Seducing His Heart Page 17

  “Three years is nothing. You’ve got a good thing going there. Making a ton of dough.”

  “So? I want something different.”

  “We’ll see.” Pick raised his glass. “Here’s to…uh…happiness.”

  “Okay. Happiness.” They clinked glasses and drank. “How’s Annie?”

  “Good. Pregnant.”

  “Again?”

  “We’ve only got one, Whit.”

  “Congratulations.”

  “You should try it.”

  “Marriage? Kids? Me?” He laughed. “Got the wrong guy.”

  Two drinks became four. Whit and Pick rehashed college days. Whit signed the contract and stumbled into a taxi at midnight.

  Bess must be asleep by now. Whit fumbled with the lock on his front door. The pugs began to bark. Damn! They’ll wake her up. Shit. Open up, you fucking door. Tempted to kick it, he got it open before he lost even more of his temper. She’s up by now. And I’m drunk. Shit. Not good.

  When he entered, she raised a rolling pin to strike, but he hollered, “Bess! It’s me!”

  She blinked, rubbed her eyes, and put the wooden weapon on the counter. The dogs jumped on him, trying to lick his face. Whit slid down to the floor and giggled like a schoolboy when the dogs attacked him with affection.

  “Drunk?” Bess asked, hand on her hip.

  “Had a few with an old friend.”

  “I see. It’s after midnight. Pardon me if I go back to bed.”

  “Don’t go without me.” He pushed up and teetered after her. Her diaphanous robe barely concealed her form. He eyed her with lust. Drunk and horny. He snickered.

  “What’s funny?”

  “Men are supposed to be impotent when they’re drunk. Not me. I could do you all night.”

  “That so?”

  “Yeah. Come here.” He reached for her.

  “You reek.” She moved away.

  Whit went into the bathroom. He splashed cold water on his face, brushed his teeth, and used mouthwash. More sober, he entered the bedroom, yanking his tie loose. “Let me try again.” He draped the silk length over a chair and unbuttoned his shirt. “You are the most beautiful woman on Earth.” He unbuckled his pants and folded them up. Within a minute, he was naked, crawling up the bed toward Bess.

  She sat up and giggled. “You look like a lion.”

  “I am a lion, coming for his mate.” When he reached her, he cupped the back of her head and drew her to him. “I need you,” he whispered.

  “I’m here.”

  He eased her back and covered her mouth with his, gently seducing her. “Beautiful Bess,” he muttered into her mouth. His hands pushed the sheet back, putting them skin to skin. He kissed his way to her neck then down. Bess ran her hands over his back then up his chest.

  “Ummm, love your body,” she whispered.

  “Love you, honey,” he said, running his hands up to her breasts. He closed his fingers over the warm flesh. “Perfect,” he said.

  He raised his head to gaze into her eyes, where love shone through. Love and desire. It set him off. Lust flew through his veins. “Oh, baby, baby, baby,” he said, sliding his hands up and down her body then between her legs. She was wet. He couldn’t remember when he’d been as hard. Whit couldn’t wait. He parted her legs, mounted her, and thrust. She gasped and arched.

  A sober thought penetrated his brain. Did I hurt her? He stared into her eyes. “Are you all right?”

  “God, yes. Don’t stop.”

  He let go, withdrew, and plunged in again and again. He slammed into her, harder and harder, wanting to own her, to possess her, body and soul. She belongs to me. “Mine,” he repeated, over and over, in rhythm with the movement of his hips. He kissed her roughly, tore at her lips. His hands gripped her arms and squeezed tight.

  “Ow, let go,” she said, squirming under his grasp.

  “Sorry, sorry.” Take her, make love to her, but don’t hurt her, you moron. He uncurled his fingers and rubbed her arms.

  “I’m okay.” Her mouth was dark pink, inviting him. He kissed her, his tongue seeking hers. She raised it to meet him. As he increased the pace, Bess began to move with him, her hips undulating with each thrust.

  She cried out his name, making her heat surrounding him hotter and wetter. Whit lost all control as an orgasm claimed him, sending pleasure shooting through his veins. He buried his face in her neck as the hard tips of her breasts pushed into his chest.

  “Oh, God,” he said, spent and exhausted.

  “Holy crap. You were…an animal.”

  Whit lifted his head. “Are you okay? Was it too much?”

  “It was incredible. It’s like you were unconscious or something. On automatic pilot.”

  “A lion…”

  “Yeah. Except for the roaring and biting me on the back of the neck, yeah. You were.”

  Whit gave a poor imitation of a lion’s roar. Startled, the pugs began to bark. Homer had been in the living room. He ran in and jumped up on the bed.

  Bess was warm and soft beneath Whit, and he didn’t want to move. “Homer, get down!” But the pug forged ahead, licking Whit’s face and shoulder. Bess laughed when Dumpling put her cold, wet nose between their bellies. Whit jumped.

  “No privacy,” he muttered, moving back on his haunches. His hot stare covered her body. “I could look at you all night.”

  After a quick wash-up, they cuddled together under the covers. Bess backed into his embrace. Whit folded his arms around her.

  “I love you, too,” she said.

  His eyelids drooped. “Hmm?”

  “Answering you.”

  “What?” He jerked to attention.

  “You told me you loved me, so I thought I’d respond.”

  “I didn’t say that.” Never tell them you love them. Whit’s rule number one.

  “But you did. Are you denying it?” She moved away and rolled over to face him.

  “I couldn’t have. I never…never say the ‘L’ word.”

  “You did tonight. To me. I heard it perfectly.”

  Silence followed. Could I? Do I? Bess is so different. But the “L” word?

  “It’s okay if you want to deny it. I get it.” She curled up alone at the far end of the bed. He heard the hurt in her voice.

  Her separation affected him physically and emotionally. The cool air chilling his skin in her absence doubled the effect. Do I love Bess? Maybe I do. Shit. How did that happen? But it feels good. Feels damn good.

  He inched nearer to her. “I didn’t mean that.”

  “Yes, you did. You meant to take it back or call me a liar.” She kept her back to him.

  He got closer. “I’d never call you a liar. It’s just…” He hesitated.

  Bess faced him. “Just what? You said it only to manipulate me? Only to make me think you cared?”

  “You’re twisting my words. If I said it to you, I meant it. I haven’t said that to anyone in a long time. Since I bought the house.”

  “So, you do love me?” She rested her hand on his cheek.

  He kissed her palm. “I did. I do.”

  “You love me?”

  He nodded as he stroked her hair.

  “Then say it.”

  His heart squeezed, and his chest tightened. “I love you, Bess. I love you very much.” He brushed his lips over hers. Relief surged through him. A door in his heart opened.

  She snuggled up to him. “Now, tell me about the house.”

  “It’s late, can’t it wait until morning?” He pulled her close and rested his hand on her breast.

  “Give me the short version. It’s been bugging me. What does a man who has sworn off marriage and kids want a house for? And why does he keep it, practically empty, for years, paying for upkeep? Why didn’t he sell it?”

  “That’s a good question. I’ll give you the answer for it when I figure it out.”

  “Not a clue?”

  “It all began with a woman named Gemma…”

  “Do I
want to hear this?”

  “You asked.” He chuckled. “How about the short version?”

  “Fine.”

  Whit pulled the covers over their shoulders against the nippy air, planted two kisses on her neck, cuddled her into his embrace, and began the tale.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “I love surprises,” Bess said, strolling down Central Park West, holding Whit’s hand.

  “This is…well, you’ll see.” He smiled at her, excited anticipation rushing through his veins. Wait until she sees that contract. Eagle Broadcasting is much bigger than her old cable network. More money. More respect. She’ll be great, too. I bet she pushes the ratings through the roof. Pride in Bess swelled his chest. He beamed at her, and she shot him a quizzical look.

  “You’re awfully…full of yourself this morning. I expected you to be a bit hung over.”

  “Not one iota. I’m fine. And can’t wait to see the look on your face.” He chuckled.

  He began humming the tune “Gone Gone Gone” by Philip Phillips as they rode up the elevator in his building. With a tight grip on her hand, he wove his way through the chaos in the studio. People yelling with ears to cell phones, producers arguing with on-air people…another typical day at Eagle. He noticed Sam narrow her eyes as he strolled by.

  He walked into his office, and there it was on his desk. The contract. He maneuvered Bess around, pulled out his chair, and gestured for her to sit down. Then, he picked up the papers. “This is for you.”

  She took it and held it close to read. “What the hell? This is a contract.”

  “That’s right. For a new show. In The Bakery with Bess.”

  “For me?” She raised her eyebrows.

  “Right.”

  “How? Where? How did you get this for me?”

  “Your reputation as a top chef and baker in New York…”

  “Bullshit. Come on. Fess up.”

  “Okay. I traded the information in that notebook from Terry for a contract for you.”

  She rose out of the chair. “You what?”

  “Sit down. Relax. This kind of thing is done all the time. I’m sure Terry’d approve.”

  “What exactly did you do?”

  “I offered to give her the exclusive on this story before I take the info to the cops in exchange.”

  “But they don’t want me here.”

  “When I pointed out what publicity you’d generate after all that scandal, her beady little eyes lit up. She’s going to blast you all over the air. You’ll be a big success here, Bess. You were too big for that rinky-dink network, anyway.”

  “So, you want me in the big-time?”

  “Damn right. It’s where you belong, baby. Nobody cooks like you.”

  Her eyes filled with tears.

  “More money, too, right?” he asked.

  “A ton more,” she said.

  “Good. Eagle can afford it. You’ll attract all the big, packaged goods companies. There’ll be plenty of revenue.”

  “You did all this for me?”

  “I’m responsible for you losing your job. I had to do something to make it right.”

  “So, this is payback?”

  His eyes widened. “I wanted to help. You make it sound bad.”

  She pushed to her feet, cozied up to him, and kissed him. “It’s the sweetest thing. But it’s blackmail, isn’t it?’

  “I prefer to think of it as deal-making. Happens all the time in this business. Quid pro quo. An exchange of goods or services.”

  “Is it real?”

  “Of course. As soon as you sign the contract, I’ll give her the notebook.” He glanced up to see Sam lurking outside his door.

  Bess fished a pen out of her purse and signed on the dotted line. She put one copy in her handbag and handed the other to Whit. He delivered it to Sam, who was waiting in the doorway.

  “Gimme,” she said, gesturing.

  Whit pulled the notebook out of his breast pocket. “I’ve contacted the police chief. He’s waiting for this. It’s gotta go on tonight.”

  “Why?”

  “So the men looking for it know Bess doesn’t have it anymore. Or she’s in danger.”

  “Deal. Take a crew,” Sam said. She started to walk away then turned and raised her hand to wave at Bess. “Welcome to the station. Be in my office tomorrow, eight sharp. We’ll meet with your producer. Bring ideas for four shows.” She disappeared into the hallway.

  “That’s Sam. Nothing pretentious or phony about her. Right down to business.”

  Sam poked her head in again. “By the way, no sex in the office, you two.”

  Whit laughed while Bess blushed. She stood up.

  “I’ve got a ton of work to do. Prepare for tomorrow. I don’t know how I can thank you.”

  “Forget it. It’s the least I could do.”

  She kissed him and headed out. Whit followed. He entered Sam’s domain and closed the door.

  “Closed door? Must be something big. What could be bigger than this scandal in the police department?”

  “Me.”

  “You?”

  Whit sat on the chair across from her. “I’m quitting.”

  Sam bolted out of her seat. “What?”

  “Yep. I’m taking a newspaper job in Asia.” He pulled the folded copy of his resignation from his breast pocket.

  “You can’t quit.” A smug look washed across her face. “I’ve got your contract.”

  “I can. Read the fine print. Two weeks’ notice.”

  “I don’t believe it.” Sitting, Sam scrolled through documents on her computer. “Here it is.”

  “Read it, Sam.”

  He watched her study the screen, her expression changing to one of disbelief.

  “Who the fuck ever agreed to this?” She pushed to her feet.

  “You did.”

  “Thanks a pant-load for pointing that out.”

  “I’m sorry. I love it here, but this is a special opportunity.”

  “To go to Asia? Hell, eat at the Chinese restaurant every day, same thing.” She paced.

  Whit laughed.

  “This is your story. It’s big. Pulitzer stuff. You can’t leave now.”

  “I’ll be here for two weeks. I can still work on it.”

  “Come on. You’ve got a following. Our ratings’ll be in the toilet if you leave.”

  “This is something I’ve got to do.”

  Her face brightened. “Hey! How about this? You take a hiatus—get this newspaper shit out of your system then come back. Say we give you two months? Three?”

  Whit was silent. Would I want to come back? What if I hate it there?

  Her smug look returned and she sat. “Gotcha, didn’t I?”

  “I didn’t expect this…especially from you.”

  “Don’t think I’ve gone all sentimental. You bring in ratings. Those sexy eyes and that haircut. You could be reading the phonebook and women would watch.”

  “Thanks for your vote of confidence in my journalism skills.”

  “You know me. No bullshit. Yeah, we need you. You’ll be back.” She tilted back in her chair, a satisfied smile plastered across her face. “Don’t sublet your apartment.”

  “Two months?’

  Pressing her advantage, Sam shot up, leaning forward. “Yeah. A case of Chivas says you’ll be back in two months.”

  “Chivas Regal?”

  “Yep.” She nodded.

  “You’re on.”

  He stood. “I’ve got to get to the police station.”

  Sam handed him the notebook. “Here. Chrissy made a copy.”

  As he opened the front door, he heard Sam’s shrill voice scream for her assistant. “Chrissy! Chrissy! Get Montgomery on the phone.” He smiled, shook his head, and headed for the elevator.

  Sam poked her head out. “Take Barry and Alan with you.”

  “Those assholes,” Whit muttered.

  “Yeah. Go.”

  Thought she’d toss me out like old shoes.
At least I can get a case of scotch out of it. He hit the sidewalk. Barry and Alan were waiting in the van. The motor was running. They were quiet on the ride downtown, giving Whit a chance to think.

  Everything’s a go. Two more hurdles. Telling Bess and Dr. Sumner. His face clouded. Telling Bess wasn’t going to be easy. Of course, he’d gotten her a great job, and he’d leave the house in her hands. Perfect place for weekends away from the city. She knew that I don’t commit. Should be fine. Something else troubled him. She’ll have the freedom to find a man who will. His brow furrowed. Shit!

  * * * *

  Bess practically ran home. She called Ned then texted the Dinner Club for an emergency celebration at her place. With a mug of fresh coffee, she sat down and opened her idea folder. She plucked out favorites then made a list of possible recipes to go with each one. After polishing off a scone, she dug into her recipe box and consulted some cookbooks.

  Ned stopped by on his lunch hour.

  “I can’t believe you’re taking the show to Eagle. What a coup.”

  “Don’t tell anyone. Wait until the show airs.”

  “Feeling insecure?”

  “You never know.”

  “Okay. No leaks here. Can you hire me?”

  “I’m going to ask tomorrow.”

  “I can’t wait to get out of that rat trap. That Jenny is such a bitch!”

  “Hang in there. I’ll see what I can do. In the meantime, tell me what you think of these meal and dessert ideas.”

  Bess laid out cards and pictures. When he left, Bess had four show concepts that she hoped would please Sam.

  She leashed the pugs and headed for the park. As a precaution, she donned a down jacket and decided on a short walk. The biting wind whipping up Central Park West confirmed her choices. Dumpling and Homer turned their faces away and followed along.

  Excitement bubbled up in her veins. A show on a major network and the love of her life by her side. I am in love with him, right? Should I be? No. She hadn’t finished decorating the stone house, but was sure Whit wanted her to continue. As her work on the place progressed, her affection for it grew. Every new piece of furniture made it seem like hers. I’ve always wanted my own home. This isn’t mine, but it feels like it. Maybe that’ll have to do.