He liked the way she said his name, her accent giving it a sophistication it had never had before. “Actually I think they call me Demon because asshole doesn’t rhyme with Damien.”

A startled laugh flew out of her mouth, her lips splitting in a wide, genuine grin. “I don’t think that’s it at all.” Then she studied him, curious, fingers gripping the fuzzy blue edge of the polyester blanket. “Why do you let them think that about you? I don’t think you really deserve either appellation.”

How could he tell this woman, with her honest and direct eyes, that it was easier to let people think he was an asshole? That it kept people away from him, who would infringe on his time, his friendship, his emotions, drawing him back into entanglements that he no longer had the strength to deal with. There was no way to describe how he’d crawled back out of a raw agony, and the only means to keep the crushing fear at bay, to protect his sanity, was to prevent anyone from getting close to him.

When Jessica had been murdered, he had retreated into a carefully constructed house of cards. If he let people start flicking their fingers at the shaky walls, it was possible it would all fall around him.

So he shrugged. “I don’t care what people think.”

Two months ago he would have said that and meant it. But now it felt like he was skirting the edge of truth. He definitely cared what the woman next to him thought.

“Well, bully for you,” Mandy said softly with a smile, resting her head on the back of the seat. “If we should all be so mature.”

He shifted, turned more fully toward her, disturbing her blanket in the process. Damien twitched it back into place, careful not to touch Mandy’s bare arm. “Maybe it’s not maturity. Maybe it’s arrogance. I’m just a jerk, like everyone says.”

If she believed it, she would retreat, leave him alone, stay outside the bitter bubble he lived in. Because if Mandy started to look at him with softness in her eyes, he wasn’t sure he was going to be able to resist.

And he had nothing of value inside his soul to offer a woman like her.

But she already was gracing him with a lazy smile and a sweet understanding shining in her eyes. “I don’t believe that, Damien Sharpton. I think there’s much more to you than meets the eye.”

Then hers drifted closed, and in a minute, her breath evened out as she dozed.

His attraction, that interest in her, grew exponentially.

Damien bent over and got out his laptop, careful not to disturb her. Determined to work and push her out of his mind, he reread a report he was working on, proofreading it for errors.