Free The Devil's Grin: Illustrated Edition (An Anna Kronberg Thriller Book 1) by Annelie Wendeberg Page B

Where’ve you been?’
    ‘None of your business, Garret. I don’t ask you where you find all these things, do I?’
    ‘True.’ He cleared his throat, contemplated a little longer, then took a step closer and smiled a warm and fuzzy sensation into my chest.
    The moment I wasn’t paying attention to anything but his face, he snatched my hand   — like a thief — and gazed at the smallness of it in his large and square paw.
    ‘You can’t walk around here looking like that,’ he grumbled.
    ‘I surely can.’ I took a step away from him. He kept holding on to my hand and followed.
    ‘I’ll bring you home,’ he decided and walked with me, occasionally throwing a glance of puzzlement at my expensive dress. He didn’t speak another word until we stood at my front door.
    ‘Thank you, Garret.’ I squeezed his hand and looked up into his face.
    ‘What’re you doing tonight?’ His voice was thick, his forget-me-not eyes intense. Such contrast this gentle face of his was to the forceful rest of him, that bulk of a man with shoulders like a bull and sledgehammer fists. I’d always wondered how he could maintain that occupation of his. How could he fit through small windows or hide in narrow corners?
    ‘Don’t know yet,’ I answered.
    He wrapped one arm around my waist and pulled me close. I hid my smile in his shirt and took a deep breath. He smelled of soap and fresh air.  
    ‘You made plans for tonight?’ I asked through the gap between two buttonholes.
    ‘Think so,’ he said softly and pushed the door to the house open.
    ‘Garret, you just picked that lock with one hand while flirting with your lover!’
    ‘Hmm…’ he hummed into my hat.
    We entered my room and, with his hand resting on the small of my back, he toed the door shut and took a step forward to push me against the wall. Despite his impatience, he was very gentle. After all, his weight was about twice mine and he could squish me like an insect. Most certainly, that thought had never touched his brain.
    He helped me undo the countless buttons on my dress, inhaled a sigh when he peeled it off the satin corset. His fingers searched for the corset’s secret opening and I heard his heart thumping wildly as the silk ribbons whispered through the eyelets. Tense with anticipation, I listened to the rustling of hands on fabric and the staccato of his breath against my skin while my fingers shed his clothes — so much easier than shedding mine.
    His eyes flared up when he lifted me without effort. I wrapped my legs around his waist, the soft hair of his chest against my breasts and stomach.  
    When he held me, I could forget about the complicated web of lies I had woven for myself. In his arms I was but a simple woman, loved by a simple man.
    In the glass across the room, the reflection of his broad back glistened in the candlelight and both, man and light, moved rhythmically. To me, all about him was gentle and rough at the same time. Every so often, he, with his orange mane and his coarse tongue and paws, made me think of a lion.

    The candle had almost burned down. Its flickering light painted golden sparks onto the curls on Garret’s chest. I rolled them around my index finger, lazily, again and again. His ribcage moved up and down — a slow and calming rhythm — and my thoughts began to gallop freely.
    I imagined living a normal life. I knew these thoughts were a waste of my time. And yet, I needed to think them, as an experiment of ifs and whys that always brought me back to where I was now.  
    I had chosen a life in disguise because I wanted to practise medicine. I was the only female medical doctor in London. Not officially, though.
    What a man had I become! I was so accomplished in speaking, walking, and behaving like a man that no one ever doubted my sex.  
    I had split my life in two: the male half, which I maintained during the day — Dr Anton Kronberg, renowned bacteriologist; and my female half at night — Anna Kronberg, nurse