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Horrified by the one that sprang fully formed into her head involving the silken touch of his tongue, the slick, warm... She gave a panicky little gasp, pressed a protective hand to her stomach and picked up one of the framed photos. She stared at it blindly for a few sense-calming moments before she made herself look at him with a painted smile that felt in imminent danger of cracking as shock and shame continued to ricochet through her.
She pretended that the biggest problem in her world was the angle of the photos on the shelf and cleared her throat before asking brightly, ‘I hope you haven’t come too far out of your way?’
To her relief and surprise she sounded sane and not at all like someone who had mentally undressed him the moment she laid eyes on him.
‘Not at all.’
Anna pretended not to notice the edge of mockery underlying his response—anything she said was only going to prolong this conversation.
‘About the security. You might like to suggest they beef it up.’
Her lips tightened. Did he imagine she hadn’t already? Repressing an acid retort, she tipped her head in acknowledgment.
‘So what was this journalist after?’
My God, was he ever going to go?
Slowly she turned around to face him. ‘I have no idea, but look at Grandpa Henry—what sort of person...?’ She clamped her lips, squeezing them to a bloodless white as she fought to contain the surge of anger that made her chest heave dramatically against the loose white cotton that Soren discovered was semi-transparent. ‘What motivates someone like that?’
Soren arched one of the dark thick brows that framed his startling blue eyes. ‘Who knows?’ he said lightly. He was not interested in motivation or rehabilitation, he wanted revenge.
‘Anyonewith a conscience,’ she snapped and then felt guilty because he hadn’t done anything except make her...she began to think about the heat that had...and stopped the thought in its tracks before it reached critical mass.
‘A mistake to assume that everyone has one,’ Soren said, looking at the figure in the chair. ‘You’d be surprised how many don’t.’
A lack of conscience would ironically have won his own grandfather’s approval a lot sooner; a good deal of his training had involved eradicating this undesirable trait.
‘So, goodbye, then, Mr—’
‘Soren.’
‘Goodbye,’ she said firmly. ‘I don’t want to be rude...but I think you should go.’
For a brief unguarded moment astonishment washed over his face; a second later his sense of irony kicked in at this role reversal.
Taste of your own medicine, Soren!
Though in his own defence he was generally less blunt when he walked away from a woman.
Anna missed the brief interplay of emotions that slipped through his guard. She had begun to remove the items she had packed into the box, more photos to join those already on the wall and shelves. The music her grandfather loved, a couple of leather-bound volumes of his favourite novels... Anything that was familiar made him feel more secure.
Unaware of the wistful smile that tugged at her lips, she straightened a framed photo of her parents, the dad she didn’t remember and the beautiful mother who was...well, who knew where?
Anna’s smile deepened as she thought of her absent parent—beautiful, selfish, but she never pretended to be anything else and Anna had stopped being angry with her unmaternal mother a long time ago. She was no longer the little girl dumped quite literally on some often resentful friend’s doorstep because her mum felt the urge to trek in the Amazon or spend some quality time cleansing her chakras in a Himalayan retreat.
Soren stared at the set of her slender back. He found himself struggling to appreciate the novelty value of being ignored and virtually dismissed by a woman, and, even though he had been about to leave, found himself lingering.
Could she really be what she appeared, which was a concerned, loving granddaughter oblivious to her grandparent’s sordid history?
Normally he could rely on his instincts but he found himself resisting them. He was wired to mistrust any blood relation of Tor, but it was more complicated than that. He was strongly sexually drawn to her—were hormones clouding his judgment?
Was her mouth clouding his judgment?
He resented the idea; he resented questioning his own judgment.
For some reason he found himself wanting to make her look at him again. ‘So when I come again I will sign in.’
Anna’s quiet smile said she knew he wouldn’t come again.
