Pitch Imperfect (17 page)

Taking her coffee to the sitting room, Anjuli saluted the fireplace with her cup, her morning greeting to the lady of the hearth. The lady’s equally elegant companion, “Evening Reverie”, was at the other end of the room. Both fireplaces were now in full working order thanks to Connor’s men, and fresh wood, chopped and ready, filled a large copper pail on the hearth.

Anjuli tapped her fingers on the carved mantel. Face grim, she ran through the estimate for the cheapest bathtubs, sinks and furniture required for nine en suites, the entire ground floor and new kitchen. She may have learned her lesson too late, but she was taking control of her finances and making informed decisions. Her insistence on not using the upmarket manufacturers Rob wanted would not be to his liking, but she would stick to her guns.

Anjuli checked her mobile. One missed call from Rob and a text from Damien, letting her know everything had gone well at the pub and Reiver had settled in fine.

Just as she was about to get into the shower, Anjuli heard the sound of an engine and then a loud bang at the back of the house. “No bloody way.” She was not going to be robbed again, not of a single rusted nail. Enraged, she pulled on her dressing gown and ran down the stairs and out of the kitchen door. Her axe was propped against the back wall and she picked it up, then looked at the car. She didn’t recognise it, but whoever it belonged to was inside the shed. Something fell and hit the ground and a man cursed.

“Come out whoever you are.”

More cursing.

Cautiously, Anjuli stood outside the shed door, ready to strike. If she were in a horror film this would be where she got sucked dry by the vampire, but she didn’t care. She would get in a good whack before he made off with her garden tools. The shed door opened and she aimed for the thief’s head, stopping just short of hitting him.

“Jesus Christ, you trying to kill me?”

It was Craig. Anjuli dropped the axe. “What are you doing in my shed? You scared me half to death.”

“Mac asked me to drop some paint by on my way home. I tripped on something and one of the shelves fell so I tried to fix it. Then the shelf I put the paint on collapsed.”

Anjuli laughed, more from the release of tension than from humour, and Craig grinned. Then his eyes raced down to her breasts and stopped like a speeding car at a red light. Anjuli looked down, realising nothing but thin red silk covered her naked body.

“I think you’d better leave.”

He looked uncomfortable. “How’s Ash? Mac told me she was in hospital.”

“She’s fine,” Anjuli said, telling herself not to lay into him or...
to hell with that
. “Mac loves you, Craig, she always has. How could you?”

Craig shrugged. “I never should have married her. I don’t love her and I never did. The only reason I’ve stayed this long is because of the boys.”

His sudden amnesia was galling. “How you can say you never loved her? You begged me to double-date at a school dance once, just so you could talk to her and—”

“We got married too young.”

Anjuli was so angry she couldn’t speak. She didn’t see his charm or the fun-loving high school friend she remembered. He paced the ground as if trapped in a cage, occasionally punctuating his words with frustrated expletives as he talked of his unhappiness.

His tirade about being bored with Mac, with marriage, with Heaverlock, seemed cathartic for him, but she didn’t want to be Craig’s confessor or hear his self-righteous excuses for cheating.

“There’s no excuse for being unfaithful or for sleeping with my sister. She’s pregnant, Craig, and I hear you’ve got another child somewhere.”

He looked at the ground and shifted on his feet. “Ash was up for it, and I thought she was on the pill,” he said bullishly. “A man has needs, and Mac is the most insipid woman I—”

“Don’t you dare blame your infidelity on her,” Anjuli said, getting so close she could slap him. She controlled the urge with effort, but if he said another bad word about Mac she’d...

“I’m leaving her.”

Bam! Her hand made contact with his cheek, and he caught it and yanked her close. “Bitch,” he said, dragging her against his chest.

Stunned, she tried to shake him off, but he twisted her arm behind her back, holding her against him.

“It’s over for Mac and me. I’ve moved on. I’m going to divorce her and marry my girlfriend.”

“And which one would that be?” Anjuli said, struggling to get free.

“I’ll let you go if you hear me out and promise not to hit me,” Craig said, showing the first signs of remorse. Anjuli bit him and he laughed, then she went slack so he would loosen his hold and she could break free.

Before she could, a woman’s voice interrupted them.

“Sorry, is this a bad time?”

Oh God
,
anybody but her
. Sarah Brunel’s face was as rigid as her tone. “I came to take some pictures, but I could come back later. I see why you said you like your privacy.”

* * *

Anjuli groaned, remembering the reporter’s cat-got-the-cream expression and dropped her handbag on the console table. It had been a long morning after Craig left, followed by an even longer afternoon at the pub and the only thing she wanted was to soak until her skin shrivelled like a raisin. The new central heating system meant she now had the luxury of hot water, but instead of enjoying it she was too restless to relax. The message on her answering machine from Mac, inviting her to a girls’ night out the following Wednesday only compounded her stress. She erased the recording and poured herself a large glass of red. Then another. What the hell, a fresh bottle for the sitting room in case she finished this one. All she wanted was to forget her problems for one night.

Earlier, she had lit a fire and by its crackling light she watched the sun set over Heaverlock Castle. She lifted the cinnamon-scented wine to her mouth. Where was the other bottle? Something rolled under the sofa and the world rolled with it, tipping her over as she stuck her hand underneath and grabbed it. Soon enough, she was feeling pleasantly tipsy, in a better mood to reflect on her growing list of disasters, starting with Castle Manor.

The quiet, easy life she had imagined was careening out of control. She had a three-storey house she could barely afford and she worked in a pub to make ends meet. Plus, she had become the target of xenophobic thieves. The hate graffiti made her uncomfortable and she’d checked and double-checked the doors and windows. Without Reiver she felt alone. Vulnerable.

“To Reiver,” she said, lifting her glass and spilling a few droplets on the floor.

Before coming home she’d checked on him at the clinic. The operation had removed the tumour successfully and he would be back where he belonged in a few days. Anjuli sighed. If only there were a similar procedure to remove her feelings for Rob, cut him out of her heart and leave her unable to feel anything other than friendship.

The only way to do that was to remove herself from temptation, and yet she had allowed him to kiss her. Anjuli groaned into her wine glass. She was worse than slutty, kissing Damien one minute and Rob the next; coming on to one man and then almost coming with another.

Damien wanted more than a platonic friendship and she had led him on, knowing in her heart she didn’t want the same. Selfishly, she had used him to try and forget Rob. When had she turned into such a bitch? One in heart-pumping, mind-numbing heat judging from her reaction to Rob’s kiss. Anjuli racked her fuzzy brain. There was something else she was having a hard time coping with, something big, but she couldn’t remember what it was. Oh yeah, Craig was leaving Mac for some tart down south.

Pop!

Like the cork in her wine, there went Mac’s happy life. Anjuli gulped down the full-bodied red. Would Sarah tell Mac she’d seen her in her dressing gown with Craig? The censorious reporter had barely stayed long enough to take a few photos, coldly polite and witheringly formal.

“That wasn’t what it looked like,” Anjuli had said, hating the defensive tone in her voice.

One perfectly manicured eyebrow had risen delicately. “It never is.”

What the hell was she supposed to say to that? She’d be damned if she started explaining herself to
Sarah Brunel
. Anjuli teetered to the fireplace and topped up the logs in the fire. She poured herself another glass, leaving the wine bottle on the hearth to warm. The weather had taken a turn for the worse and it was cold in the sitting room, even with the central heating. High ceilings were lovely, but had their drawbacks.

Maybe she should go to sleep—nature’s way of forgetting the unforgettable.

Her stomach growled. She should put something inside her belly because she was getting utterly, hopelessly drunk, the alcohol in her veins making her...restless? No, that wasn’t it. Wired, like an electric cable gone wild, sparking the earth wherever she touched.

During her last semester at Juilliard she’d gone to a party with a friend and they’d sat cataloguing the different types of drunks. Silly drunks, belligerent drunks, gropey drunks. Then there were the huggers, cry-babies, and singers. Her friend was a hugger, but Anjuli wasn’t in any of those categories.

She was a sexy drunk.

Swirling her wine, Anjuli thought about the hurtful things that had been written about her in the tabloids over the years. Contrary to those spirulous...no, squirrilous...
Whatever
. Contrary to the screwilous articles, she hardly ever got drunk and she wasn’t promiscuous. But she was definitely running on alcohol, speeding miles past flirty and cruising into floozy.

Her insides may be growling, but it wasn’t food she craved.

Anjuli lay back and shut her eyes, stroking her hand from her breast to the dip in her stomach. She could taste firm, masculine lips; feel strong hands around her waist, hauling her against a tall, rigid body. Oh, yes, there was the hard press of male desire against her hip. Her hand slipped under her nightdress and across her skin, imagining Rob’s thick, hard cock doing the same.

Dizzily, she tried to shake off the image and replace it with another, to exchange black hair for blond and smoky grey eyes for leonine gold. Her stubborn brain refused the substitution, saturated by alcohol’s truth. She wanted something bigger, hotter, longer than her fingers.

She wanted
Rob
.

Rob’s mouth on hers, his hands on her breasts and his hard length inside her. He was lighting her up like the logs in the fireplace, making her simmer and squirm against her hand until she was panting and wet—so wet!—right where she wanted him. Her body arched as pleasure began to roll through her, pushing her hips into faster gyrations, leaving her moaning, aching for release.

The sound of the doorbell didn’t register until a few sharp knocks brought her down from the cresting wave. Anjuli lowered her nightdress and tried to clear her head. Another few knocks, more insistent this time. Pulling a throw over her shoulders she weaved her way to the front door.

The object of her fantasy was standing in front of her, a dark silhouette against the sky.

Chapter Fourteen

Rob stared at Anjuli. Had she been sleeping? It was early for bed but she looked tousled. Her eyes were glazed and her skin flushed. He looked at her more closely and she swayed back and gripped the door handle.

“What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to make sure you were safe, so here I am.”

Anjuli poked him in the chest. “You are not here because you, my black-haired stallion, are trotting over the Atlantic tonight. Trot, trot, trot.”

Rob grinned. She never could take her alcohol. “I rescheduled my flight for tomorrow and am very much tethered to Castle Manor.” He lifted the shopping bag in his hand. “I’ve brought dinner.”

Anjuli didn’t look at the food. She stared at his crotch so blatantly his cock stirred. Her low, sultry chuckle reached through his trousers like an audible caress. “I am
so
hungry.”

Food
,
man
,
concentrate on the food.
Rob shut the door and took Anjuli’s hand. She wasn’t too steady and clutched his arm for balance. She lifted her hand and pushed back her hair, and a waft of her alluring female scent rose to his nostrils, powering into him like a hydraulic drill.

Wait, was
that
what she’d been doing before he arrived? The reason she looked so flushed? At this intimate range he could see the flutter of her pulse and his body responded. His cock refused to behave and stretched against its confines. Anjuli wanted sex and in her inebriated state she wouldn’t stop him if he offered to give it to her.

“Kitchen,” he said, swallowing hard. “Dinner.”

That rich, sultry laugh again. “There’s a fire in the sitting room and wine. Grab a glass and join me.”

Rob used the three minutes microwaving the Spanish paella meals to cool down, or at least try. When he entered the sitting room Anjuli was stretched out on the sofa like a contented cat. The lights were out, the flames in the fireplace outlining her body. Dusky pink nipples poked hard points against her thin nightgown.

You are a mature man in your thirties
,
not a mindless animal
. He was sweating like one though, and so hard it would be difficult to sit.

Anjuli’s held out her wine glass. “Fill me up.”

Her hand was cold, but the spark she sent through him was sizzling hot.

Armchair for the meal
,
not next to her on the sofa.
At the ceilidh, with her hair up and wearing a low-cut dress, Anjuli had looked like a wet dream. Now the dream could be reality, her wavy hair loose and a cotton nightdress the only thing between him and her skin. One easily dealt with barrier to rip apart so he could taste her.

Taste your food
.

Rob made short work of his dinner. He’d had a long day in London, his flight to Edinburgh had been delayed and he’d hit heavy traffic on his way back to Heaverlock, stretching the two-hour journey into a tedious four. From the dark circles under Anjuli’s eyes it looked as if she’d had a long day too. She was drunk and she should eat, and he wouldn’t let her if she continued to look at him as though he was her main course.

Rob inhaled deeply of the wine before he drank it, needing the warm, spicy hint to clear his head of Anjuli’s intoxicating scent. He talked about work, Mac, the village—anything that would stop him from accepting the invitation in her eyes. Watching her full mouth taste, chew and swallow her food was driving him nuts, wanting to be inside her instead of across the coffee table.

“I’m going to be extra busy for the next couple of weeks but Castle Manor is still on target in spite of the theft.”

Anjuli swallowed the last bite of her food. “Ben told me about the project in America.”

Oh?
He’d take it up with Ben later, but no, maybe his brother’s overprotectiveness had done him a favour. “What do you think I should do?” Damn it, she’d tipped her head back onto the sofa.

“Pour me another drink.”

“I think you’ve had enough.”

Anjuli leaned over and poured it herself, giving him a view of her deliciously full breasts. She raised her glass, spilled some wine on her breast and—God damn it—he had to look away before he lost control.

Her voice was laced with treacle. “To October fifteenth.”

The day he’d asked her to marry him. The day he’d taken her virginity and the day he’d given her his. “I didn’t think you’d remember,” he said hoarsely.

“Every time I sit in front of the fireplace,” she said.

Fuck.
At that moment all he wanted was to pour her fluid body onto the hearth and slide into her, make her steam and sizzle, heat her pussy until she was so molten she bubbled over.

“Time for bed,” he rasped.

He carried her up the wide staircase and onto the landing, her hand around the back of his neck, breasts pressed into his chest. Cold fingertips traced the shadow on his jaw. “You’re so prickly.” She speared a hand through his hair. “Soft, like a bunny rabbit.”

“You’re drunk, lass, else you’d no’ be calling me soft.”

And because he couldn’t help it, he kissed her smiling lips. Carrying her down the long corridor, he tried to keep his need for her in check. Anjuli didn’t make it easy. When he reached her bedroom she found his hard nipple and bit through his shirt, sucking him into her mouth.

“Jesus,” he hissed, as the pleasure hit his cock.

Rob lowered her onto the bed, but she didn’t let go. She clutched his neck and brought him down on top of her. “Stay with me, Rob. I want you inside me, just one more time.”

With a superhuman effort Rob unclasped her hands and stood up. He raked a hand through his hair and stared at her full, inviting body. “Damn it, Anjuli, you’re enough to test any man’s resolve, but I’m no’ making the same mistakes again. I’m going to make love to you when you’re sober and sure that it’s me you want.”

“I don’t want anyone else,” she whispered. “That’s the problem.”

Fierce, savage joy raced through his body. How easy it would be to give them both release, to pull up her nightgown and feel her underneath him. He would taste her, savour her, sheath himself inside her and find peace. A new start with no holding back. His body was primed, but then so was his mind. He hadn’t forgotten what she’d said at the ceilidh.

Why had she lied to him in London and why did she say she couldn’t love anyone again? Not wouldn’t but
couldn’t
.

He had to find out. Whatever Anjuli was hiding was destroying her. He knew it with a basic, instinctive knowledge grounded in his love for her, flowing through his veins even stronger than his desire.

“Tell me what’s wrong, lass,” he said, holding her wrists when she would have reached out to touch him.

“It’s my fault,” she groaned drunkenly.

Her head twisted side to side as if she were in pain. Her words slurred beyond coherency and she muttered about a crystal sparrow flying away. Mac’s name and Ash’s and something about Castle Manor’s stolen building supplies.

“The money...I have to tell you...”

Rob covered her with the duvet and tucked it around her body. He leaned over to kiss her lips. “Wheesht now, lass. We’ll talk when I get back.”

And then I’m going to make love to you.

* * *

Sunlight streamed through the oriel window, splitting Anjuli’s headache into painful streaks of red, blue and gold. She shielded her eyes and went down the stairs and into the kitchen. Her Italian coffeemaker was loaded and ready on the stovetop and a loaf of brown bread sat on the table next to a few jams and cereal boxes. Under the butter dish, a small square of white paper with handwriting she recognised.

Anjuli,

On mounted steed the laired will try

To reach his lady in castle high

...or he’ll phone.

Black Douglas

Rob had always been a keen reader, but as for writing, his emails were curt missives, his messages straightforward. But his notes...bad poetry? She put the square in her pocket, perplexed. One thing was clear though, those four lines were irrefutable proof last night had not been a dream. Rob had indeed come over, fed her and then—she wouldn’t think about it until she was full of strong, black coffee. Toast slathered in butter, topped with mango chutney, spicy and sweet as sin.

She had begged him to make love to her. Again.

She was a slut, a horny drunk who couldn’t control herself around Rob. Her repeat performance must have disgusted him, reminded him of her behaviour in London. Anjuli groaned, and the sound vibrated in her ears, exacerbating the throb in her head. She finished her coffee and toast and went to open the windows in the morning room, stopping abruptly at the doorway. Rob had been busy last night, but not with her. He’d unpacked two boxes of books, built her flat-pack bookcase and organised the novels onto the shelves.

Philippa Gregory and Anya Seton were on the top, George R. R. Martin and Stephen King in the middle and the bottom shelf—Anjuli blushed as she skimmed the spines. Those paperbacks were neatly lined up in alphabetical order. The second book,
Border Lord’s Captive
, was misaligned. On the cover, a dark, bare-chested brute of a man in a Lindsey kilt sat atop a black stallion, a buxom blonde clinging to his shoulders. Cheeks heating, Anjuli pulled the crinkled paper out of her pocket and compared it to the book’s shoutline.

Why hadn’t she carted that box upstairs where it belonged? And why did Rob think he had the right to tidy her house and make himself at home in her kitchen? Irritation at his presumption competed with pleasure at his initiative, resulting in nervous anticipation, the sense he was seducing her with something more powerful than sex.

She picked up the delicate, crystal sparrow on top of the windowsill. “Morning,” she whispered, and took it with her to the sitting room.

The fireplace had been cleaned and a new fire laid. Just how long had Rob stayed last night? Anjuli flopped on the sofa and gazed at the empty armchair. Snippets of their conversation zigzagged across her mind. Talk of Rob’s architectural designs, her restoration, the first Common Riding event. It was the first of June and the monthlong festival had started, but what else had they talked about? Huge gaps garbled what she remembered and what she’d rather forget was as clear as the bright blue sky.

She’d wanted sex and he’d carried her upstairs. Then he’d left her there.

Alone.

Unsatisfied.

No, she didn’t feel piqued and no, she wasn’t disappointed. Well, maybe she was, a little, but she was thankful he hadn’t acted on her demands. Maybe they really could be friends and nothing more. She might have wanted sex last night, but listening to Rob’s husky brogue, seeing his eyes light up when he talked about the project in America had filled her with another kind of pleasure. And pride, although she had no right to feel that way.

Anjuli stared at the fireplace, wishing nothing remained of her love for Rob except the cinders, easily swept away.

Crystal sparrow in hand, Anjuli walked to the bridge, taking deep, filling breaths of crisp morning air. Pensively, she eyed Heaverlock Castle as she approached, comparing its dark grey stone with the distant peaks of Colters Craggs. Had the fortress’s walls once seemed a safe refuge? How stupid of her not to have taken into account its cracks and fissures. The scattered slabs in the courtyard, fallen from arches or walls, or the crumbling, uneven stairs jutting straight out of the wall. The unreachable north tower.
Her
tower, she liked to think, though the glaring keep-out sign and thick metal door cut her off from it and the parapet beyond

As a teenager she’d wanted to break down the door and sit in the tower, peer out of the Elizabethan window and envisage the world it had been built for. She’d wanted to walk along the parapet and project her voice into the moors, see if its echo would reach into the past. Fanciful thinking—wishful too, as were so many other things she wanted. Anjuli opened her palm and raised the small crystal sparrow, showing it the view. The glass was warm in her hand, reflecting grass-green and stone-grey as she glided it through the air.

Her mobile rang and she looked at the screen, stifling the urge to reject the call. One must always answer phone calls from friends, especially after they put your drunken arse to bed.

“I’m about to take off for Boston,” Rob said. “How’s your head?”

It wasn’t her head that worried her, but her insides, melting into a mass of quivering goo. She cleared her throat. “Sorry about last night.”

His voice was low and husky. “I enjoyed it.”

“It won’t happen again.”

“No’ when you’re drunk.”

“Sorry? Can’t hear you. Reception’s rubbish today.”

He was not supposed to chuckle.

“I hope it goes well and you sign the contract,” she said primly.

A long pause, then, “You do?”

No!
“I think it’s a great opportunity and Boston is a fantastic city. It’s very sophisticated and has lots of things we lack in Heaverlock—great restaurants, theatres, an international music scene,” she babbled, enumerating its attractive features.

“There’s only one thing I’m lacking, lass, and that’s—”

“The women are thin and beautiful,” Anjuli interrupted hastily. “Maybe you’ll meet a fantastic Bostonian and like living over there so much you’ll settle down. Get married, two point four kids, a dog—”

“You’ve got it all figured out, have you?”

Anjuli aimed for firm and decisive.
It works with animals...and people.
“I’m encouraging you to do something that’ll be good for your career. We’re friends, remember, like we agreed at the ceilidh.”

“I don’t remember agreeing to anything,” he said, matching her tone. “You’re hiding something and you’re lying to me like you did in London. When I come back you’re going to tell me why and then we’re going to be whatever the hell you want to call it as long as I make you come.”

Anjuli’s mouth fell open. “You...I...”

“I’ve got to switch off the phone,” he said. “I’ll call when I get in.”

Anjuli shook her phone. She had to set Rob straight, but he would be gone for two weeks and that needed to be a face-to-face conversation. If he phoned, she wouldn’t allow the conversation to stray into dangerous waters, rudeness to friends notwithstanding.