Rescue My Heart (3 page)

The women laughed.

“
He did comment about sex
and apple pie. I fed him the chicken, and he loved it.” She took a
drink.

“
Well? Come on, we’re
waiting,” Rory said. All eyes were on Bess.

“
Did you sleep with him?”
Miranda asked then slapped her hand over her mouth. The women
giggled. “Sorry, that just slipped out.”

“
Not yet.”

“
Not yet, but you’re going
to?”

“
Maybe. He asked me out
for Friday. We’re going to a club he likes.”

“
Dancing, drinking,
and…sex to follow?” Brooke asked.

“
Maybe.” Bess
blushed.

“
Did he kiss you?” Rory
asked, resting her chin on her hands.

“
We made out right before
the pie. I put on music. He waltzed me around the living room. God,
he smelled so good, and his body is so…so…hard, sexy. You know.”
The women nodded while Bess turned several shades
redder.

“
He’s a good kisser. He’s
funny, too.”

“
What are you going to
wear on Friday?” Rory asked. The women picked up their wine glasses
and moved the party to Bess’s bedroom. They tore her closet apart,
putting together the right outfit, while six pugs snoozed, cuddled
up together on the bed.

At nine o’clock, the women stood up.
“I have dogs to walk tomorrow,” Miranda said, stifling a
yawn.

“
You walk dogs, too?” Rory
asked.

“
And I write
plays.”

“
I write
mysteries!”

The two women laughed. They trained
their gazes on Brooke.

“
Okay, Brooke, what do you
do? And it better not be walking dogs.”

“
I’m an advertising agency
account executive with Gibbon and Walters.”

“
That’s a big
firm.”

“
It’s a great
job.”

“
You all pumped me about
my new guy, what about you?” Bess asked.

“
I’m
dating a Wall Street guy, Bruce. He’s hot,” Rory said.
He’s coming over at ten. Can’t
wait.

“
How hot?” Bess narrowed
her eyes.

“
Smokin’!”

“
I’m dating my boss,
Lloyd. He’s tall, dark, and sexy as hell.”

“
Do you do it in the
office?” Rory asked.

“
We did—once. Don’t want
to get caught by the president. They frown on that
stuff.”

“
Do you worry he’ll fire
you if you have a fight?” Bess asked.

“
He needs me on our
biggest account. The client likes me. What about you,
Miranda?”

“
I have a guy I’ve been
dating for a long time. He’s okay, but we can’t agree on where to
live,” Miranda said.

“
Where does he want to
live?”

“
Europe.”

“
And you?”

“
Right here. I live in my
mom’s brownstone, and I want to get my play on
Broadway.”

“
Stick to your guns,
Miranda. A man is easier to replace than a life’s dream.” Rory
said, snapping the leash on Baxter’s harness. The other two women
leashed their pugs.

“
This was great, Bess.
Thank you,” Brooke said.

“
Will you call us to
report back the details of your date with Terry?” Miranda
asked.

“
Better than calling. How
about you all come back next Monday, and we’ll do dinner
again.”

They looked at each other. “You
serious?” Rory asked.

“
Damn serious. In fact,
come every Monday. I’m never doing anything on Monday night, except
eating too many leftovers.”

“
Like an eating club?”
Brooke asked.

“
Yeah,” Bess
said.

“
Let’s call it ‘The Monday
Night Dinner Club.’ Okay?” Rory asked.

“
Perfect. Count me in,”
Miranda said.

“
Leave it to a writer to
come up with a name,” Brooke said.

They
agreed to return the next week and hugged each other before heading
for the elevator. Five pugs crowded in, leaving barely enough room
for the women. Rory smiled all the way home.
New friends. For me and Bax.
The
warm feeling of belonging filled her empty heart.

Chapter Two

Six
a.m., 145 West 78
^th
Street, Manhattan

The heat
of two bodies grinding together in passionate, sweaty sex wasn’t
even off the sheets before Bruce pushed out of bed and headed for
the coffeemaker. Rory watched her boyfriend walk across her studio
apartment.
He looks great naked. Cute
butt.
She stared at him until he turned
around.

“
I can feel your eyes,” he
said, leaning against the counter as the coffee dripped.

“
Can I
help it if I love your bod?”
Why don’t you
come over here and feel something else? Oh, wait. You already
did.

He chuckled at the compliment. “I
guess since I’ve got it, I might as well flaunt it.”

Gorgeous–yes. Humble–no.
She smiled
as her gaze roamed over him.

“
Don’t you have dogs to
walk?” He cocked an eyebrow at her.

“
Yeah. Gotta be ready by
eight. Come on, Baxter,” she called to her pug, who had gone back
to sleep after the activity on the bed was over.

“
Lazy dog,” Bruce
muttered.

“
I heard that. He did
too.” Also naked, she padded over to join him. Bruce slapped her
gently on the rear before he headed to the bathroom. Rory slipped
on a short, pink, terry robe. “Don’t make it too hot,” she
called.

“
No time to share with you
today. Early meeting.”

She took a big breath, pushed some rye
bread down in the toaster, and yawned. Baxter finally got up and
stretched on the sofa bed before heading for the dog stairs. He
ambled down and strolled toward the kitchen. Rory bent to scratch
him behind the ears before she gave him fresh water. Then, she
mixed dry and wet food for her dog’s breakfast. Bruce joined her
again, clad only in a towel tucked in at the waist.

“
You don’t need to cover
up. I’ve already seen you naked. Like a thousand times.”

“
Habit,” he replied,
pouring coffee for himself.

“
Hey,” she said, pointing
to her empty mug sitting next to his.

“
Oh, yeah. Sure.” He
filled hers too. They sat at the little table, munching on
toast.

“
I
brought the
Times
help wanted ads for you.” He reached down and pulled
newspaper clippings out of his briefcase.

“
I’m already
employed.”

Bruce raised his eyebrows.
“Oh?”

“
I walk dogs and write
mysteries.”

“
Time to grow up, Rory,
and get a real job.”

“
These are real
jobs.”

He made a dismissive noise with his
lips and turned his gaze to his food.

No respect for me, for
dogs. Hates Baxter. What am I doing with him? Great sex? Oh,
yeah.

“
I make
a lotta money since my promotion. You’ve got to keep up. You’re
always broke. When are you going to take
me
to dinner?”

“
I cook at home for
you.”

“
It’s not the same.” He
took a bite of bread.

“
I’m making your favorite
tonight—chili.”

He smiled. “Guess I’ll be here, then.”
She reached out and touched his smooth, freshly-shaven cheek. His
blond hair was parted neatly, and his blue eyes looked at her
coolly. “But then I have some work to do.”

“
Nookie, eat, and
run?”

Bruce nodded, taking a sip
of the hot brew. He ran his fingers down the lapel of her robe then
dipped them under the material. Pushing the cloth out of the way,
he grazed his thumb over her breast before cupping it. He stared at
her bare flesh. “You’re beautiful.” He bent to kiss her
bosom.

“
Wish you could stay for
round two.” She ran her hand over the terrycloth that barely
concealed his budding erection.

“
Me too.” His eyes
glistened with desire. “But hold it until tonight. We’ll do it
before I have to work.”

“
Guess I can live with
that. I can write tonight, then, after you leave.”

He pulled her to him for a passionate
kiss.

“
Or I could take care of
that now.” She touched him while whispering in his ear.

Color suffused his cheeks. He pushed
to his feet and grabbed his clothes. “Don’t tempt me. I have to go
home and change. Can’t go into the office dressed in
these.”

“
Wall Street doesn’t like
wrinkles?” She smiled.

“
It’s serious business
down there, Rory. Money business. No joking around.”

You
don’t have a sense of humor, either. Too serious. If you weren’t so
good in bed…
Before she could finish her
thought, Bruce was dressed and heading for the door. She closed her
robe and tied the sash before following him.

When he put his hand on the knob, he
turned to her. “A real job. Start looking today, Rory. Make
something of yourself.”

He
kissed her and was gone before she could utter a defense. She
flopped down on the bed, hiding her face in the pillow.
Why do I always feel so shitty after Bruce
leaves? Is the sex worth it? Some days, yes, some days, no.
Baxter climbed back up on the bed. She turned
toward him and received several wet pug kisses.
At least Baxter loves me the way I am.

She threw her curvy body in the shower
and washed her thick, amber hair. After dropping the clippings from
Bruce in the trash, Rory pulled on her dog-walking clothes and took
Baxter for his seven o’clock walk. Afterwards, she returned him,
nabbed a big ring of keys hanging by the front door, and went on
her way. Her first stop was Casey, the bloodhound, who lived with
the luscious lawyer on Seventy-Ninth Street.

She smiled and greeted the doorman in
front of Casey’s building. The rasp of the key in the lock caused
the hound to run to the door, barking. When she opened it, his
snarl turned to a snort as he licked her hand.

She plucked the envelope holding her
week’s pay off a side table and tucked it into the waistband of her
jeans. Then, she snapped the leash on Casey and off they went.
She’d only seen Casey’s owner three times since she had started
walking the pooch. The first time, of course, and twice more when
he had been sick.

His black hair had been mussed and
falling over his feverish forehead. She had vowed to pick up
chicken soup, juice, and ibuprofen for him, as well as a box of
extra soft tissues. He was handsome, smart, and well off. He lived
in a two-bedroom apartment by himself. This was totally unheard of
in New York City, where space was at a premium. That’s how she knew
he had money. She sometimes daydreamed of moving in with the rich
bachelor.

The
dream faded when she tried to imagine Baxter and Casey learning to
get along. She couldn’t see it. So, she struck two-bedroom lawyer
off the list of potential mates. She never wondered why some of her
clients didn’t make a pass at her, or at least ask her out. Dressed
in old, tattered jeans and a hoodie, with her long hair hidden by a
baseball cap, she looked a mess.
No one
dresses up to walk a dog. No biggie. I have
Bruce.

She
patted Casey, stuffed a couple of large bags the lawyer provided
into her pocket, and locked the door as they left. Rory was fond of
all the dogs she walked and had conversations with them as they
made their way through the park. Although it was before nine
o’clock, she didn’t let Casey off his leash.
Better safe than sorry. He likes to run off, tracking a
scent.

As they ambled along, Casey had his
nose close to the sidewalk, sniffing.

“
What do you smell, guy? A
dead body around here? Some mystery in the air?”

Rory was a struggling writer. She
wrote mysteries, though her passion was romance books, which she
consumed in great numbers. Bruce often criticized her for buying as
many books as she did. “They don’t have all these authors in the
library” was her excuse.

Her
mother was straight-laced, so Rory was writing a whodunit instead
of a romance.
I won’t have to be
embarrassed about what I write or change my name.
She banged away every day on her story, shaping,
editing, rewriting, and trying to get the plot to work. Alas, she
didn’t have a finished product she thought was good enough to send
to an agent or publisher. She had submitted mystery stories before,
only to be rejected each and every time.