Somebody To Love Read Free Page A

prosperous entrepreneur: his full mustache trimmed, his clothes fitting as if he’d been born to wear the wealthy businessman’s suit, complete with gold watch chain across the midriff. Yet even that small portrait showed more: the cleverness and the arrogant authority. In the eyes, perhaps, or the angle of the clean-shaven chin. The strength was there, too.
    Strength she’d need for Olivia.
    The Calverson Company offices were housed in a towering granite building in the financial district. How appropriate, she thought, amused, that her potential knight in shining armor worked in this castle-like structure. Or perhaps he was more of a feudal lord—a capricious tyrant who’d lop off her head.
    The brisk wind tugged at her dress and her hat, yet the air held more than a hint of spring, a hint of hope that braced her for the challenge of facing him again.
    The company occupied two floors of the building. Araminta walked up the large staircase to the door that had a gold-plated plaque with “Calverson Company” etched on it.
    A supercilious clerk immediately approached. “Pardon me. What do you need?”
    When she said she wished to speak to Mr. Calverson, the clerk sniffed and studied her for a few seconds before he disappeared. A few minutes later, he emerged from somewhere in the back and, looking almost chastened, led her into Mr. Calverson’s private office. He left, shutting the door behind him.
    Alone in the cavernous office, Araminta distracted herself by studying her surroundings. Disappointing, really, that she found nothing quirky about the room. She’d hoped for something odd, such as a stuffed crocodile, a mummy’s sarcophagus or perhaps a butterfly collection. She’d settle for something personal, perhaps evidence of Calverson’s wide travels.
    Like the man, the room was cool and polished. A large, uncluttered desk, nearly devoid of any decoration, stood near the window. A few tasteful landscapes hung on the wall. A thick Turkish rug covered the polished wood floor. No hint of the occupant’s character—other than the obvious facts that he had a great deal of money and simple taste—showed in the furnishings or decorationn>
    For fifteen minutes she sat in the overstuffed armless chair designed for lady visitors, twisting the gloves in her hand into shapeless wrecks, staring out the window at the splendid view and regretting her blasted tendency to act first and think later. Rushing over here had to be a mistake.
    She could easily imagine his cold amusement as he turned her down. How many other women had come to Griffin Calverson for aid, for money—or for needs her body understood, but her mind refused to contemplate.
    Surely he was no different from the other men who prowled Kane’s gaming parlor. Griffin Calverson was not a knight in shining armor.
    Just as she convinced herself she was on a fool’s errand and rose to leave, the door to the office opened, and he strolled into the room.
    His splendid green gaze rested on her, and he stood as motionless as a gravestone. Of course he would show no emotion.
    The man hadn’t changed and—Araminta halted her ungracious thoughts. After all, she wanted a favor from him.
    She reminded herself it was not truly his fault she had trouble breathing or behaving sensibly in his presence.
    For a very long minute he inspected her. “Good afternoon, Miss Woodhall. Please, sit down.” His strong, clear voice startled her. She half expected the soft murmur she’d heard in the hallway the night before.
    She sat and smoothed her skirts over her knees. “Good afternoon, Mr. Calverson.” Fine—she sounded normal. “Er. I hope you are well?”
    He took a seat behind the desk, his commanding air nicely adding to her image of him as lord of all he surveyed. He leaned back, the better to scrutinize her down that patrician nose of his. “I hope I didn’t startle you too badly last night? You seemed rather breathless.”
    She shook her head, uncertain. Did he know