Page 32 of Undoing His Innocent Enemy (Hot Winter Escapes)

Something had happened, somethingmusthave happened to make him so wary of social contact, so determined never to be found.

Sympathy pulsed in her chest.

‘How long have you lived out here alone?’ she asked.

‘Since my grandfather died a decade ago. He brought me here to save me from the vultures after my parents’ death. And I have no desire to return to that circus.’

The vultures? Was he talking about the press? All she knew about him was the things she could vaguely recall her bar colleague mentioning—that he had disappeared from the public eye as a child.

Oh, for an Internet connection, or a phone signal, or a charger for her phone. There wasn’t much she wouldn’t do right now to be able to do an Internet search on him.

But somehow, she doubted she would find much. And why should she need to do an Internet search, when she had him right in front of her?

She decided to push her luck. ‘How old were you when your parents died?’

His gaze narrowed, suspicion rife in his eyes. ‘Ten.’

The sympathy contracted around her ribs like a vice.

He had come to Finland while still an impressionable child, after what had to have been a traumatic event, and then had been left in the care of a man who had clearly kept him isolated from the world. Was it any surprise he was a recluse?

‘How did your parents die, Logan?’

He flinched, as if she had slapped him, and she saw the pain flash across his features.

‘You don’t know?’ he asked, the sceptical tone only wounding her more.

She shook her head.

He glanced past her, his stance tense, his eyes closing briefly. She sensed the struggle he waged. This was not something he wished to remember, let alone talk about.

What right did she really have to ask him about any of this? They’d slept together once. But just as she said, ‘It’s okay, you don’t have to answer—’ He interrupted her.

‘They were shot. A kidnap attempt gone wrong.’

‘Someone was trying to kidnap them?’ she asked, shocked to her core.

‘Not them,me,’ he murmured. But that rigid tone broke on the last word.

Had he been there? He must have been. Which meant he must have witnessed their deaths. The thought horrified her and made the sympathy tangle into a knot in her belly.

Before she could think better of the impulse, she stepped forward, and pressed her palm to his cheek. The muscle flexed and hardened, but she could see the brittle anguish in his gaze before he could mask it.

‘I’m so sorry, Logan...’

He clasped her wrist, dragged her hand away from his face, the pain in his eyes turning to heat, and hunger. ‘No more questions,’ he said.

She nodded. ‘No, no more questions.’

‘I want you still,’ he said, the brutal honesty, the need he couldn’t hide, making the knot of sympathy turn into something fierce and visceral and undeniable. ‘Show me what’s on the camera,’ he demanded.

A part of her wanted to refuse the request. But she understood now, he had answered her questions to earn her trust. How could she refuse to do the same? She pulled the strap off her shoulder and handed him the camera.

He took the Leica and switched it on. For several seconds that felt like years, the mechanism whirled as the camera’s batteries warmed. Anticipation and hope clogged her throat. And fear. What if the camera still wouldn’t start?

She swallowed heavily. Determined not to examine the fact that her desire to rescue her photos was all wrapped up in the desire to prove to him he could trust her too.

At last, the viewfinder lit. Relief guttered through her as he clicked methodically through the photos she’d taken.

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