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NORMALLYTAKE-OFFWASa big thing for Anna, and not in a good way. More of a white-knuckle, take-a-deep-breath way. She did close her eyes and take a stranglehold grip of the arm rests of her seat, but there was too much going on in her head to allow for outright gibbering panic.
It wasn’t just the novelty of being on a private flight that distracted her.
She was wondering where Soren was, and if the driver had told him she had tried to persuade him to take her to the clinic. As she had pointed out in her attempts to coax him, it wasalmoston the way.
It had seemed worth a try and she hadn’t said shewouldn’tsay goodbye to Grandpa. Soren, in his typical overbearing style, had just taken her compliance as a given.
If Soren said anything she’d tell him that she didn’t owe him any explanations, she wasn’t working for him yet. Actually, it wasn’t his reaction that occupied her thoughts, it was her grandfather. She knew he was being well cared for and the likelihood was he really wouldn’t notice her absence, but it still felt like running away.
And Anna had never been the sort of person who ran away,untilnow...because, though you could dress it up any way you chose, shewasrunning away, taking the easy way out and abandoning her grandfather.
Tears of self-disgust stung closed eyelids as she felt the plane level smoothly off.
‘You going to spend the entire journey with your eyes closed?’
The soft, slightly mocking voice made Anna’s eyes snap open, wide, wary and probably, she realised with a sinking heart, providing evidence that just the sight of him sitting opposite, his long legs stretched out under the table between them, was enough to send her sensitive stomach muscles into a steep spiralling dive.
She’d heard it said that sexual attraction was something you couldn’t rationalise; she now knew it was true. They also said it was something you couldn’t control but Anna refused to believe that. She thought of that kiss and really hoped her conviction was never put to the test... She ignored the kick of excitement in her pelvis as she thought about the consequences of failing.
Feeling like someone fighting their way out of a deep hole of their own making, she forced a smile, cleared her throat and, mentally at least, squared her shoulders.
‘So, Alberto got you here on time?’
She nodded, noticing him observing her choice of clothes from the wide selection on offer, and worried that the approving warmth in his eyes made her feel good, not to mentionaware.
For a brief childish moment she was tempted to counteract the feeling by explaining that she hadn’t been seeking his approval when she selected the vivid mustard wrap-over pencil skirt with the bright blue cabbage roses on it and the classic navy silk shirt.
‘He told you, didn’t he? Alberto told you.’
His brows lifted. ‘I have not as yet spoken to Alberto.’
‘I asked him to take me to the Merlin. I wanted to say goodbye to Grandpa. Don’t worry, he refused.’
‘Excellent. I won’t have to sack him.’
Her eyes widened, the horror morphing into annoyance when she read the gleam in his eyes. ‘Very amusing, and actually I think the media storm, or at least the worst of it, might have passed.’
Soren, clean-shaven and looking utterly relaxed, eased his broad shoulders into the leather of the seat.
‘You think?’ His jacket was gone and his long brown fingers picked at the knot of the discreet grey silk tie that lay pale against the dark blue of his shirt, the deep colour intensifying the shocking cerulean shade of his eyes.
Breaking the hypnotic contact, she pushed her glossy freshly washed hair behind her ears and nodded, explaining.
‘I would have worn dark glasses and no one would recognise me in these clothes.’
‘Shades... Oh, why didn’t you say? That would have made all the difference. Were you thinking of a hoodie too...?’
Her lips twisted in annoyance. ‘I don’t think this is funny,’ she retorted haughtily.
‘We are on the same page there. Neither do I.’
Looking at her suddenly made him angry—she worried about her grandfather, who was worthless. The woman didn’t seem to realise that a conscience was excess baggage.
Soren thought he had eradicated his years ago—he’d had the best teacher—yet every time he looked at her his conscience ached like a muscle memory.
He focused instead on his anger. There was plenty to go around: he was angry at himself and angry at her and the real focus of his fury had been placed out of his reach.
‘Perhaps we should concentrate on the things we have in common.’
