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Now that he had met her, he could see how useful a woman who managed to combine innocence and earthy sexiness would be to Tor. Despite the sketchy evidence, his working theory was that, as Tor’s only blood relative, she was being trained to take control of the family business.
Or she might be as innocent as she appears?
He dismissed the possibility out of hand. No one related to Tor could be totally innocent. It wasn’tifshe was involved, it was how deeply.
‘Yes, I’m Anna...?’
Instead of picking up on her strong verbal cue, to her frustration he ignored the silent question mark and just smiled. She fought the urge to melt and decided that he rarely had to do anything beyond smile to sidestep any question.
‘I had imagined you being older,’ he responded truthfully, and saw the questioning flicker in her eyes again, though actually hehadimagined her looking older. He knew her age was... The exact number had not stayed with him, but she barely looked twenty, let alone mid-twenties. ‘I understand that you have inherited... Henry’s love of books? Librarian, that must be interesting...?’
She didn’t react to the question but she had dialled down her antagonism a notch or two; he was making the effort but Soren still wasn’t feeling the love.
‘Are you another journalist?’
Nothing in his face showed he had noted theanother. ‘Do I look like a journalist?’
‘What do journalists look like?’ Few, she conceded, could have worn the sort of exclusive-looking suit he was wearing. ‘So if you’renot, just who are you exactly?’ Beyond quite obviously the most sinfully good-looking man she had ever seen or even dreamt existed.
It had initially taken her a couple of startled blinks to take in the superficial details, namely his height, several inches over six feet, the immaculate tailoring, steel-grey suit and a tie a few shades paler lying against a snowy white shirt, which gave an air of steely exclusivity and did not disguise the fact his broad-shouldered frame was lean and athletically powerful.
Now she was taking in details beyond the way his hair hugged his shapely skull but was long enough to curl against his collar and was worn swept back casually from a broad brow. It framed symmetrical features that were set in a square-jawed face that was all hollows and angles, slanted cheekbones sharp enough to cut, an aquiline nose and a carved mouth that required a blink in its own right, a firm lower lip and a full, overtly sensual upper. But it was his eyes that were the real showstopper—bluer than any blue she had ever seen, not warm sky blue but arctic-ice blue, and were set beneath the dark ebony bars of his brows and framed by crazily long sooty dark lashes.
Now she was taking in the intelligence in the eyes, the ruthlessness suggested by the firm lower lip and his armour-plated aura of raw masculinity.
Not that this set her apart from any other woman with a heartbeat; this was a man who no doubt took female admiration as a given.
Annoyed that she was fulfilling his smug expectations, and determined not to give him the satisfaction of knowing her stomach was quivering violently, she kept her expression still and filed this disturbing fact away for later consideration, swallowing a couple of times to lubricate her dry throat and ignoring how her legs still felt disconnected from her body.
Luckily they carried her without incident to her grandfather’s side. She smiled down as the claw-like hand caught her own before he reached out awkwardly for the glass of water just out of reach.
‘So how do you know my grandfather, Mr...?’
‘Sorry, I thought I had said,’ he lied smoothly. ‘Soren, Soren Vitale, your grandfather was my late father’s...mentorway back when.’
Aware in the periphery of her vision of the hand extended once more towards her, Anna listened to the inner voice that told her it would be a bad idea to feel those long brown fingers close over her own...mainly because the idea was so attractive.
Eye contact had just about shredded her nervous system so skin contact was definitely something to avoid, she decided as she carefully pushed the glass towards her grandfather, dragging out the process until hiding behind her hair was no longer an option without looking a little deranged.
She lifted her head, experienced the grab of those blue eyes, the jolt finally reaching her toes, and she could breathe.
‘I’m sorry...’
‘It was a long time ago.’
‘Mentor?’Unable to ignore the hand any longer, she allowed her fingers to touch his. By this point she would have been surprised if therehadn’tbeen the tingle of an electric shock, she decided as she surreptitiously rubbed her hand against her thigh.
‘When your grandfather had...’ He paused and the blue focus shifted a little to her left. Free of the full beam, she compressed her lips against a sigh of relief. ‘When he had business interests in Iceland. They shared offices outside Reykjavik.’
‘Iceland...?’She shook her head, the absurd suggestion tugging her lips into a condescending smile. ‘I think you’re mistaken. Youaremistaken. My grandfather has never been to Iceland,’ she told him firmly.
The dark brows lifted as his hooded eyes watched her. ‘He never spoke of his time there?’
His intense scrutiny made her shift uncomfortably. ‘I think,’ she began crossly, ‘I would have known if my grandfather...’ She paused, remembering the long unexplained absences, though in truth it was the gifts that always accompanied his return that had stuck in her mind as a child. ‘I suppose it’s possible...’ she conceded reluctantly.
‘What reason would I have to lie about such a thing?’
Anna shrugged but didn’t acknowledge he had a point.
