Anouk eyed him speculatively for several long moments. There was patently more to the story than she was willing to reveal to him. And he shouldn’t be so desperate to know the truth. To understand it more.
He shouldn’t be so wrapped up in the abridged version she was feeding him now. It shouldn’t matter to him.
‘You came all the way from America because he lives in the UK.’
‘Not just the UK. Moorlands itself,’ she bit out, at length.
That was why she’d come here?
‘Did you track him down?’ He couldn’t help himself.
What the hell was it about this woman that slid, so devilishly slickly, under his skin?
An internal war waged within Sol and for seconds, minutes, maybe hours, he couldn’t breathe. He had no idea what would win.
There was another pause, before she nodded.
‘Eight years ago. With Saskia.’
‘And?’
‘He’d died about five years before that. There was a young family living in the house, but the neighbours confirmed it.’
‘You’re sure it was him.’
‘There’s no doubt about it, Sol.’ She offered a wan smile. ‘I even visited his grave.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ he told her sincerely.
What more was there to say?
She leaned on the counter, her arms folded defensively across her chest.
‘I’m not after pity, Sol. I just wanted you to know that I wasn’t telling you that I think you’re capable of l
ove because I want you to love me. I know our deal was just sex. It’s the only reason I agreed to it, so I’m not about to change the rules now. I don’t want love in my life either. I don’t trust it. I never have.’
Some seething thing slunk around inside him. But the anger wasn’t directed at Anouk any more. Or himself. It was directed at those people who had never deserved her care in the first place. Who had hurt her. Who had destroyed something as fragile and precious as her trust in anyone who could love her.
‘You trusted the wrong people,’ he gritted out, realising that he wanted to reach out and pull her to him.
To tell her that she was beautiful, and caring, and lovable. Especially because it was only now occurring to him that she didn’t know that for herself. How had he not seen that before? He was usually skilled at reading others.
‘Of course, I trusted the wrong people,’ she agreed flatly. ‘But who would have thought that my mother and my grandmother were those wrong people? They lied to me my whole life. In the end I think my mother only told me the truth to get one final dig at me. To prove to me that she’d had the upper hand right up until her moment of death.’
‘That doesn’t mean you should still let her get to you now. You can trust people. You can trust me.’
Her eyebrows shot up.
‘Said the spider to the fly.’
It was a fair point. Maybe that was why it grated on him. Maybe that was why, instead of shutting her question down as he would have done had any other woman asked, he found himself answering the question she’d once put to him.
‘I was five when Malachi started to become a carer.’
She blinked.
‘You don’t have to do this, Sol. I wasn’t telling you about me just to make you feel obliged to do the same.’