was nervous, but he had no intention of drawing attention to that fact. Everyone had their own fears, and it was a possibility that heights were one of Wes’s. If he wanted to discuss it with her, he would, but she wouldn’t push.

  The trapeze area was enormous. A huge net sat below three distinct quadrants with three different trapezes. Whitney wondered if they’d advance far enough to learn catches, flips, and other techniques. She watched as a current class member climbed up the tall, narrow ladder to the platform, where one instructor attached two hooks to the harness around her waist. The instructor held her by the harness as he secured both of her hands on the bar. When the instructions were given, she jumped into the air, swinging effortlessly. Whitney was enthralled.

  After changing their clothes, Whitney in a short-sleeved black T-shirt and gray yoga pants, and Wes in his T-shirt and blue adidas nylon pants, they waited for class to begin. Whitney was proud of the pants she’d purchased for him. They hugged his ass so perfectly.

  “Are you checking out my ass, Hollywood?”

  “I can’t help it. It looks spectacular. You should wear these more often.” She ran her hands over the pants, cupping his ass gently.

  “You’re in so much trouble,” he whispered.

  “Oh really?” she teased, batting her eyelashes. “How so?”

  “You’ll see tonight. I’m going to make you beg.”

  “Bring it on.” She smirked. “I can take whatever you dish out.”

  He licked his lips, lowering his voice. “Just you wait.”

  Their instructors, Justin and Mike, called them over to the group and reviewed the basic movements with the small class. Everyone was given a large canvas harness to wrap around their waists. Together, they stretched on mats and practiced wrapping their legs underneath a bar the size of the trapeze, to become familiar with the instructions given by Justin, who was on the ground. After several minutes, it was time for the trapeze.

  “How about you go first?” Whitney suggested, testing him, wondering if he’d accept the challenge.

  Wes looked up to the platform, dipped his hands in the bucket next to the ladder, and thoroughly coated them with the powder provided to help with gripping the bar. Without a word, he raised both eyebrows at Whitney before climbing. Whitney stared, mouth agape as he reached the platform, looking calm and collected. It was then that she realized she herself was terrified. She hadn’t realized just how high they would be on the platform. She opened her mouth to cheer him on, but her voice was hoarse and her mouth dry as bone.

  Mike connected the large metal clips to each side of Wes’s harness. Wes stood, legs wide, knees bent and loose. Mike pulled back on Wes’s harness and Wes arched his back. Whitney’s chest deflated as panic spread through her.

  Oh my God, he’s doing it. Oh my God, what was I thinking?

  Wes extended his left arm to reach for the bar as Mike pulled it in with an extender. Placing both hands firmly on the bar, Wes was suspended in air, held only by Mike’s grip.

  “Hut,” Justin called out. Wes jumped from the platform, swinging toward the center.

  “Legs up, tuck those knees,” Justin continued. Wes followed his instructions to a tee, wrapping his muscular legs around the bar. “Up in a ball. Hands off. Arch and reach all the way back.”

  Wes released the bar, extending his arms toward the net below. He continued to swing and Whitney’s jaw hung open, so impressed with his innate ability with, of all things, the trapeze!

  “Hands up. Legs down. Hang straight.” Again, he followed directions perfectly, falling gracefully to the net, which bounced on impact several times. Whitney led the class in applause and she ran to meet him after he flipped off of the net us
ing the supplied rings of rope hanging from the side. His face was flushed, but he was beaming as Justin removed the clips from his harness, allowing him to walk freely away from the net.

  “What a rush!” He picked Whitney up by her waist and twirled her around. “Are you ready? You’re gonna love it.”

  “Did you lie? I mean, seriously, you made that look easy. Did do you do this before?”

  “You’re asking me if I’m a secret flying trapeze master?” His look was mischievous, yet amused.

  Whitney smacked his arm playfully. “I’m serious! How the hell did you do that?”

  He shrugged. “I just did what they told me. And you will too. Go on, now. It’s your turn.”

  “Umm.” She hesitated, taking his hand and squeezing. Hard. “I don’t know . . .”

  “Hey.” He pulled her closer, and gently ran his knuckles down her cheek. Whitney leaned into the soft touch of his skin against hers in such a delicate gesture. “You can do this. I know it.”

  “Adventures together, not apart?” she asked, swallowing hard.

  A lopsided grin formed on his chiseled face. “You got it.”

  Whitney gave a decisive nod just as Mike called her name from the platform. She dipped her hands in the bucket and climbed the steep ladder, her fingers trembling with each rung she climbed. Higher and higher she went, feeling the cool air breeze through her tight ponytail.

  “You got this, Hollywood!” Wes clapped, standing near the net with a full view of her.

  God, I know we’ve never been tight, but please don’t let me do anything too embarrassing. I don’t think the Cowboy will be turned on if I wet myself or fart in midair. Please, God. Please, please, please.

  Whitney was so consumed by her conversation with the Heavenly Father that she didn’t realize Mike had already attached the clips to her harness and was instructing her to lean forward to grab the bar.

  “I don’t know—”

  “It’s okay,” he said behind her, pulling her back by the harness. “Just lean forward and grab it.”

  She followed his instructions.

  “Great, now the other hand. I’ve got you, I promise.”

  Whitney took a deep breath, released her other hand from the side handle, and grabbed the bar.

  “Holy shit.”

  “Now when he yells hut, I’ll release you and you’ll let go. Just follow Justin’s voice and you’ll be fine.”

  “Okay.”

  “Hut!”

  Whitney jumped, her hands gripping the bar so tight her knuckles turned a ghostly shade of white. She held her breath, feeling the open air blowing through her hair. She followed each instruction one by one, her mouth as dry as cotton, as she tucked her knees around the bar just as Wes had done so easily before her. She didn’t feel graceful or lithe or at all competent as she completed the last command, landing with a dizzying bounce on the net. Adrenaline had a strong hold of her body and mind, and she grabbed the rings to flip down to the ground where Wes was waiting. After Justin released her harness from the clips, she hugged Wes, holding him tight. Her heart pounded furiously beneath her chest.

  “I can’t believe I did it!” she exclaimed, holding on to him with pride and excitement. “Did you see that?”

  “I knew you could. You were a natural once again.”

  Just as the company’s slogan warned, the two quickly became addicted to the art of the flying trapeze. After many attempts, Whitney successfully completed a catch with Justin, hanging from his arms before landing on the net. After over ten years in her field with accomplishments mounting professionally, nothing quite matched the satisfaction she felt after completing that catch. Her pride was immeasurable. And having Wes there to cheer her on made it even more satisfying.

  When their class was complete, they grabbed a quick bite before walking down to Santa Monica beach. Whitney removed her shoes, feeling the soft sand tickle her toes with each step. Wes stared at the row of houses along the edge of the beach.

  “Can you imagine waking up to this every day?”

  “I know,” she breathed. “It’d be incredible.”

  He pulled her close, threading his fingers through her hair. “Listen, I know things have gone kind of fast.”

  “Sh, don’t spoil the moment. It’s been so perfect.” She stroked his face with the pads of her fingers. He took her hand and placed a kiss on each finger.

  “It has. Why do you think I’d spoil it?”

  She sighed, realizing she was stumped. “I guess I’m just used to guys spoiling wonderful days.”

  “Well, you’ll need to adjust your expectations, Whitney.” He kissed the top of her hand. “You’re with me now, and disappointing you is not on my agenda.”

  “I love when you call me by my actual name.”

  “Don’t get used to that.” He snickered and then continued teasing her. “Now, can I finish what I was about to say before I was so rudely interrupted?”

  She gave an overly dramatic rolling of the eyes. “I guess so, if you must.”

  “I know things have gone kind of fast, but that’s okay with me. When I’m with you, hesitation isn’t in my vocabulary. The more I see, the more I love about you.”

  “That’s so sweet.” She waited for the proverbial other shoe to drop. “But . . . ?”

  “But nothing. That’s all I wanted to say. You make me happy and I just needed you to know that.” He shrugged. “I’m a simple guy, I say what I mean and I mean what I say. I told you, no games. Not now, not ever. Can you handle that?”

  “Can I handle it?” She stalled, again teasing him, making him think she was the hesitant one.

  “Yeah,” he said, his eyes suddenly serious. “Can you?”

  “Not only can I handle it, I welcome it with open arms. I’ve spent years, literally years of my life playing games with immature, spoiled men who had no idea what they wanted. You, Wesson Rancourt, are a dream come true and I have no intention of letting you go.”

  He sighed, pressing his lips to hers. She could feel the relief in his touch as his hands wrapped around her, pulling her tight, his heart pounding just as hard as her own. They didn’t exchange I love yous, but that didn’t matter to Whitney. That would happen, just like everything else with the two of them, when the time was right.

  “The sun’s about to set,” Whitney said, clutching his strong shoulders. “Watch with me?”

  “Of course.”

  They sat together in the sand, cuddled together as the warm summer air turned cool and the fiery orange sun dipped beneath the skyline. Whitney breathed in the misty air, savoring the moment with Wes as the moon peeked out from behind the cloudy night sky.

  When the air grew cold and the night dark, they returned to her apartment, where, true to his word, Wes made Whitney beg . . . several times, in fact, and in the most delicious way she could have ever imagined. Six orgasms later, she fell asleep in his arms.

  Her dreams were of that little girl in the shimmering princess gown and the tiny little boy perched on Wes’s strong shoulders.

  Welcome back to The American Cook, um, The Great American . . . aw, shit.” Jameson pinched the bridge of his nose, looking down at the floor, shaking his head. For the fifth time in a row, he’d botched the take. Whitney and Chris stared at one another, Whitney’s eyebrow raised ridiculously high.

  What the hell?

  “Cut!” Chris yelled. “Jameson, may I have a word?”

  “Sure, yeah,” Jameson said, his eyes bloodshot. He rubbed at the back of his neck and met Chris for a quiet conversation off to the side of the set. Whitney watched as his other hand, which lingered on his hip, twitched rapidly.

  He’s on something. She could feel it in her gut.

  Jameson had a reputation as a perpetual bachelor, but drug use was not known to be part of his repertoire. He’d never been involved in any type of scandal or had any headlines of such behavior, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t an addict or that he didn’t indulge in recreational drug use. It
was Hollywood, after all. Obtaining cocaine, heroin, anything was as easy as getting a cup of coffee. You just had to know where to go.

  Chris returned, taking the seat beside her. He reached for his megaphone, giving the cue for Jameson to try again. After two more failed takes, Jameson requested a short break.

  “I need to get my head on. Uh, I need to collect myself. My apologies, everyone.”

  “All right, everybody take ten.” He turned to Whitney. “Join me in my office?”

  “Sure.” Whitney made brief eye contact with Wes, who was looking frustrated. She wondered if Charlie had once again sabotaged his station before filming began. Not wanting to make a scene, she offered Wes a compassionate smile before following Chris down the hall to his office. Chris held the door for her, but closed and locked the latch before offering her a chair.

  Shit, am I in trouble?

  Her relationship with Chris was on an upswing and the idea of tension looming between them formed a knot in her belly. She liked Chris and she wanted to continue working with him on future projects. She hated that her personal choices had affected their professional relationship. She decided to begin the conversation with a preemptive strike, steering it in a different direction: her concerns regarding Jameson.

  “I think the Captain’s on something.”

  “My thoughts exactly,” Chris agreed.

  Relief washed from her brain to her toes. This meeting was, in fact, about Jameson. “His eyes are bloodshot, he’s stammering, his hands are all twitchy.” Whitney reenacted the movement of Jameson’s hand.

  “Shit. I do not need this right now.”

  “We’ll just watch him. He’s never done this before, he could be having an off day. Or maybe he’s coming down with the flu or something. I shouldn’t have assumed—”

  “No, it makes sense. Haven’t you noticed how he’s constantly visiting his dressing room? I swear, we have to drag him out of there several times a day just to go back to filming.”

  Whitney nodded. She’d also noticed how often Jameson rubbed at the base of his nose. Makeup was constantly reapplied between takes. She’d bet all the money in her bank account that he was a cokehead.