Seducing His Heart (3 page)

“
Dumpling!” Bess yelled,
tearing her gaze from his. Her eyes widened as she watched her dog
tear a hole in the bottom of his pants. “Oh my God! I’m so sorry.”
She jerked on the leash, and the pug dropped the cloth and backed
up.

“
It’s nothing,” he said,
reluctantly releasing Bess.

“
She’s ripped your pants!
I’ll replace the suit.”

“
Don’t worry about it.
Really.”

“
She’s my dog, and I’m
responsible. Let me get my checkbook.” She turned.

“
Please,” he said, placing
his hand on her arm. “I can have it fixed or get a new one
myself.”

“
I insist.”

“
It’s an expensive
suit.”

“
Even so. I never walk
away from my responsibilities.”

“
Honestly,” he waved at
her. “Forget it.”

“
How much?” She narrowed
her eyes and rested one hand on her hip.

He sighed. “Three thousand dollars.”

“
Three thousand dollars!
Oh my God. Is it made of spun gold?” Her eyebrow shot
up.

“
That’s how much a good
Italian suit costs. I told you, don’t worry about it.”

“
You think I don’t have
money to burn? I can afford it. No sweat.”

“
I didn’t say that. No
reason for you to shell out three grand for a tiny hole made
by…what’s the dog’s name?”

“
Dumpling.”

Whit doubled over with laughter. He grabbed
his stomach and laughed until he cried.

“
It’s not that funny,”
Bess huffed.

“
Oh, yes it is! She
is
a little dumpling,
too.”

“
She can be pretty
ferocious. Don’t underestimate her. Look what she did to your
pants.” Bess pointed.

“
World’s tiniest hole made
by world’s smallest dog,” he said, gasping for breath.

Whit knelt down and held out his hand.
Dumpling eyed him suspiciously before she inched closer to sniff
him. He stayed still, waiting for the okay from the pug before he
petted her.

“
She’s adorable,” he said,
giving her a gentle scratch behind the ears.

“
I think so.” Bess smiled.
Dumpling licked Whit’s hand, officially declaring him a
friend.

“
I’ll take these to the
tailor, and, if you want, you can pay to have them re-woven. How’s
that?”

“
Fine.”

“
What were you cooking
before? I swear I smelled chocolate and coffee.”

“
Good sniffer. I made
both.”

“
Making
chocolate?”

“
Making some chocolate
desserts…and coffee…combining them. Mocha. But you’re not
interested in the experiments of a lowly baker when you have world
affairs on your mind.” She turned toward the elevator. “And I still
have to walk my dog.”

He grabbed her arm. “But I am interested. I
find dessert a lot more fascinating than world politics. Do you
ever have tastings or samplings or whatever at your house?”

She cocked an eyebrow at him. “Are you
wangling an invitation?”

“
Any time you need a
guinea pig, I’m here.”

She chuckled. “I’ll
remember that. See ya.” She stepped into the elevator with
Dumpling, and the doors closed. Whit went inside and removed his
pants to examine the hole. It was small. He smirked.
Gives me another reason to see her. Talk to her.
Ring her doorbell. Maybe I’ll get some of those desserts she’s
preparing. Worth a try, anyway.

The next morning, he
donned running gear. As he was about to go for a spin in Central
Park, his phone rang.
It was
Elsa.

“
Friday, Whit?”

“
Absolutely.” He leaned
against the wall and envisioned the tall, cool blonde naked. His
mouth watered.

“
Vunderful. See you
then.”

Whit put his cell away and
made a face.
Another vegan meal. Ugh.
What’s so wrong with steak, anyway? Hell, a date’s a date.
He shrugged his shoulders and hit the street.
After his run, he headed for the tailor’s before stopping at the
drugstore to refill his supply of condoms. While he didn’t expect
much stimulating conversation from Elsa, he did expect to get
laid.

I wonder if Bess ever
cooks steak. Her program is about baking. How about the best
dessert with steak? How about inviting me over for a taste? How
about tasting together, naked?
He shook
his head.
Stop thinking about her. She’s
the wrong kind of girl. Probably wants to find some nice, quiet guy
and settle down. Have two point five kids. House in the ’burbs.
Picket fence.
He shuddered.
Stay away from her. She’s a potential
disaster.

His taste buds cried out
for steak. Whit stopped at the deli for the best Philly cheesesteak
in Manhattan.
Bet she can’t cook this. No
one makes it like these guys do.

“
Hey, Mike. Got any bones
back there?”

The man behind the counter stopped what he
was doing. “Bones?”

“
Yeah, like for a dog? A
small dog?”

Chapter Two

“
What do you mean, sick?
No one gets sick in September,” Bess paced.

“
Well, I am,” Ned said,
sneezing into the phone.

“
Hey, keep that to
yourself.”

“
Thanks for the ton of
sympathy.”

“
I’m sorry. I’ll make
chicken soup and have it delivered.”

“
That’s more like it,” he
sniffled.

“
But I’m making the mocha
pie, the pudding, and the cake. I need you here to taste
it.”

“
Even if I was well enough
to come over, I can’t taste shit, babe.”

“
Damn.”

“
I’m sorry, Bess. You’ll
have to rely on your own taste buds.”

“
I hate to do that. I’m
prejudiced. I always prefer cake to pudding.”

“
Then find someone else.
How about Terry? Or that sexy neighbor?”

“
Terry! What a good idea.
And he loves my baking.”

“
Oh, I’ll bet he does.”
Ned snickered.

Bess felt herself blush. “Thanks for the
suggestion. Feel better. Call me if you need anything.”

“
Serge is in Italy. You
wouldn’t happen to have a gorgeous hunk in your back pocket you
could send over?”

“
Ned! Unfaithful thoughts.
Naughty boy. Stand in the corner for ten minutes.”

“
I’m going back to bed.
Alone.” He sighed.

“
Take care.” Bess slumped
down on the sofa. Dumpling jumped up to snuggle into her. She
petted the dog and opened her cell. “Terry? What are you doing
today?”

An hour later, cake was cooling on a rack by
the window, mocha pie was in the oven, and Bess was stirring
pudding on the stove. The air was rich with the scent of chocolate
laced with coffee. Bess opened her windows and the front door to
remove the fragrance.

She hummed one of her
favorite tunes, Phillip Philips’s “Gone, Gone, Gone,”
as she gently stirred, adjusting the burner
temperature every minute or two.

“
Does that invitation
still stand?” Whit’s voice jolted her out of her reverie. Dumpling
leaped up from her bed, barking furiously. She ran over to the door
and sniffed Whit then returned to the living room sofa, making
herself comfortable, before drifting off to sleep.

“
Oh my God! You scared me
to death!”

“
Sorry. But you had the
door open, and the aroma lured me in.”

“
I’m airing the place
out.”
He looks amazing, standing there,
filling the space.

“
I’d give a fortune to
have my apartment smell like this for even one day.” He walked in
and turned left toward the kitchen. His gaze flitted from counter
to counter, cabinet to cabinet. “This makes NASA look like
kindergarten. Is there any gadget you don’t have?”

She shook her head. “Only what I don’t need
for my work.”

He wandered through the large space, picking
up an odd utensil here, a tiny bowl there, looking them over and
clucking his tongue. “A man would have a tough time outfitting an
expensive kitchen like this for his wife. What does all this stuff
cost?” He looked at her.

“
I didn’t need a man to
buy this for me. I bought it myself. Over time. You accumulate
stuff. Kitchen tools don’t wear out. Besides, it’s tax deductible.
Most of it.”

“
Still, this kitchen is
worth a fortune.”

“
I don’t see how that’s
any of your business.” She straightened her shoulders. “Did you
come to criticize my spending habits? What are you doing here,
anyway?” She rested one hand on her hip.

“
Your door was open, and
the smell, divine. I thought maybe that meant you’d offer me a
taste of whatever it is you’re cooking up.”

“
Oh. In fact, I do need a
taster. But, are you experienced?” She cocked an eyebrow at
him.

Whit burst out laughing. “Honey, I’ve been
eating for thirty-five years.”

“
That’s not what I meant.
I need a professional taster. Not some schmuck who wants free food.
I need someone to tell me what the recipe needs, what’s too much or
too little.” She shifted her weight.

“
Oh, sorry.”

“
Hey, that’s okay. Lots of
people don’t consider what I do work. They think I’m fooling
around, for fun. Crap. This is work. And perfecting a recipe is not
something everyone can do.”

“
I apologize if I gave
that impression. You’re right. This is work. And you must be very
good at what you do to have your own TV show. I didn’t mean any
disrespect. I’ve never had anyone ask me that before. The way you
put it, guess I don’t have any.” He looked disappointed.

“
Hell, any port in a
storm. My taster, Ned, is home sick. I need someone to try these.
Someone besides me. After a few dishes of the same flavor,
sometimes my taste buds get confused.”

“
Maybe you need a fine
wine to cleanse your palate between tastes. I have just the ticket.
It’s my favorite Cabernet—”

“
That’s it! You’re a
genius.” Bess clapped her hands together, waking her pug, then
ripped open the door to her industrial-sized freezer and bent over,
pawing through frozen packages on the bottom shelf. She sensed
Whit’s eyes on her rear, but she didn’t care. She grabbed the icy
container and stood up. “Lemon sorbet!”

“
What?”

“
A light, fruity sorbet is
a perfect palate cleanser.”

“
How about my
wine?”

“
You can bring it, too,
but this sorbet is better.”

“
Be right back.” Whit
returned quickly with a fresh bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon. Bess
handed him a corkscrew, and he went to work. She poured the
thickened pudding into small, white ramekins and placed them
carefully on the rack by the window to cool.

“
Wine glasses?”

“
Third cabinet from the
left, top,” Bess answered as she handled the hot cups.

Whit opened several before he found them.
“I’m impressed with this kitchen. And it’s so well organized. I
don’t know many women who have perfect kitchens like this.”

“
Guess you don’t know many
women who cook,” she said, under her breath.

“
I heard that.”

“
This isn’t a kitchen for
family cooking. It’s my office. Think of it that way.”

Whit poured a glass and handed one to her.
“I can’t seem to say anything right, can I?”

“
Nope. But you’re gonna
get to taste the mocha magic dishes, anyway.”

“
Mocha magic? Is that what
you’re going to call these?”

“
Yeah. Kinda like the
sound of it.”

“
So do I. And so does my
stomach.”

He was standing near
enough for a spark to leap between them.
Static electricity. He’s here for your food. That’s
all.
He wore a white, button-down shirt,
sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and navy blue pants. She stared at
his forearms, the muscles lean and powerful, covered lightly with
dark hair. His hands were slightly square with long, tapering
fingers. He had no beer gut, and the scruff on his face was
perfect. A shiver shot up her spine.

Eyes that had been cool at
their first meeting were still a clear gray, almost translucent,
but now they stared at her with a heat she didn’t expect. His gaze
traveled slowly over her body, leaving the sensation of a caress
from a warm hand.
Does he have x-ray
vision? I feel naked.

He raised his glass. “To the queen of mocha
magic.”

Bess grinned and clinked hers with his
before taking a healthy sip. “This is excellent.”

He smiled. “I prefer the best.”

“
The best in wine, the
best in women…what else do you prefer the best in?”

“
Nothing I can discuss
with a lady present,” he snickered, turning Bess bright
red.