The first fifteen to twenty seconds of their so-called exercise she’d been adorably shy, utterly miserable and obviously so far out of her comfort zone he’d found himself smiling to reassure her. Knox was a man who always questioned everything—that insatiable curiosity had prompted his career choice. Savannah’s reaction to this particular test raised many questions, the most pressing of which was, who or what had happened to her to make her so damned distrustful? Because something definitely had. At some point in her life, or perhaps repeatedly, she’d been deeply hurt. Betrayed. The knowledge made his mind momentarily go black with rage and the unreasonable urge to right old wrongs for her, heal old hurts. How could he have been so blind? He could see the truth now, hovering beneath the bravado, beneath the sarcasm, and he wondered again how he’d ever missed it in the first place. Knox mentally snorted. Hell, he knew how. She’d never let him close enough. Never let anyone close enough, for that matter.
