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Soren, whose mindset would never allow for the possibility that what he was seeing was not some sort of performance, watched with clinical interest as the figure in the upright chair raised a shaky blue-veined, waxy hand towards the figure with her back turned.
All part of the act, agoodact, he conceded. But following this man over the years had taught Soren that it was a mistake to underestimate the cunning, twisted mind of Tor Rasmusson, who possessed the ability to run several scams simultaneously andalwayshad an escape route. Over the years the man had displayed an uncanny ability to vanish like smoke, leaving carnage in his wake.
‘I predict that Anna will come top in her exams...’ the shrunken figure said suddenly, looking directly at Soren. ‘All that girl lacks is confidence.’
The figure with her back to him, and still oblivious to Soren’s presence, sighed. ‘It’s lovely you think I’m brilliant, Grandpa, but you’re the only one.’
Soren watched as the other man glanced down at an invisible watch on his wrist.
‘I have a meeting, Anna.’
Yes, with the fraud squad. Save it, Tor, Soren thought grimly as he waited for the woman to notice him.
‘I hate tardiness, Anna.’
The petite figure turned and froze.
‘I’m here now, Grandpa. Did you have a good night?’
The voice, pitched low and soft, held none of the wary suspicion that was now being levelled at him from a pair of eyes set in a face that on a screen just thirty-six hours ago he had casually dismissed asalmostpretty... The below-the-belt kick that for one split second had nailed him quite literally to the spot when she had turned brought home the truth that real life, and in this caserealwomen, were sometimes poorly served by pixels.
This was arealwoman and Soren was experiencing a very real reaction to her. The flash of heat that settled in his groin was proof that his famed control had limitations.
The image had accurately recorded the proportions of her face, a face thatoughtto have been overpowered by a generous, carnally curved mouth and thick dark brows that framed wide-spaced kitten-big green eyes.
All strong features that should in theory have fought with one another, but instead they melded into a vivid, breathtakingly sensual whole.
The difference lay in part in the creamy texture of her skin, the forest green of her eyes—the lack of symmetry actuallyaddedto the sensual impact.
He’d have liked to see her in snug jeans, but her wide-legged linen trousers suggested legs that were proportionally long for her height, and the plaited leather belt emphasised the narrowness of her waist. The boxy baggy white shirt she wore was not meant to emphasise her sleek, slim curves but it didn’t hide them.
A sound of self-disgust locked in his throat. This was not a moment to be distracted by a woman, especially if the woman in question was the granddaughter of his enemy and was probably up to her pretty neck—Soren lifted his gaze from the smooth slender column of her throat, ruthlessly leashing his hormones, before he produced a smile as he stepped forward, hand extended.
Soren had a wide repertoire of smiles; very few had anything to do with sincerity. Some instilled fear in the recipient, others melted hostility like ice cream in the sun and opened doors, frequently bedroom doors.
A faint widening of her eyes was the only indication that Anna Randall had even noticed his effort. If anything the wariness she wore like a force field seemed on the verge of tipping over into guard-dog open hostility.
Anna looked at his hand, took in the length of the long, tapering fingers.
The brief war of attrition between the deeply embedded instinct of good manners, and the shockingly shameful heat unfurling low in her pelvis that made the idea of feeling her hand in his far too attractive, ended in a draw.
Her hand stayed firmly at her side.
The faintest quirk of his lips and the hint of an ironic gleam in his eyes could have been her imagination as his hand fell away. Relieved she’d had the decision taken out of her hands, she surreptitiously rubbed her sweaty palms against her trousers and kept up the paper-thin pretence that she was immune to the stranger’s cynically confident killer smile.
The muscles along Soren’s angular jaw quivered, though the truth was he was more intrigued than offended by her ego-bashing attitude.
His ego was pretty robust.
There might be more to Anna Randall than her rotten gene pool and the face. He allowed his glance to skim the fascinatingly unsymmetrical, stunningly sexy features for an indulgent split second too long: the stubborn chin, the wide-spaced intelligent eyes, the smooth high cheeks, the generous carnal mouth that made him aware all over again of a hunger inside him.
Soren was not a man who avoided the truth, especially when it was staring him in the face, and the simple fact was he was attracted to the granddaughter of his enemy. The acknowledgment did not improve his mood.
‘Good morning...?’ She paused a split second, adding in a colder voice. ‘Can I help you?’
The frigid words were polite, the suggestion underneath was anything but, but, God, she had the mostincrediblevoice... Even when it was cold it had an earthy, seductive quality. Having just got his hormones in check, he didn’t want to think about what it would sound like warm.
‘You must be Henry’s granddaughter...?’ Although he allowed his voice to rise on a questioning inflection, he knew exactly who she was. The only thing about her his investigations had not revealed was just how deeply she was involved in her grandfather’s latest profit-making charity fraud. That she was not involved did not even cross his mind.
