Seducing His Heart (2 page)

As she stood up, he handed her a package of
black licorice. “Bet we’re the last two people in the city who like
this stuff,” he said.

“
I doubt that.”
If he thinks he’s gonna sweet talk me into bed.
Forget it.
But as he leaned over, his robe
parted, and she got a good view of his chest. It looked totally
touchable, firm, but not bodybuilder hard. Black chest hair in
moderation made her fingertips tingle at the thought of running
them up his pecs. With a huge effort, she ripped her gaze from his
body and directed it to the cartons of food still on the
floor.

“
Thanks,” she said,
reluctant to be beholden to him, even for the retrieval of one
item.

“
It’s the least I can do
after Candy barged into you.”

Bess nodded curtly and
headed for her door. The minute it opened, the small pug came
racing out. She headed straight for Whit, barking her head off. He
laughed, but backed up.
She’s a ferocious
little beast.

“
I hate clichés, but
aren’t you going to call off your dog?” he asked, his back to the
wall.

“
Dumpling! Dumpling, come,
baby girl.” Bess called. The pug closed her mouth and turned to
look at her mistress. After casting a suspicious eye at Whit, the
dog retreated, panting, and obeyed orders. “She wouldn’t hurt
you.”

“
Really? Are you sure she
knows that?” The crease in his forehead eased. He tucked his robe
together and tightened the sash.

“
Your girlfriend needs a
lesson in manners,” Bess said, picking up a bag in each hand.
Dumpling watched Whit, but stayed beside Bess.

“
Oh, she’s not my
girlfriend.”

“
Oh?” Bess raised her
brow. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“
In fact, that was only
our second date. A long one, perhaps, but only the second. I play
the field.” Again, he shot her a look that made her feel bare.
Instinctively, her arm covered her chest.

“
Good for you. Watch those
STD’s, they can be nasty,” she said.

“
Speaking from
experience?” He cocked an eyebrow at her.

Heat rose through her cheeks as her temper
flared. She dropped both bags, causing Dumpling to start barking
again. “You’ve got a lotta nerve.”

“
You’re the one who
brought it up. Not me. I’m a great believer in safe sex. Are
you?”

“
That’s none of your
business.” Bess gathered her belongings and whistled for Dumpling,
who quieted down immediately and followed along.

“
Will I need to use hand
sanitizer every time I pass your door?” He smirked.

“
Hilarious! Can’t
understand why you didn’t go into stand-up comedy instead of the
news. Let’s see…maybe because you’re
not
funny?” She stepped back into
her apartment and slammed the door. His chuckle was loud enough for
her to hear.

How obnoxious. He can
sleep with every woman in New York, but he’ll never get me. I hate
womanizing men.
She lugged the food into
the kitchen with Dumpling trotting behind her. The dog curled up on
her small, fluffy bed and was snoring before Bess got everything
unpacked. She brewed a pot of coffee and sat down with a pad and
pen.

The buzzer broke into her thoughts. She
picked up the intercom and okayed the visitor with Crash. Her
assistant, Ned Lester, walked right in. She never kept the door
locked, figuring, with such vigilant doormen, she’d never need
to.

“
Where have you been? I’ve
left ten messages. Did you need me to pick up anything on my way
over?”

“
Got everything myself. I
was in the hall. Damn new neighbor. His snotty girlfriend plowed
right into me. Then, he came out to help pick things
up.”

Ned’s eyes lit up. “Was he cute?”

“
Aren’t you
taken?”

“
You didn’t answer my
question. Not for me. For you.”

“
I guess you could say
he’s good looking enough. If you like that sort of
thing.”

“
What sort of thing?” Ned
perched on a bar stool at the counter, his pad ready, pen in hand,
and his blue eyes directed at Bess.

“
I mean, black hair, gray
eyes, good bod.”

“
Wow. Better than
Serge?”

“
He was annoying.” Bess
returned to the coffeemaker and poured a cup for Ned.

“
Now, you’re lying. I can
always tell. You get a little twitch under your left eye. Only for
a second. But it’s there.”

“
Okay. He’s gorgeous. But
he’s a womanizer. Besides, I have Terry.”

“
Do you? Isn’t that still
once a week and no overnights?”

“
So?” Bess sipped her
brew.

“
Seems you two are kinda
stuck.”

“
I like him. He’s a cop.
Makes me feel safe. I’m happy with it the way it is.”

“
Are you?” Ned stared, but
Bess avoided his eyes.

“
Let’s get to work. How to
frame this? Best desserts for coffee and best for tea?”

“
That way, maybe we can
get two shows out of this idea instead of only one,” he said,
scribbling away.

“
Good thinking. Hmm, what
does go best with coffee? Anything chocolate.”

“
Oh, God. Chocolate. Here
I go. And, by the way, you’re not fooling me. I’m letting you
change the subject…for now.” Ned grinned.

Short with brown hair and
blue eyes, Ned was attractive, but out of Bess’s reach, as he was
gay. He kept himself in top physical condition, dressed
beautifully, and took good care of her.
If
I had a little brother, I’d want him to be exactly like Ned. Well,
maybe not quite so nosy.
He kept her
secrets and shared her love of food. Ned was more family than her
real family.

Bucking to become her sous chef, Ned would
have been the perfect choice, but then Bess hated the idea of
breaking in a new assistant. While she was dying for him to be
promoted, she dreaded it at the same time. She relied on his
support, and he never questioned her judgment. They were the
perfect team.

Ned perused the one hundred cookbooks on her
shelves, seeking the ones that specialized in desserts. Within half
an hour, she was immersed in discussing and selecting recipes with
him. The episode was taking shape, and she had forgotten about the
devastatingly attractive Whit Bass and his parade of willing
women.

They made a shopping list. Ned went out to
the store while Bess took a break. She strolled to the window with
her mug. Dumpling stretched then padded over to join her. Her
choices of possible desserts were numerous enough that she was
certain there would be a few outstanding ones to suit the show.

Her mind turned back to
her new neighbor.
Why am I thinking about
him? He’s trouble for any single woman. I want to have kids
someday. Can’t do that with a guy like Whitfield Bass. What about
Terry? I don’t even have him twice a week.
She chewed a nail then stopped, horrified.

“
How many times have I
told you to stop that disgusting habit?” Ned entered, carrying two
bags.

“
I know, I know. I’m
sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

“
Your hands and nails
show. You can’t be ripping at them with your teeth.” He gently
slapped her hand then raised it to kiss.

“
You’re right. I forget.
Worrying about how I look on camera is the worst part of this job.
When will I be able to bite the hell out of my nails and no one’ll
care?”

“
When you’re unemployed.
Since that day’s not here yet, cut it out.” He retrieved the
package he’d dropped at the door and carried it into the kitchen.
As he began to unpack, he chattered away. “What were you so wrapped
up in when I came in?”

“
Ah, good try. Nothing.
Thinking. About life.”

“
Your life?”

“
Butt out, Ned. Now, let’s
melt this chocolate with the European butter and see how they
blend. We’ll need some salt, because the butter is sweet. Only a
whisper,” she said, sliding her apron over her head and tying it
behind her back.

* * * *

Grinning, Whit closed his
front door.
What a spitfire across the
hall. Little old lady, yeah, right. Bet she’s great in bed, once
she gets over that bad attitude. Great body, too. Supermodels are
okay, but bony as hell. No meat. Nothing to squeeze.

Sexually satisfied from his morning romp
with Candy and freshly showered, Whit dressed for work. Before his
mind became tangled up with news stories and a book he was working
on in his spare time, he stopped to check his calendar to see who’d
be decorating his arm that evening.

Hmm. Katarina. Italian
movie star. She’s got a temper. Dinner. Dancing? Then sex?
He smiled to himself. Having a stable of
available women was perfect. He never had to dine or sleep alone.
The one thing he swore he’d never have on his bucket list was
marriage and kids.
Never. Not gonna put
some poor kid through the same hell I had. No way.

Supermodels fit the bill.
They were so absorbed in their ambition and their careers that
marriage was not on their radar. The thought of ruining their shape
with a pregnancy made his bed partners nauseous. So, he had to
forego companionship, devotion, and friendship, so what? His life
was regulated. He did what he wanted, when he wanted, and with whom
he wanted.
Most men envy me.
But it wasn’t enough, and Whit didn’t know
why.

Katarina had been
difficult the last time they had gone out. She had been demanding,
criticizing the five star restaurant he had taken her to, and a
chilly partner in bed.
Time to trade her
in. No, not for Bess. Too close. Never start something with someone
who lives on the same floor. All I need is a stalker across the
hall.
He grinned.
She doesn’t seem like the type to stalk me. Slap me, maybe.
Stalk me? Doubt it.

He’d started down the hall
when a heavenly aroma assaulted his nose.
Chocolate? Fresh coffee?
His stomach
rumbled.
Yum.
A
vision of spreading warm chocolate with his fingers on certain
parts of Bess’s body then licking it off made his groin
twitch.
I’ll bet she knows everything
there is to know about sweets. And I know lots of ways to consume
them she probably hasn’t even tried.

The ding of the elevator brought him out of
his reverie. He sighed and traveled to the ground floor. Raising
his hand in a half-wave to the doorman, Whit directed his feet down
Central Park West to the television studios of Eagle
Broadcasting.

While he walked, he
wondered about Bess.
Will great smells
always be coming out of her place? Will she invite me in to eat, at
least try, some of her stuff?
A salacious
chuckle escaped his mouth as he imagined a tasting at her place
where she was the dessert.

Once he was immersed in
his work, he forgot about Bess and the chocolate. He worked hard,
trying to nail down the details of a story from Asia. He’d applied
to
New York News Review
for a job as a foreign correspondent.
What better way to avoid attachments than to be
out of the country?
It would be the
perfect job for him. He was hoping for Hong Kong.
The farther away from home, the
better.

He took particular care
over stories from the Far East, figuring each one was like a job
interview with
NY News
Review
. When he finished his broadcast, he
checked his watch, caught a taxi, and met Katarina on the East
side.

Dinner was a long and tiresome affair. Whit
tried to focus on her rantings about her manager and the director
of a movie she wanted to do, but his mind kept wandering. Her
screeching criticism hurt his ears. He longed for something softer
and more soothing after an intense day. Something like a cup of
exquisite hot chocolate or a piece of sinful devil’s food
cake…something to nourish his body and soul.

The vibes from Katarina
weren’t good.
Bed? With this complainer?
Not tonight. Not ever again.
While her
body wouldn’t quit, he decided he would.

Over coffee, she made eyes at him. “So, we
go back to your place or mine?” she cooed.

“
Not tonight. I’ve got an
early day tomorrow,” he lied, signaling for the check.

Katarina stuck out her lower lip in a most
unattractive way. Her pouty face confirmed his decision to get far
away from her.

“
But I was counting on
it,” she whined.

“
Sorry. Another
time.”
Another lie. Get me outta
here.

He paid the bill, put her in a cab, and
hopped in one himself. On the way to his apartment, Whit stopped
and sniffed. The faint smell of chocolate and coffee lingered in
the hallway. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes, and was
practically knocked down when Bess barreled out of her place with
Dumpling in tow. The baker bounced off his chest.

He grasped her arms, to keep her from
falling. She looked up into his eyes. Her large, blue orbs drew him
in. He froze, his fingers digging into her. Then, Dumpling barked
before assaulting him, sinking her teeth into his leg and pulling,
throwing her head from side-to-side rapidly.