Seducing His Heart Read online

  “Wonderful! Yes. That’d be great. By seven o’clock, I’ll be elbow deep in fruit mush and frustrated as hell.”

  “I can take care of that before dinner,” he snickered.

  Bess slapped him playfully on the shoulder, making Dumpling bark. Of course, Homer followed. “Let’s get these noisemakers home,” Whit said. They turned and led the dogs back to the building. Crash raised his eyebrows in a meaningful look at Bess, making color heat her cheeks.

  Whit took her hand in the elevator. He’s making a big play for me. Does he mean it? What do I do? Go with it. Pick up the pieces later? Bess chewed her lip. Homer ran into her apartment after Dumpling. Both dogs sat for a treat. Dumpling seemed to warm up to Homer a bit, as she let him follow her into the bedroom.

  Bess checked her watch and yawned. “Bedtime.”

  “My favorite word,” he said, grinning.

  Bess held out her hand, and he joined her. They undressed quickly and slipped between the fine, cotton sheets.

  Whit pushed up on his elbow. “Do you prefer to be in your own space, or—”

  “I prefer ‘or’,” she said, putting her hand over his mouth, cutting him off.

  Whit lay back and opened his arms. Bess snuggled up to him and turned on her side. He spooned her, resting his arm over her waist. His fingers closed around her breast.

  “Do you mind if I do that?”

  “Stop asking questions. Don’t you sleep with a ton of women? Don’t you get the drill?”

  “Sleep with doesn’t mean sleeping.”

  She faced him. “You don’t spend the night?”

  “Not usually.”

  “Oh, no commitment. Right.” She nodded. “And now?”

  “Like I said before. You’re different.”

  If it’s a line, it’s a damn good one, because it’s working. Bess resumed her position on her side. Whit wrapped himself around her. Peace washed over her, keeping her smile broad. It feels good to have him next to me.

  “You smell good,” he whispered, planting a kiss on her neck. Bess reached over and turned out the light. Dumpling took her cue and climbed the stairs at the end of the bed. Homer followed. The two pugs found space at the bottom of the empty side. They curled up and were snoring almost immediately. How can I feel so safe with the world’s most unsafe man?

  She shifted, and he moved with her. Her eyelids drooped closed, and sleep took her away.

  * * * *

  Whit picked up the phone on Saturday afternoon. It was his brother, Jeff.

  “What’s up?”

  “Checking in,” Jeff said. Whit sat back on his couch and sucked down some beer. “What’s new, little bro?”

  “Met a new girl.”

  “Oh?”

  Whit smiled. He could practically hear Jeff’s eyebrows rise.

  “Yeah. She’s a neighbor.”

  “Uh oh. Too close for comfort. How’re you gonna ditch this one if she gets needy?”

  Whit swallowed. This was something he hadn’t considered. “Don’t know. She’s not gonna get needy. We have an understanding.”

  “I thought you knew women.”

  “I do.”

  “They all agree until you’ve been dating for a couple months. Then, they get needy, very needy, and that dreaded ‘m’ word surfaces.” Jeff chuckled.

  “Gimme a break. Bess knows I’m not into marriage.”

  “And she’s okay with that?”

  “Well…sort of.” Whit sat forward.

  “Exactly! She isn’t, and you’re in denial…a place you seem to live these days.”

  “Did you call to lecture me?”

  “Actually, I called to see if you got in touch with that shrink I gave you.”

  “I don’t need a shrink.”

  Mirthless laughter followed. “If ever there was a guy who needed a shrink, it’s you.”

  “So, you think I’m crazy?”

  “No. I think you need a little help. Hell, Whit. No one comes out of a family like ours whole. Dysfunctional? We wrote the book.”

  “Does that include you?”

  “I was eleven when Mom left. It wasn’t as traumatic for me as for you…and Robbie and Mal. Besides, I’ve been.”

  “So you said. But you’ve never elaborated. Besides, I thought Janice was your shrink.”

  “You don’t tell people what you talk about in therapy. Only with your shrink. Janice came along at the right time. I’d just gotten over my marriage phobia. She was patient and understanding. But without the shrink, that wouldn’t have been enough.”

  “Real men don’t need shrinks.”

  “Real men who are smart admit when they do and go.”

  Whit snorted. “You never give up, do you?”

  “You’re thirty-five, Whit. There’s still hope for you. I’m happy. Happier than I thought I could ever be. I have the family I’ve always wanted. I know you want the same. I want you to have it too. This is the only way, buddy.”

  “When and if I decide to have a family, I’ll have one.”

  “Have to get married first.”

  “So, I will.”

  “I want to hear you say you’ll get married. Use the ‘m’ word.”

  “What’s it to you, anyway?”

  “See? You’re avoiding the issue. You know I’m right. You know you want what we didn’t have. You want it so bad, you can taste it. You almost had it, once. Without help, you don’t stand a chance.”

  Whit sat back and took a long drink.

  “Whit? Whit?”

  “I’m here. Thinking.”

  “Oh. Okay. You scared me. I’m only hounding you like this because I love you. You’re like my kid. Hell, I raised you at least as much as Dad did, maybe more.”

  “I know, Jeff. I trust you. It’s that…”

  “What? You’re scared? No one’s going to hurt you in therapy. Go. Trust me. It’ll change your life. Tell me you’ll consider it.”

  “I’ll think about it. How’s Dad?”

  “Fading. A little more each day.”

  “The kids?”

  “They’re great.” Whit could hear his brother’s smile over the phone. “You’d be a great father, Whit.”

  “Hey, I am a father. At least, a foster father. I’m taking care of a homeless pug.”

  “Great! A step in the right direction.”

  “He’s wonderful…funny. Great dog.”

  “How’s the job?”

  “Fine. Pick called. In a couple of weeks, I’ll be going to Asia to write for his paper.”

  “Does your new girlfriend know this?”

  “I haven’t said anything. It’s a little early. Only had our first night together.”

  “Better tell her.”

  “I will. I will.”

  “Gotta go. Soccer games.”

  “Give my love to Janice. You were lucky to find her.”

  “Damn straight. Take care of yourself. Call Dr. Sumner.”

  “Thanks for the advice, Jeff.”

  “Love you, buddy.”

  “Love you, too.”

  Whit put his cell down and pushed to his feet. He stood by the window, staring at the city, building after building of steel, cement, brick, and stone all laid out before him. A chill shot through him for a second. So many people in this city, and I know so few. Do they all have connections? What about me? Do I want a family, like Jeff says?

  If I did want a family, Bess would be the type of woman I’d want to marry. I’m leaving soon. By then, I’ll know. And if she doesn’t work out, like everyone else, I’ll go to Asia and start a new chapter in my life. Sounds like a plan.

  His phone dinged. There was a message.

  Special tasting in five. U bring wine.

  It was from Bess. He grinned. Homer woofed.

  “Okay, boy. Yeah. Time to visit your girlfriend and mine.” He picked up a bottle of Bess’s favorite Cabernet and plucked a bouquet of pink roses he’d been saving out of the vase. He wrapped the wet stems in a paper towe
l and strode across the hall. Don’t know what will be. But for now, I’m happy. A natural smile spread across his face as he pushed the doorbell, and Homer barked his arrival.

  When the door opened, Whit almost dropped the wine. The flowers did hit the floor.

  Bess stood in the doorway, wearing only an apron. “Come in, come in. The tasting is about to begin.”

  Chapter Eight

  “What the fuck is going on with you?” Sam asked Whit.

  He sat, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, pen in hand, by the main computer, marking up copy. “What do you mean? Nothing.”

  “You’re smiling all the time. You’ve stopped being nasty to me. What the hell?”

  He chuckled. “Nothing’s up, Sam. I’ve stopped hating you, is all.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Think I liked it better when you did. Don’t know this new guy. Not sure I trust him.”

  “Remember your motto—never trust anyone. Everyone lies.”

  “Quoting me to me? That’s more like the Whit I know and hate.” She smiled for a second. “Get your copy done, and get your ass in makeup.”

  “I’m going. Haven’t missed a newscast yet.”

  “There’s always a first time,” she mumbled.

  Whit sat in the chair as the makeup artist did her best to make his shaved face look completely beardless. As she worked, his mind replayed his steamy night with Bess. His fingertips tingled at the recollection of touching her. He could swear he smelled a touch of lilac in the air. She satisfied him in bed like no other woman ever had. Soft, responsive, full figured. He loved having something to hold onto.

  Afterward, they had indulged in the most delicious chocolate torte he’d ever eaten. And a glass of Bailey’s Irish Cream topped it off.

  Whit had to admit he was sleeping better. Nights with Bess relaxed him. He’d even become accustomed to Dumpling and Homer snoozing at his feet. Their snoring, annoying at first, was now soothing. Three weeks had passed since he had first bedded her, and he applauded himself every day on his good taste and having the balls to make a move on the luscious woman across the hall.

  The minute he walked into her apartment, the aroma of something wonderful in the kitchen made him salivate and brought him peace at the same time. It reminded him of the smells from playmates’ houses.

  When he was nine, his best friend, Mike, had the nicest family in town. Whit had hung out over there as much as he could. They had taken pity on him and invited him to dinner often. The fragrance of tasty food cooking coupled with the sound of a mom’s sweet voice had made him feel part of a normal family, even if only for a few hours.

  Days when he would return home to face a meal of lukewarm, canned ravioli and frozen green beans thrown together by his clueless father or big brother, the reality of his situation slapped him in the face. He’d disappear into his room afterward, lie on his bed, and dream that he was Mike’s long lost brother. He’d picture moving in, sharing a room with Mike, and being cared for by his doting mother.

  This had been his favorite fantasy, and it had soothed him to sleep more nights than he cared to remember.

  Bess’s place had the same homey feel, and even more mouth-watering scents emanating from the kitchen. Her easy, unassuming ways made him comfortable. He’d moved a toothbrush and razor into her bathroom. He uncorked the wine, cleared the table, and helped with the clean-up—a task he had loathed as a child, but didn’t mind now.

  Whit was too smart to take her warmth and generosity for granted. He took her out to tony restaurants at least once a week, brought flowers, always brought wine, and complimented her on the dishes he enjoyed. He liked almost everything she made, so it was easy. He chuckled, remembering the one time she had struck out. “No one can make lima beans taste good,” he said.

  The makeup lady looked at him. “Excuse me?”

  “Nothing,” he said waving his hand. Within these few weeks, Whit found himself at her place more than his own. He and Homer had a standing invitation, though Whit always called before showing up.

  As a kid, he had developed good social skills. He had figured out that being anything but totally polite was sure to dry up dinner invitations quickly. The meaning of the word gratitude was something he had learned early. His reward had been the warm welcome he had received from parents’ of friends.

  “Whit, how nice to see you. You’re always welcome at our house.”

  “Daniel, why can’t you be more well-mannered like your friend, Whit?”

  As a boy, he had assumed that no one knew how bad things were in his house. Thought he’d covered it up well. Truth was, everyone had known, especially the parents. They had taken pity on him. His excellent behavior had only made it easier for them to do “the right thing” and invite one of those “poor Bass boys” to their house for a decent meal.

  When he was fourteen and a star on the junior high football team, he had overheard parents of his friends at the game. He had bent down at the water fountain and gotten more than expected when he overheard a conversation.

  “Isn’t it amazing Whitfield Bass isn’t a criminal? Growing up without a proper home. Look at him, quarterback of our team.”

  “It’s a miracle he got so big. We’d have him to dinner couple times a week so he could get a square meal. Poor boy with no mama to look after him.”

  “Oh, his dad did the best he could. But traveling all the time…it’s a wonder they ate anything at all.”

  Whit’s face had flamed. The desire to throw their words in their faces warred with the wish to simply slink away. Not their fault I had no family. Couldn’t be mad at them. Sure appreciated those meals. Whit had done neither. He had stood up and wiped water off his lips with the back of his hand.

  When Mike’s mother had spotted him, she had gasped and drew her hand to her mouth. Whit had smiled at her. “Nice to see you, Mrs. Brown. Thanks for coming to the game,” he had said and loped back out onto the field.

  There were no childhood illusions left. No rose-colored memories of his family. He had been a realist from that day on. Whit had known he’d have to take care of himself without the help of others if he didn’t ever want to hear a repeat of that conversation. So, he had manned up. By then, Jeff had already married and moved to Baltimore. Whit and his brother, Robbie, were still at home.

  Jeff had invited him to visit whenever the boy could scrape together the train fare. Jeff had become as important to Whit as their father, and far more accessible. But he had a wife and his own little family. Whit hadn’t intruded often, but holidays were hard to resist. One Thanksgiving, at sixteen, he had told Robbie off and deserted his father for Jeff’s house.

  He had ridden the crowded train, his nerves raw from the emotional battle at home. He had been embarrassed, barging in on Jeff’s cozy life. But when he had arrived, they had been waiting on the platform—Jeff, Janice, her parents, and her sister carrying a sign. It had read “Welcome, Whit.” At the time, he had burst into tears. Even now when he recalled the scene, his eyes misted.

  When the makeup was finished, he pushed to his feet, tore off the bib, and rolled down his sleeves. He smiled, thanked the artist, and returned to his desk.

  Sam rushed over. “This just in. Undercover cop killed in car bombing,” she said, thrusting papers into his hands. “It’s our lead.”

  “Who is it?” His pulse kicked up. Couldn’t be.

  “I dunno? It’s in there, somewhere. Mc somebody. You’ve got twenty minutes. Get familiar with this.”

  “Not McNeil?”

  “Yeah! That’s it. You know him?”

  “Terrance McNeil?”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  Whit sank down into his chair, only half listening to his producer.

  “You’re the perfect person to do this lead, since you knew him. Make it poignant, Whit.”

  “You can’t…you can’t run this. Not yet. I’ve got to…talk to someone…call someone…”

  “Bullshit! Whad’ar you crazy? We haven’t had a juicy l
ead like this in weeks. Of course, we’re going with it. Make it good, pretty boy.”

  Bess! For a moment, Whit didn’t know what to do. Bess always watched his broadcast. She turned it on while she was cooking. Then, he opened his cell and dialed.

  “Rory! Whit. Get over to Bess’ now. Right away. Yeah. Don’t let her watch the news. Please. Whatever you do, distract her. But don’t let her watch the news. A story. I’ll tell her later, in person. Of course, it’s bad! Please, please.” He closed the phone. Rory’s on her way.

  Whit began to sweat. The hour grew nearer. He took his seat.

  The makeup lady showed up with powder and puff. “What the hell? You’re drenched. Who turned up the heat in here?”

  * * * *

  Crash buzzed then let Rory and her pug, Baxter, into the building.

  “Bess, grab Dumpling, and let’s go for a walk.”

  “News is coming on in a few. Can you wait a half hour?”

  “Baxter needs to go.” Homer greeted Rory and sniffed Baxter.

  “I’ve got Homer, too.”

  “Whit leaves him here with you every day?”

  “Not every day. Most days. Dumpling has grown used to him. They still don’t eat together, but otherwise, it’s peaceful.”

  “Come on, let’s go.” Rory tossed the two harnesses to Bess.

  “But Whit. He knows I’m watching. Always asks me for a critique…”

  “Tell him you got waylaid this time.” Rory tugged on Bess’ sleeve.

  “I’ll record it.”

  “No!” Rory screamed.

  Bess jumped. “Okay. What’s that about?”

  “I’m afraid Baxter is gonna pee on your floor. Come on.”

  Bess leashed the dogs and joined her friend. They walked in the park and talked. Rory seems nervous. “Everything okay with you and Hack?”

  “Great. Why do you ask?”

  “You’re usually so relaxed, but tonight, you’re edgy.”

  “Oh, yeah. Right. Got some bad news about a friend.”

  “Want to talk about it?”

  “What are your plans for Thanksgiving?”