Don’t Call Me Sweetheart (5 page)

Whitney winced inwardly. Only Tess could get by with talking
to her that way. It might be true but Whitney didn’t want, or need, to be
reminded of it. “Not this kind,” she argued, pacing back and forth like a caged
tiger in the small, elegantly furnished room. “I’m not the least bit interested
in dragging that man all over the city.”

“Okay. Just tell him you’re really Lane McLaughlin then.”

At Whitney’s puzzled look Tess continued, talking slowly as
if she were speaking to someone with limited mental capabilities, “That way you
could stay home. You could get that audition out of the way since Christian’s
already indicated he was willing to prove his capabilities. Take my word for
it, he’s definitely capable.”

“Tess! You haven’t?”

“Oh, good heavens no. That’s just what I’ve heard. And most
of it was from him. Besides you only have to take one look at him to realize
how perfectly delicious he is. You didn’t suddenly go blind did you?”

It wouldn’t have mattered because even the blind and deaf
could pick Christian out of a crowd.

“That’s beside the point,” Whitney retorted, throwing her
hands up in exasperation.

“What exactly was the point?” Tess was back at it.

“Discovering what you’re up to.”

“That, my dear, would be absolutely pointless because I
rarely know what I’m up to.” Tess’ blue eyes crinkled with laughter. “That’s
why this friendship works so well. We’re such opposites. I’m a total ditz and you’re
the hopeless damsel.”

“That’s hope-filled damsel. But if I were a damsel, I would need
to be rescued from a situation I don’t want to be in. And since the ditz got
her into it, you’re expected to get her, er me, out.”

Tess looked like she was having more fun than she had in
years.

“Tell you what, if you watch Christian’s preliminary shoot
tomorrow and you really don’t want to go out for the evening, I’ll make up
something that sounds halfway believable and get you out of it. Deal?”

“No.” Whitney retorted stubbornly, crossing her arms below
her breasts in a show of defiance. “I don’t want to go at all. So now what?”

“I’ll just have to tell Christian that under the prim and
proper exterior of Whitney Lane beats the savage heart of the world’s greatest
romance goddess, Lane McLaughlin.”

“You wouldn’t. Nobody’s supposed to know that. I could spill
plenty of your dirty little secrets too you know.”

“Mmmm, yes I suppose you could,” Tess conceded, rooting
through her purse and extracting a bottle of perfume. “But collecting more
would be so much fun. You should try it.”

“If I go tomorrow, will you back off and leave me alone?” Whitney
asked in exaggerated defeat. She had never been able to stay mad at Tess for
long. Besides, she reasoned, in a studio full of people she would hardly be
alone with Christian. There was no doubt in her mind that she would be home
again, alone, well before dark.

“I suppose I could try to control myself.”

That would be the day.

“Fine. Let’s just see if we can get through the rest of this
meal in peace, shall we?”

“Well, Gabbycat. Just what should a girl wear if she wants
to look like a piece of a set?”

Twenty-four hours after having her perfectly ordered life
thrown into a tailspin, Whitney still found it hard to believe she had agreed
to watch Christian shoot the cover of her new book. And while Tess hadn’t
exactly lied when she had informed Christian that Whitney had nothing better to
do today, even puttering around her huge, empty house would have been
preferable to sitting in a tiny, uncomfortable chair, watching in silence,
while a photographer and his staff grumbled about unnecessary people cluttering
up the workplace. Of course, there was the inescapable fact that Christian
would be there too.

The intense trepidation turning her insides upside down did
little to dispel the feeling of anticipation dancing simultaneously through her
body at the thought of seeing Christian again, even though Whitney consciously
made an effort to ignore it. Sensible was going to be her mode of operation for
dealing with the afternoon ahead, she told herself sternly. Nothing more,
nothing less.

It had taken very little effort to convince herself on the
drive home from lunch yesterday that she must have imagined the look of
interest hovering in Christian’s eyes. For all she knew he looked at every
woman that way for fun, strictly out of habit. It had probably meant nothing to
him—she wished it hadn’t meant anything to her.

Irritated that she seemed unable to focus her thoughts
anywhere other than on Christian Dade, Whitney stripped off her white leggings
and blue candy-striped chambray shirt, tossing them onto the mountainous pile
of discarded clothes in the center of her bed she had begun accumulating nearly
an hour ago. No matter what she pulled from the closet she was finding it
impossible to settle on an outfit that pleased her.

“See, kitten. That man is already causing more trouble than
he could possibly be worth,” Whitney announced in exasperation to the tabby
happily rolling in the rejected clothing. She turned to rummage through the
clothes hanging neatly in the large, walk-in closet, this time choosing
lightweight white linen slacks and a matching silk shell. A brilliant
aquamarine summer jacket set off her features to perfection.

With a critical eye Whitney gauged her reflection, still not
pleased with the results. She was prepared to start all over when she heard the
impatient honking of a car near the front of the house.

“Oh, damn,” she swore softly, peeking out the window to make
sure it was Tess. It was and for once in her life she was early, leaving no
more time for changes. Whitney resigned herself to going the way she was, like
it or not.

“Who gives a fig what I look like anyway? Aren’t we supposed
to be watching Christian drool over some little piece of fluff actress anyway?”
Whitney directed the question at Gabbycat but the frisky feline was too busy
attacking the thin straps of a lacy chemise to notice.

The thought wasn’t particularly appealing and as Whitney
paused for one last look in the mirror and to tuck a loose strand of hair into
the French braid she had worked earlier, she experienced a peculiar tightness
in her chest.

“You’re being absurd, Whitney Alison Lane. Absolutely absurd.”
Hurrying outside Whitney grinned to herself. She was actually getting knock-kneed
about a man she barely knew. She’d have to watch it or pretty soon she’d
believe some of her own romantic notions.

“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.