BACHELOR NUMBER FOUR Read online

  "Philip, wait."

  He looked up, face cast into a mask of shadow by the filtered light of the streetlamp at the front of the house. When she didn't speak, he eased off, still holding her against the door so she didn't fall, but no longer pushing his hand against her. He licked his lips and blinked as though trying to get some measure of control.

  "Arden, I thought you wanted this."

  "I thought I did, too."

  Philip smiled and stepped back. He ran his hands through his hair, rumpling it. The tousling made him look disheveled and delicious, a combination Arden found very appealing, but she didn't lean over to kiss him again.

  "It's...a little scary," she admitted at last.

  Philip nodded and put his hands in his pockets. The front of his pants bulged with an erection only moments ago Arden would have been delighted to see. Now it made her feel awkward and uncomfortable. She averted her eyes.

  "I understand," Philip said. "Lida told me about your husband and everything. Believe me, I wouldn't have--"

  "I know--"

  "I'm not a total slime--"

  They both stopped and Arden chuckled, embarrassed. She put a hand to her burning cheek. "I'm sorry, Philip. This was probably a mistake."

  "Ah, c'mon. Don't say that."

  She couldn't deny he was charming. "I did have a great time. Really. Thank you."

  "I had a good time too. Can I call you?"

  His question took her aback. "You want to call me?"

  Philip grinned, teeth flashing white in the dark garage. "Of course I do."

  "I guess that would be all right." She didn't sound enthused. "I mean, that would be great. Very nice. Yes. I'd like you to call me."

  "Okay, then. Well, have a good night."

  "Thanks again," she called to his back, but Philip didn't turn, just gave a little half-wave without turning.

  She let herself into the dark house, her body still flooded with the sensations of Philip's kisses and caresses. Regret panged, but she forced it away. It wouldn't have been fair to him to just...use him, while fantasizing about Shane. The thought made her laugh. Did guys even care about that?

  It wouldn't have been fair to herself, she amended. Sleeping with--fucking--Philip would probably have been great. Just what she needed. Release, a fresh start, whatever Lida wanted to call it. But how could she have sex with Philip when Shane Donner's face was all she could see? His mouth the only one she could taste?

  Arden shook herself to get rid of the languorous lethargy that had overtaken her. If she was going to have sex with someone, it had to be with someone she really wanted to be with, or else the experience would be no better than if she went out and hired a male prostitute. Having sex with the knowledge it wasn't going to lead to a relationship was one thing. Fucking a willing partner who was trying to help her out while she wished he was someone else was something else altogether.

  Hand on the newel post, she let her eyes turn toward the office, where the soft glow of the computer monitor lit the kitchen. As though hypnotized, her feet carried her in that direction.

  It's late. You're tired, she admonished herself, but continued walking. There's nothing there that can't wait until tomorrow...but she kept going.

  She clicked the mouse to get rid of the screen saver and opened up her mail program. Three new messages. She refused to let hope make her heart pound faster, but she clicked on her inbox.

  The first two were advertisements.

  The third was from Shane Donner.

  The smile on her face didn't seem out of place as she slid into her office chair. She'd been waiting for him to reply. She clicked on the message. No subject. No salutation, no signature. Four words that slammed lust into her so hard her breath left her in an audible whoosh and her fingers clenched on the mouse so hard it fell, dangling by its cord, off the mousepad.

  You looked good tonight.

  It had been him, there in the corner, that ghost, that phantom from her past. She reached for the mouse and settled it back on top of Keanu's sunglass-covered eyes. Before she could respond to the message, the icon at the bottom of her screen, the tiny yellow man that signified her instant messenger service, began to jump. A small red one appeared on top of the icon. Someone was instant messaging her.

  She glanced at the clock as she clicked the icon to bring the message screen to her desktop. It had to be Lida, asking how the date went. She'd be disappointed to learn Arden didn't get laid. Arden smiled ruefully. She'd have other news to share with Lida, namely, Shane's email.

  The message wasn't from Lida. It was from Shane.

  That was you at the Cadillac Grille, wasn't it?

  That was me. She paused before typing again. I thought that was you, but I wasn't sure.

  You haven't changed.

  Neither have you.

  She waited for him to write something else. Nothing. Her heartbeat had just begun to slow and her hands stop shaking when the next words appeared in the small message window.

  You looked good. Your husband is a lucky man.

  Her husband? Arden shook her head, brow furrowed, then realized. Shane thought Philip was her husband. And why wouldn't he? He'd never met Jason. Had no idea Jason had died. It was a likely assumption. And how like Shane to send her a provocative email and follow it up with a late night IM, even though he thought he'd just seen her with her husband. Typically arrogant and bold...but damn, so very, very sexy.

  That wasn't my husband.

  The blinking cursor mocked her. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard as she prepared to tell him she'd been on a date, but he replied before she had the chance.

  I thought you didn't cheat.

  Anger made her scowl and she sat back, staring at the screen. He was trying to be witty, she could guess that, but also had no trouble imagining the undercurrent of truth to his words. She thought of their last exchange, a heated volley of words that had left her shaking with the same sort of anger she felt now.

  I wasn't sneaking around, she typed back so fiercely she misspelled sneaking twice before she got it right. I was on a date.

  Then a moment later: Divorced?

  "Wouldn't you love to hear that?" She muttered. Tears stung her eyes and the computer screen blurred for a moment.

  My husband died.

  There. In black-and-white, the words looked harsher than if she'd said them quietly, or shouted them. Written that way, there could be no other way to say it. Died. Dead. She was a widow.

  She imagined him squirming in his chair, embarrassed at his faux pas, but knew that was a false picture. He wouldn't care if he'd put his foot in his mouth. Not Shane Donner, cool as ice, smooth as silk.

  I'm sorry. I didn't know.

  Sorry? Arden rubbed her mouth, which wanted to frown, and scrubbed her eyes, which still wanted to cry. That was unexpected. Her anger faded. He couldn't have known about Jason.

  Lymphoma. 18 months ago.

  I'm sorry.

  Me too.

  He didn't reply for so long she thought he'd signed off. Just before she pushed her chair away and started up to bed, the next message came up.

  You were on a date?

  Yes.

  Your boyfriend?

  No. Just a date. Our first one.

  You looked pretty cozy.

  She blushed, feeling the heat painting her cheeks. She refused to let him make her feel that way. She typed without censoring herself.

  My friend Lida set us up. She thought it would be good for me to get laid.

  !

  That single exclamation point said more than a paragraph could have. Arden laughed, imagining his face. She'd shocked him. A first.

  You should have called me.

  I don't have your number.

  She wasn't angry anymore. She was itchy again, anticipating how he'd respond. What he'd say. How he'd flirt.

  You could have emailed me.

  Oh, right. What should I have said? Hi, Shane, how are you? Want to come over and fuck?