Seducing His Heart Read online

  “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.

  “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.

  She took more of her drink then fished a handful of forks out of the drawer. She handed one to Whit. “Let’s get started,” she said. He followed her to the cake. She uncovered a small bowl and spread chocolate frosting over half. “We taste with and without frosting.”