The Supplicant Read online

  And it all looked absolutely gorgeous on him. It was the perfect outfit for a successful man who was going out with some of his employees—well put together and obviously not from Walmart, but not in-your-face rich looking, either.

  "I don't think Syl would care if you snuck out early."

  Arden had to chuckle at that. "Yup. Syl knows me well enough to know that I've already got my escape planned, and I did from the moment she let me know where she was having this shindig."

  Damn, his throaty chuckle played hell with her nerves, skittering warmly along them, igniting what few he hadn't already, simply by his nearness.

  What was going on with her? She didn't react like this to men—never had! Even her husband had complained—once they'd gotten together—that she'd been much too reserved while they were dating, almost wary, taking two steps back for every one he took towards her. Luckily for her, he'd considered wooing her to be a challenge that he was more than up for.

  Unfortunately, she had a feeling that Loch Frazier would have much the same reaction—not that she'd ever allow him to pursue her in any way.

  "Would you like a real drink, Ms. Valenti?" He wondered if she didn't indulge at all, for whatever reason. "It's on me."

  For once, she gave him her full attention, and he had a feeling he was being judged and found lacking, although he wasn't sure exactly why, but he did like a puzzle. She was warm and pleasant and funny with everyone but him, and—although there was only curiosity involved—no emotion—he was mildly interested in why he seemed to put her back up by his mere existence. There was something about her—he couldn't quite put his finger on it. She wasn't spectacular looking, in fact, she was older than most women he'd been dating lately, the majority of whom looked like models. Arden was much more age appropriate for him, although he thought she was a couple of years younger than he was, perhaps.

  Maybe it was the delicate air of hurt around her, although that was hardly something he usually found intriguing. She was a small thing, and so obviously still deep in the grips of grief from the loss of her husband. He'd never lost anyone he'd loved, personally—probably because he'd never really loved anyone—but he found himself grappling with the most unfamiliar impulse to pull her onto his lap and into his arms to hug her and hold her and tell her that everything would all be all right.

  But that warred with another impulse that was at least as powerful—if not more so—to then flip her onto her back and remind her what it was like to be made to scream a man's name while convulsing violently around him.

  At those two disparate thoughts, he took a sip from his own rocks glass.

  "That's not necessary. I'm fine with my soft drink, but thank you."

  "It might help you enjoy yourself a bit more. I'd be glad to drive you home, if it comes to that."

  Arden snorted. "One drink is not going to incapacitate me. There was a time when I'd drink you under the table without batting an eyelash."

  His eyebrow rose. "I would pay serious money to see you do that." He signaled to the nearest wait person, who happened to be a young lady who practically gushed all over him, which was something that apparently made him feel uncomfortable.

  Arden had a hard time not grinning like an idiot at seeing him so discomfited when he always seemed as if he was so in command of himself and everything—and everyone—around him.

  "The lady will have a drink, please." The insecurity vanished as if it had never been when his eyes settled on her. "Order anything you'd like."

  She hesitated—disliking being maneuvered into accepting a drink from him—but he gave her an expectant look that, for some reason, she allowed to goad her into obeying him, then surprised—and impressed—him by ordering a well-regarded but relatively inexpensive glass of whiskey, neat.

  Before the waitress left, he murmured, his eyes still on Arden, "Make that a double, please." He was rewarded quite simply and completely by the sound of her laugh. She looked more relaxed already, which was his goal.

  The young lady was back in record time, obviously hoping to curry favor with him, which set Arden's teeth on edge, for some reason. But beyond a polite, "Thank you," he ignored the poor girl in favor of looking as if he wanted to devour her whole.

  Desperate for something—or someone—else to look at besides him, Arden noticed one of the waiters who was bussing a table near them. He was tall and slim, which wasn't usually her type, but with beautiful, almost delicate facial features. "Wow, way to rock the man bun," she muttered to herself.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Loch consider the man for a moment, then dismiss him. "I agree. He's pretty perfect, if that's the type you prefer." His tone was almost too neutral.

  "And I suppose you should be the type I prefer, instead?" She didn't usually say such things out loud, but this man made her nervous, and she tended to run off at the mouth sometimes when she was nervous. And the potent drink—that was so much better than she remembered—was only going to make things worse for her in that area.

  He gave her an annoying half-smile. "No, not necessarily. I'm not to most people's tastes, but then, I only sleep with very select people.

  She wasn't sure exactly how they'd gotten to the point of discussing who they liked to sleep with, and she knew she should simply smile and nod rather than engage him, but instead, she found herself saying, "Well, I don't think I have a type, since I don't sleep around at all—I've only ever had sex with people I loved."

  He smiled—not unkindly, but definitely in amusement. "How quaint. Well, you've obviously had a very different life than I have. I don't believe in love, so that wouldn't even be possible for me."

  Arden didn't bother to curb how acerbic she sounded. "Somehow, I'm not in the least surprised to hear that. I, on the other hand, have pretty much been surrounded by it my entire life, and I was lucky enough to experience its truest expression with my husband before he died." She couldn't believe she was having this conversation with him—and she couldn't even blame the liquor, since she was only on her second sip!

  "And I'd be willing to bet that you haven't had sex since the last time he touched you." Those dark eyes narrowed on her, making her feel a bit trapped.

  She cringed. "It's that obvious, huh?"

  "To anyone who bothered to notice, yes."

  Of course, he had.

  "Well, in my own defense—not that I feel I need to defend my choices to you…" he inclined his head in acceptance of that fact "…I pretty much figure I have nowhere to go but down, sex-life wise."

  His expression was almost benevolent, flirting with condescending. "You might be surprised. You should try it sometime—sex with no emotional attachment—with the right man, of course. It might be an interesting experience for you. Might well be just what you need, since you obviously don't think that any man who would want to be seriously involved with you would quite measure up. There would, then, be no hurt feelings, no expectations on either end if he didn't."

  Gathering all of her courage—liquid and otherwise—Arden turned in her seat to face him, finding her legs immediately trapped between his and knowing she should have been more worried about the inherent intimacy of her position than she was. "And are you suggesting, then, that the person with whom I should explore this idea is you?"

  Loch paused for what seemed like a long time, his already intense stare deepening, leaving her just on the verge of apologizing to him for having assumed that. "I'm not sure whether I am or not, truth be told." He curved a big finger over his lips as if deep in thought while contemplating her.

  She actually squirmed beneath his stare before stifling the impulse. "Well, anyway, that's obviously not part of my 'deal', as you put it."

  Out of purely morbid curiosity, he asked, "But what—besides love—comprises the rest of it, I wonder?"

  He asked as if he was truly interested in her answer, although she convinced herself that he was merely amusing himself, playing with her to pass the time. Arden laughed softly. "I think I gave you t
he wrong impression, Mr. Frazier. I don't really know you—and you don't know me at all, and it may seem terribly old fashioned, but I'm not really in the habit of discussing my sexual preferences with someone I don't know and care about."

  "That's another thing you should try sometime, Ms. Valenti. And don't apologize for being old fashioned—it's an interesting novelty." He seemed to hesitate for a split second, then said, "But perhaps you should call me once you decide to let him go and stop clinging to your widow's weeds as if they're going to sustain you for the rest of what you're inexplicably determined to make into a very boring, lonely life."

  Furious at his attack, Arden stood, reaching for her coat, annoyed to find that he, too, was standing and holding it for her. There were so many things she wanted to say to him that she couldn't get any of them out, so she settled for glaring at him fit to singe his hair and storming out.

  Loch looked at her drink and calculated that she'd not had enough to impair her, so she should be fine to drive. If he hadn't thought so, nothing she could have said or done would have stopped him from getting her home safely, up to and including driving her there himself, if he had to. He'd've sent her home in his own car with his driver, if it was necessary, to know she was going to get home in one piece.

  Why he gave a damn about whether or not she did, he refused to examine any too closely.

  Chapter 2

  "Your boss is an insufferable boor."

  They were on her couch, facing each other, both in their pajamas, spending the weekend in blissful pursuit of absolutely nothing besides their favorite junk food and their new favorite television program. They were shamelessly binging, which was appropriate since what they were watching was as many episodes of Shameless as they could cram into the time they had.

  Syl bobbed her head back and forth in exaggerated agreement. "Never said he wasn't," she said through a truly prodigious mouthful of chocolate peanut butter cup ice cream. "He definitely has his moments."

  "Stop bogarting the ice cream!" Arden whined, reaching between her knees to make lazy grabs at the container.

  Her best girlfriend took another enormous spoonful, then reluctantly relinquished the carton to her cohort.

  "And he's an asshole."

  All Syl did was nod blithely in agreement, which was not to Arden's liking at all.

  "So do something about him! He practically propositioned me at your birthday party—in a completely insulting way—and at which I think I lost about seventy percent of my hearing, by the way."

  Even with that severe hearing damage, she could hear Syl's eyes rolling without needing to look at her.

  "I can't help it if you're old, and I can't help it if my boss made a move on you. He's allowed. You don't work for him. Whadja say?"

  "I said yes, which is why you can see him fucking me right now, right here, on this couch."

  "I wish I could!"

  "Ew! Gross!"

  "Gross because I'm watching or gross because he's fucking you?"

  "Six to one."

  "You are such a liar! You are blushing so hard right now! You want him—you always have."

  And now Syl had managed to insult her, too. "I have not! I never so much as looked at another man—"

  Her friend sighed as if horribly put upon. "I know, I know. Don't get your panties in a wad, for Chrissakes. I didn't mean that you had a roving eye beforehand. I'm saying that, since you came out of the severe depression you'd descended into afterwards and joined the rest of the human race again, you've been attracted to him. And that very thought disturbs you so much that every time he enters a room, you leave it—it's like a compulsion or something."

  "I do not, and it is not!" She tried not to sound huffy, but that was exactly how she was feeling, because she knew that Syl was being deadly accurate.

  The young woman nodded her head exaggeratedly up and down. "Every. Single. Time. Even though he's told you every time you've been there that you don't have to go when he shows up, but you scamper out of there like he's a lion and you're a tasty rabbit."

  "Do not!" Arden crossed her arms over her chest defensively, reduced to a schoolyard response because she really didn't have any ammunition with which she could refute what Sylvia was saying.

  The truth could be so annoyingly inconvenient—just like best friends, on occasion.

  "How's the art coming?"

  It was a wise—if painful—change of subjects. Arden sighed, handing the ice cream back. "Not well. Take a good look around at this place—I don't know how much longer I'm going to be able to keep it. Frankly, I'm about two months from living in my car, and with a mini cooper, that'll be quite a feat. The medical bills are still astronomical because I don't make enough money to pay anything on them. At least, they don't charge interest like the credit card companies do, though, and you know we had to live off of those while he was sick because neither of us could work." She rubbed her forehead with her hand, feeling depressed. "I don't want to give up this place. It was in his family for generations, and it's where we always lived. I can't lose it!"

  Syl reached out her hand to her friend, and Arden took it gratefully, squeezing hard. "I'm sorry, Ard. If I had money to give you, you know I would."

  "I wouldn't accept it, and you know it. I'm not about to take food out of my goddaughter's mouth."

  "Well, at least, you can always come stay with me."

  Arden was genuinely touched, but she knew she couldn't take her friend up on that offer, either. She and Violet were crammed into a small place because Sylvia put every penny she could into sending her daughter to a really good private school. She'd only be able to stay with them if she could learn to sleep standing up.

  "I hate you so much. You're da best!"

  "I hate you more."

  Just when they'd reached the bottom of the container, Syl sat straight up, saying excitedly, as if she'd struck gold with her spoon, "Ard! I know exactly what you should do to get yourself out of this financial pickle!"

  "What?"

  "Borrow from Loch!"

  Arden snorted so hard she nearly choked herself. "I'd sooner ask for more gruel in a mid-nineteenth century English orphanage, thank you ever so. I'd sooner sell myself on the street."

  She didn't like the sly, shrewd look her friend was giving her. "Or you could sell yourself to him."

  Sylvia never saw the pillow coming at her face until it was too late.

  "Hey!"

  "I am not going to sell myself to that man!" As if he'd want me, anyway, she thought but managed to keep it to herself. She certainly didn't want Sylvia to think she was fishing for compliments.

  "Okay, okay! But he's always giving to charities—especially those that help women, I've noticed. And he helps employees out all the time, too."

  "You conveniently forget that I'm neither a charity case—yet—nor an employee. And even if I was a charity case, I can't imagine ever going to him for so much as a paper clip." She shuddered delicately. "I wouldn't ask that man to spit on me if I was on fire."

  Syl was grinning at her like an idiot and shaking her head. "You've got it so bad, you don't even know it, girlie girl."

  "Do not!"

  "That was an articulate rebuttal right there. Where'd you go to college again? You might want to write them and ask for your money back on your degree."

  "Shut up and tell me whether you think the guy Fiona is dating is hot," she said, successfully diverting her friend's attention back to the TV program.

  But in the back of her mind, from that point on, Sylvia's suggestion was all Arden could think about—no matter how absurd she knew the idea was—and it was all Syl's fault!

  She was so conflicted about the idea that she nearly gave herself an ulcer going back and forth about it, until one day, in the middle of a painting frenzy, she got a call.

  "You free at six?"

  "Uh, I guess I could be. What's up? Need me to babysit?"

  "No. Please don't kill me too badly." She blurted it all out so quickl
y that Arden could barely make out what she was saying. "But I know how badly you've been stressing about the money so I mentioned your situation to Loch, and he wants to see you at six."

  Silence. Not anger, not yelling, not anything, although Sylvia looked at her phone, and it said they were still connected.

  "Ard?"

  And then, they weren't.

  She'd gotten the call at three, and Arden spent a full hour pacing in her small studio, debating with herself about whether or not she should go to this meeting.

  On the one hand, she might be able to save a house that was so much more than that to her and perhaps even pay towards some of her bills, depending on how much he was willing to lend her.

  On the other hand, she really didn't want to so much as see him again, much less actually owe this man money. She didn't even like this guy, after the arrogant and audacious things he'd said to her that night, and she certainly didn't like the way she reacted and responded around him. It was embarrassing and uncomfortable and unacceptable.

  She was a married woman. She still wore her wedding and engagement rings, not to mention the cheap vermeil heart locket her husband had given her early on in their relationship. Even when they could have afforded for him to replace it with something in real gold, she wouldn't let him because the original meant too much to her. She felt as married now as she had when she'd said, "I do." His death hadn't diminished that in the least for her.

  Widowhood, as far as she was concerned, had not in any way released her from her vows.

  But then, she felt that she was worrying about something stupid, that perhaps she had misread him that night. After all, he'd only ever been very polite and courteous to her up to that point.