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‘You’re not a nice person?’ Distracted from her misery, she managed a watery smile.
‘They call my grandfather Il Demonio. The Devil,’ he translated.
Her brows lifted. It seemed dramatic, but there were people calling her grandfather worse at the moment.
‘And you’re just a chip off the old block,’ she joked tiredly, and shewastired. She made a conscious effort to allow her rigid spine to flex and felt relief as her shoulder blades burrowed into the support of the backrest. The buzz of tension in her head and the knots in her shoulders were beginning to loosen... It probably wasn’t the right time or place and definitely not the right company to lower her defences.
‘You’re not the first person to make that comparison.’
Stifling another yawn, she shifted in her seat to face him full on, her annoyance showing as she retorted, ‘I wasn’t and I won’t be. I don’t care what your reputation is, I judge people from their actions. You visited an old sick friend of your father, and you are here now, helping me. Even though you don’t know me and despite the fact being seen with me will probably taint you by association... Will it?’ she shot out anxiously.
His lips quirked. ‘I will survive.’
‘And so far I have not been very grateful. I happen to think you are very kind.’ And his actions went way beyond normalkindness.
Soren opened the door and stepped out. Guilt seemed to be becoming his factory setting.
To ward off the feelings as he walked around to open her door, he reminded himself that the guilt was not his.Hewas not the villain of this situation. Tor Rasmusson was.
A fact that was hard to cling to when her white-faced gratitude was making him feel as guilty as hell. Frustration made his jaw ache. Obviously he regretted that she,anyoneinnocent, if she was, had been caught up in this, but he wasn’t about to regret it.
He wasn’t sorry, he told himself, ignoring the contradictory fresh kick of remorse, and there were a whole lot of victims out there who might get some recompense now.
Not apologise, but for a brief moment he toyed with the notion of telling her the truth.
He discarded it almost immediately, even though it would be guaranteed to wipe the idealistic glow from her eyes, which quite frankly would have been a relief.
It was many years since Soren had needed the good opinion of others; his hesitation now was a matter of practicality.
She wasn’t ready to accept the truth about her grandfather, although it would be better for her when she did. But he was well aware that the moment he came clean and revealed that he himself was the architect of her grandfather’s downfall he would immediately become a monster in her eyes, which was fine by him. He’d been called worse before and often by his own grandfather.
Soren had a very thick skin.
CHAPTER FIVE
‘I’MJUSTSOglad that I’m not the only one who knows Grandpa Henry is innocent,’ she said as she exited the limo with a degree of poise, if not elegance. She was just congratulating herself on that when she dropped her bag and the contents spilt out and began rolling away across the concrete floor of the garage.
Maybe he was a monster...maybe he’d spent too long trying to think like a monster. The pursuit of his quarry over all these years had involved inserting himself into Tor’s mindset. Had he become the thing he’d been hunting?
Silencing the inner dialogue, Soren frowned. This wasn’t about him; he had nothing to justify. What had he been meant to do? Pat the guy on the back and say, ‘All is forgiven, don’t do it any more’?
He hadn’t been looking for justice for the masses when he’d outed Tor Rasmusson, but they had it anyhow and he had his revenge.
‘Can you manage?’ he said, unable not to enjoy the view of her tight little bottom.
‘Almost,’ she said, responding to the impatience in his voice as she chased the last errant item from her bag, which had rolled under a sports car... The extra stretch to reach it caused her top to ride up a little higher, revealing a section of her lower back that no one with testosterone could have missed.
Smooth and pale, her skin had a satiny appearance; he had no way of testing his theory that it would feel like oiled silk without touching it.
He dragged his eyes clear but not before his imagination had supplied a number of scenarios that involved touching, with his hands, his lips... He pushed away the image of her body arching to his touch while he anchored her hips to the... He cleared his throat and reached for the control panel to his right and was relieved when the overhead air conditioning kicked in, flooding the immediate area with an icy blast of air.
She got to her feet. ‘The zip is broken.’
‘You do know, don’t you, thatmyopinion is not the one that matters? It’s about proof.’
Anna wasn’t sure if her shiver this time was in response to the ice in his voice or the sudden drop in temperature. She closed the zip and tugged it experimentally; it held.
‘I don’t need proof. Iknow...’
