Seducing His Heart (16 page)

“
It was the lead story. I
couldn’t get Sam to quash it until tomorrow.”

“
So, that’s why Rory
came?”

“
I called her. She’s a
good friend. I wanted to be here when you found out.”

She cast a small smile at
him.
How sweet.
She touched his cheek. He held up the brandy, and she took
another dose. She began to relax. “Please, tell me
everything.”

Whit went through the details with her. Bess
cried several times. She finished her drink and lay down on the
sofa. He covered her with an afghan. Dumpling jumped up and curled
up at Bess’s feet. She was asleep in minutes.

* * * *

Whit walked the length of
Bess’s apartment several times, trying to figure out what to
do.
She’s so upset, she must still love
him. That’s good, right? Then, she won’t fall for me. We can go on
the way we are without her wanting to commit. How long can you love
a dead man? What am I thinking? This is awful for her. She needs
me. I need to do something. Think, think!

He plopped down on the
sofa. Homer joined Whit, sitting at his feet and giving out one
bark.
The dogs! That’s it.
Whit grabbed both leashes and picked up Dumpling,
who seemed glued to Bess’s leg. He headed for the elevator.
A nice, long walk. Perfect!

When he hit the street, he directed the pugs
to the park. The weather was cloudy and chilly, but not cold. The
brisk exercise warmed him up quickly. As he headed for the Great
Lawn, he thought about his life.

She’s so close to the
perfect woman. But if she’s still in love with Terry, there’s no
room for me. That’s fine. I’m leaving soon, anyway. Good thing. Get
away before I make another mistake. Bess is so tempting.
He thought about her luscious body and her soft
lips. His lips tingled as he remembered their last kiss.

The pull to spend all his spare time at her
apartment was strong. Whit could barely resist his desire to be
close to her, and when he smelled something delectable in the air,
his stomach forced him to ring her bell. She welcomed him. Although
Ned had recovered and resumed taster duties, Bess respected Whit’s
appraisals of her concoctions as well.

He liked feeling important
to the accomplished baker. He’d never been part of a woman’s
working life, except for the few times he’d screwed up and had an
affair with one of his producers.
Angie,
Beth…what disasters.
He’d quickly learned
to resist sleeping with women at the station, no matter how
attractive they were.

Everything about Bess was
new to him—her baking, her devotion to her dog, and her kindness.
He had sought her company, though they had talked about remaining
only friends. He chuckled.
That didn’t
last long.
Their chemistry had gotten in
the way. Resisting temptation had never been one of his strong
suits, especially when it came to women.

Why should he? It’s not like he treated his
women badly. He took them out to nice places, called when he said
he would, showed up on time, and offered genuine compliments with
his bouquets of roses. The fact that his heart was well guarded and
never available didn’t slow down the parade of women willing to
warm his bed.

He parked his butt on a bench while Homer
zeroed in on one tree that needed a thorough sniffing. Dumpling
jumped up to join him and curled around in a circle, pressing up
against Whit’s hip. She snorted once and shut her eyes. His hand
draped over her, caressing her soft fur.

Bess is
different
.
Is
that good? Maybe, maybe not.
Whit had been
careful to pursue young, serious, career women, who didn’t have
marriage and babies on their minds. Models were perfect. The only
compromise he’d made was in their body type. He’d always preferred
women with more meat on their bones. But if these women were safer,
he’d forego the pleasure of a bit more to love.

As he approached forty, he
realized his appeal to younger women was fading. But being a
well-known broadcaster kept him in demand. Life was good.
Great job. All the women I want. Terrific
apartment. Perfect dog. Perfect life. I’m the envy of most men my
age.
He told himself how lucky he was
every day when he looked in the mirror.

Then, why did he get so depressed at
holidays? Why did he linger while walking past a playground,
captivated by the joyous shrieks of small children? If he was so
happy, why did he have to convince himself of it?

Dumpling changed position.
Whit’s phone rang.
Jeff.
“Hey, how you doin’?” he asked his big
brother.

“
Great. It’s you I’m
worried about. Have you called that therapist, yet?”

“
Not exactly. I’ve been
pretty busy.”

Jeff ignored the answer. “You don’t have to
tell anyone you’re going.”

“
I hadn’t thought about
it. I have a pretty good life.”

“
Do you, Whit? You can’t
commit to a woman, and you stubbornly refuse to even consider
creating the family we never had. You call that happy?”

“
I’ve lived this long
without a traditional family. I’m used to it.”

“
What’s good about being
used to being alone?”

“
Absence of pain. Besides,
I tried it once. Gemma. Remember?”

“
Yeah, what a bad
choice.”

“
Thank you for your
support.” Whit frowned.

“
Maybe if you got some
therapy, you’d make a better choice and have what you
want.”

“
Thanks, Jeff. I’ll think
about it.”

“
That’s better than I
usually get from you.”

“
Anything to get you off
my back.”

“
Fine. Be an asshole. You
used to listen to me. Guess your job’s gone to your
head.”

“
Jeff, I—” But his brother
had hung up.

Is he right?
Whit had always relied on Jeff, the only steady,
positive influence in his life. Jeff was rarely wrong. He addressed
Dumpling. “Should I believe him? Call the doctor? Am I nuts,
Dumpling?”

The pug opened her eyes and gave him a cold
stare.

“
You’re no help,” Whit
said. A ding from his phone drew his attention.

Here’s the number. 212-752-2214

Dr. Richard Sumner. Call him. Now.

Whit chuckled and turned toward the dog
nestled next to him. “Okay, okay. He wins.”

He dialed. A machine answered. “This is
Whitfield Bass. My brother, Jeff Bass, referred me to you. I’d like
to set up an appointment.” Whit left his number then stowed his
cell in his back pocket and pushed to his feet. Dumpling whined.
Whit bent down, and she licked his face. “Nice to know you
approve.”

He picked up the leashes
and headed back to The Wellington. A small sense of relief flashed
through him for a moment, making him smile.
Maybe Jeff’s right.

“
Bess might be awake by
now and wondering where you are, Dumpling. Let’s go.”

The pugs trotted along,
leading the way.
They’re smart. They know
where we’re going.
Whit smiled and gave
his head a slight shake.
Dogs are
amazing.
He exchanged a greeting with
Crash as they made their way through the lobby on the way to the
elevator.

Once they were in Bess’ apartment, Dumpling
ran over to the sofa and jumped up. She licked Bess’ face until the
blonde was awake.

“
You’re up?”

“
Am now. Thanks,
Dumpling.” Bess rubbed her eyes and stretched her arms to the
ceiling.

“
We went to the park. How
are you feeling?” He sat on a chair next to the couch.

“
I’m a little
better.”

“
Feel like getting up?
Going to dinner?”

“
I don’t know if I could
face eating out…a restaurant.”

“
How about we order in?
Chinese?”

Bess looked groggy. Her natural sparkle and
energy had drained from her like air from a balloon. She moved in
slow motion, swinging her legs over the edge and pushing to her
feet. A stumble threatened to throw her to the ground, but Whit
caught her before she fell.

“
Guess my legs aren’t
quite ready.”

“
No worries.” He guided
her to the table. “Coffee?”

“
I’ll get it,” she said,
attempting to stand.

Whit gently pushed down on her shoulder.
“I’ll do it. Sit.”

She watched him handle her fancy machine. He
brought milk and poured two mugs. Bess sipped the hot brew and
slipped her hand over his fingers. He looked at her with a warm
smile.

“
Thank you so much for
being here.”

“
Of course. Where else
would I be? Now, what do you feel like eating?”

“
I’m not
hungry.”

“
How about…some egg drop
soup and a couple of dumplings.”

Dumpling barked at the mention of her name.
Bess and Whit chuckled. Homer woofed along. Bess laughed so hard,
she cried. Her body shook, and tears poured down her cheeks. Whit
opened his cell and placed their order.

“
I want to go to the
funeral. Do you know when and where it is?”

“
Not yet. I’m sure we’ll
be covering it. I can give you a lift in the van.”

“
Are you allowed to do
that?”

“
Why not? You can’t go
alone. You’re coming with me.”

“
Thanks.” She
smiled.

After dinner, Whit tucked
her into bed and cleaned up the kitchen. He walked the dogs again
then undressed and slipped in next to Bess.
If I leave my boxers on, maybe I can resist making love to
her. She needs to sleep.
He cuddled up
behind, spooning her. She moaned without waking up. He folded her
into his embrace and closed his eyes.

A couple of hours later,
he awoke with a start.
The funeral. Will
it be safe? Terry was murdered. Is Bess safe? If this was a hit,
will she be next?

Chapter Nine

The van stopped adjacent to the path to
Officer McNeil’s grave to let Bess out first. Whit followed. They
walked up the grass toward the mound of dirt next to the casket.
The funeral had been closed, but the family had opened the burial
to friends and the press. Bess wore a midnight blue, shimmery silk
dress. She covered it with an elegant, lightweight, cream-colored,
wool coat. Even a heavy layer of makeup didn’t disguise the pale
cast to her skin. Her eyes were slightly swollen and her nose pink,
which she discovered when she looked in her pocket mirror.

Whit wore a black suit and
dark gold tie.
He looks gorgeous, even
dressed for a burial.
She wanted to hold
his hand, but knew it was inappropriate.
He’s working. I should keep my distance. Don’t embarrass him.
Be professional. No one knows about Terry and me. Be quiet. Blend
in.

She followed her own advice and trudged up
the hill to where some men in uniform stood next to Terry’s family
and friends. A woman with a tear-streaked face, who looked like she
hadn’t slept in days, approached.

Whit stepped forward, introduced himself and
shook her hand. “Mrs. McNeil?”

“
Mona,” the woman
replied.

“
I’m so sorry for your
loss,” Whit said.

Bess looked for an empty chair. Before she
could become part of the crowd, Mona picked her out. She stepped
forward. “I’m Mona, Terry’s wife. Who are you?” No hand was
offered. Instead, Mona rested her fists on her hips.

Bess felt the color drain from her face.
“Bess Cooper. You’re his wife? I thought he was divorced.”

“
Almost divorced.
Separated. You his girlfriend?” The question in her eyes hardened
into hostility, making Bess’s blood run cold.

“
We were
friends.”

“
Yeah? I’ll bet. Friends
with benefits?” Mona narrowed her eyes. Her gaze swept over Bess,
making her feel naked.

She pulled her coat tighter around her.
“Only friends.”

“
You never slept with
Terry?” Mona arched an eyebrow.

Bess shook her head, avoiding Whit’s
gaze.

Mona’s mouth set into a firm line. “I’ll
bet. Figured he’d end up with someone like you,” she muttered.

“
Would you mind if I asked
you a few questions?” Whit said, leading Mona away from Bess, who
searched for a seat and sank into it heavily.

Married? He said he was
divorced. Was he lying? Guess so. Almost divorced? Is that where he
was on Saturday nights?
She shuddered at
the thought that he’d been lying to her all along.
Couldn’t be. Even she said they were almost
divorced. Isn’t that the same thing?

The cameraman and soundman followed Whit.
She couldn’t hear the questions and answers, so she turned her
attention to the crowd. There were at least thirty people, most in
blue police uniforms. A few came up to her and asked her how she
knew Terry, and she gave them the line about being friends.

“
Glass of water, miss?” An
officer handed Bess a paper cup along with a warm smile.