Pitch Imperfect (21 page)

She couldn’t do it.

She couldn’t hurt Rob and she couldn’t bring Chloe back. Helplessly, Anjuli clutched at his lapels as the tide inside her reached its peak. From her gut came a low rumble that grew in volume and intensity until it became a moan, clawing its way through her throat in a long, agonising scream. It was rage and despair, sorrow and pain. It was guilt.

The scream went on and on until her voice was hoarse. Rob held her through the vortex, arms around her and lips in her hair until she slumped into his chest, dry-eyed. The moon cast their shadows against the walls as he carried her up to her bedroom. She couldn’t protest and she couldn’t stop her hands from clasping his neck or her body from moulding to his.

Gently, Rob set her down next to her bed, then searched her room and handed her a T-shirt. “Put this on.”

She should have been annoyed at how easily she obeyed him. Instead she meekly did as he commanded. Rob helped her out of her gown, his touch almost impersonal as he unzipped the back. A quick glance showed he’d gone to the window and was looking out, allowing her privacy. She let the dress drop to the floor and tugged on the T-shirt.

“And now?”

Rob came back and tilted her chin up. “Whatever feels right.”

He pulled back her duvet cover and she slipped underneath. Fully dressed, he lay down next to her on top of the sheets, then drew her into his chest and stroked her back in gentle circles.

Pat
,
pat
,
pat and soothe.

Her eyes overflowed with tears, rolling down her face and onto the steady heartbeat under her cheek. Rob kissed her head and she held on to him and sobbed. Big waves of ugly, gut-wrenching grief she’d never allowed herself to express, never felt she was entitled to. She sobbed for her regrets and for her guilt, but most of all she sobbed for Chloe and the life she would never have.

For the bubbly little baby whose soul had flown away.

She felt that hers might also, but Rob held her close, his solid body her stone sentry, his voice her guide back to Castle Manor when she was finally spent.

Chapter Seventeen

Rob’s cock was so hard it was painful to move, but move he must before he embarrassed himself in Anjuli’s bed. Slowly, he inched his hips away from Anjuli’s sleeping body, trying not to wake her. She sighed in her sleep and he looked at her face. Eyes shut, long brown hair tousled and lips curled in a faint smile. On her side, clutching his hand in hers, she looked vulnerable and young. But still very much the woman who made his blood boil in ways that led straight to his groin.

His control was as flimsy as the sheet between them. After spending the night in bed with her soft, voluptuous body, her wearing only a tight T-shirt and those lacy knickers that had been haunting him since Viking had thrown her over his shoulder, Rob wanted, needed, to be inside her. Hold her in his arms as she came.

No matter what Ben and Mac said, Anjuli Carver was the woman for him and always would be. A feeling of rightness he hadn’t experienced since she’d left settled over his mind, and elation filled him as he watched her sleep. Happiness. His chest was bursting with it and—Anjuli shifted against him—and soon his cock would be also, if he didn’t get out of bed and shower.

Reluctantly, Rob tried to gently extricate his hand from Anjuli’s. She pressed it more firmly against her skin and he let out a soft groan.
Cold shower
,
now.
Anjuli mumbled something in her sleep and didn’t let go, and despite his burning erection, Rob grinned. She always had been a possessive sleeper, needing contact and pouting if he didn’t wrap her body with his. Fine with him, except back then he’d fit himself between her thighs, turned her onto her back and exacted his price. What would she do if he kissed her awake, lifted that tight T-shirt off her breasts and thrust his—

I
said shower!

He wasn’t going to take advantage of her sleepiness, not going to push for sex regardless of how much he wanted to show her his love. He wanted the morning after, yes, but he wanted
all
her mornings after, and he’d have to be patient, give her the time she needed to realise this was their second chance.

Hot water sprayed off Rob’s shoulders and ran down his back while he soaped himself, lathered his balls and dick. So much for noble abstinence. He was tight, a lad of thirteen, jerking off in the shower. His release was almost immediate, and shaved the edge from his need but left him no more satisfied than he’d been when he’d got out of bed. But at least he’d be able to wear his kilt without a tent pole.

And he’d be able to think of Anjuli’s confession and her pain. Her behaviour in London now made sense, in a passionate, illogical and Anjuli kind of way, but then, didn’t he know how grief could skewer even the most measured of men? He knew how hard it was to live with guilt, but with him at her side, Anjuli would learn to be happy again. He would make sure of it, as he’d promised. Rob scrubbed his body, wishing he could scrub away the years they had lost. But maybe they’d been necessary. Maybe they could make their relationship work again because they were both different people.

Knowing that Anjuli had been lonely all those years he’d been bitter about her departure filled him with sadness, but he was honest enough to admit he was pleased she’d never fallen in love. Though he didn’t relish the thought of her having sex with Brendan, it was nothing compared to how bleak he’d feel if another man had made her happy the way he used to.

Used to
.

What about now? He hadn’t slept most of the night, making sure he was awake when Anjuli needed him, remaining strong for her because he’d be damned if he let her down, but would she still want him, need him when she woke up? Or would she remain true to form, regret their intimate night together and try to push him away? She’d shared her grief about Chloe, but that didn’t mean she’d want to share her life with him. Rob’s chest clenched at the thought of the baby she had lost, and he allowed the sadness he’d stemmed to course through him. What a bonnie lass Chloe must have been, and how he would have liked to have known her. Been a father to her. A niggling dread refused to dislodge itself from his mind, and Rob swore at himself and turned the shower notch higher, steaming up the bathroom. Anjuli was grieving for her baby but one day...one day she would want another child, and what then?

He’d decided never to reveal to Anjuli what had happened to him, but now he could no longer hide it. She deserved to know and he would tell her as soon as she woke up. “Idiot,” he murmured. He would wait until after breakfast, allow her the space she’d need to recover from last night, then talk to her. Give it to her straight and hard.

Aye
,
and then give her something else straight and hard.

Jesus, he really was a hormonal teenager. Making love to Anjuli would have to wait. He’d promised Mac he’d take the boys on a hike into Halton Forest, but before that he would tell his little sister he wasn’t going to stop loving Anjuli because she wanted him to. If Mac, knowing how much he loved his nephews, could hold them over his head and deprive him of their company, then she deserved it if they came to hate her for it. Hopefully, she wouldn’t react badly, but he no longer cared if she did. He had a new life to start, with Anjuli, as soon as he finished his shower.

* * *

Eyes shut, Anjuli listened to the sound of Rob washing in her en suite. Her eyes felt puffy, swollen from the force of her grief. She didn’t need to open them to know what time it was. Radio Borders blared in her ear, set to come on automatically at 8:00 a.m. She stuck a hand out and felt the deep depression in the bed next to her.

“Oh God,” she groaned, the previous night coming back in a rush.

Public humiliation followed by private confessions. Anjuli waited for the inevitable stab of guilt.

Nothing.

For regret at sharing her burden with Rob.

Nothing.

For shame at her crazy-woman behaviour?

Third strike and she was out.

Yeah
,
out of it.
Was that why she was smiling? At some point Rob had discarded his formal jacket and kilt to sleep with her, his sheet-clad body spooned against hers. How many times during the night had she coated his chest with her sorrow? Felt him kiss her head, her cheeks, her lips? Her tears had been bitter and still he had drunk them. At every gasp and cry he had been there, his voice her succour, his embrace her refuge.

Her sheets were infused with Rob’s scent. His clothes, neatly stacked on the chair by the window, his watch on her bedside table. A shiny black strand on her pillow. Had she torn it out when she’d raked her hands through his hair?

Anjuli sprang out of bed and went to the mirror on top of her chest of drawers. Amazingly, she looked the same as she had yesterday. Except her hair could rival Medusa’s and her eyes the bogeyman’s. And she needed a wash. She cocked her ear, listening to the shower. She could slip in with Rob, press herself against him and wash away the night with the soap on his body and—

“Brazen hussy,” she admonished herself.

Was she so weak that one night in Rob’s arms could melt away her barriers? Maybe, but it couldn’t erase her self-hatred. Allowing herself to grieve didn’t mean she was miraculously “cured” of her guilt or suddenly free to be with Rob.

She didn’t know what it did mean though, or how and what to say when Rob emerged from the shower. Quickly, she changed into a fresh T-shirt and sweat pants and brushed her hair. Feeding Reiver took no more than a few seconds but she had to keep busy. Cereal, milk and jam on the table, bread on the board. Bacon, tomatoes and eggs ready by the frying pan. Coffee measured and kettle ready.

Anjuli listened for the sound of Rob’s footsteps. This was the morning after without the night before, but how should she handle it? Hug him, tell him how much his compassion meant to her, or shake his hand and thank him politely for his shoulder...his chest...his groin?
Oh
,
God
.

A sprightly walk with Reiver to the bridge and a long stare at the river was all the time it took for Rob to pull out a full Scottish breakfast, by the smell of it. Good. The grease would make her heart as lethargic as her brain and it would stop racing around in dizzying circles.

Anjuli paused in the kitchen doorway, remembering the first time she’d seen Rob. It wasn’t every day she had a man cooking breakfast in a kilt, shirt loose, and it seemed as surreal as the emotional torrent she had unleashed the night before. Rob looked relaxed and at home in her kitchen, listening to Radio Borders as he dropped in the bacon. Nothing was burning.

Anjuli sniffed the air. “Smells like cardiac arrest.”

“Breakfast is almost ready.”

Rob expertly flipped an egg and glanced over his shoulder. Wet hair and a morning shadow emphasised his slightly scruffy look. The urge to slide her hands around his waist and press herself against his back was so strong Anjuli clasped her hands behind her back. Why did she feel as though they’d spent the night having passionate sex when all she’d done was sob and snivel all over him?

“I hope you’re hungry,” he said.

Well, she was starving and so, it seemed, was Rob. He left the hob and walked towards her, and the nearer he got the warmer his gaze. Anjuli tensed but didn’t move, lifting her face to his. If he wanted a quick, friendly peck she would give it to him and that would be the extent of it. Rob snaked his hand around her waist and drew her close, but he didn’t kiss her lips. Instead, he brushed the hair away from her neck, leaned down and touched his lips to the tender skin above her pumping pulse, trailing his mouth to the hollow in her throat.

His lips barely grazed her, but she felt as if they pressed through her every layer until their touch reached her core. Her nipples tightened and she began to throb in places other than behind her eyes.

Breathlessly, she stepped away. “You’re going to burn me—my breakfast.”

He jumped to the cooker and Anjuli retreated to the table, trying to stem the heat she could feel covering her face. At the bridge she’d decided to put the brakes on. Whatever last night had meant or could come to mean, she needed time. Time to recover from sharing her past, and time to think about how she lived the rest of her life. Ironically, “time will tell” was a platitude she now found herself embracing wholeheartedly.

It wasn’t as if she had no reason to feel confused and apprehensive. One second she and Rob weren’t speaking and the next she’d hit him, screamed like a psycho, sobbed her heart out and then snuggled up to him in bed. Moulded herself to his back and felt him harden against her bottom, no matter the sheet he’d put between them. Let him kiss her, tell her it would all be all right when it wouldn’t and—

Her stomach rumbled.
Food first
,
angst later
.

Rob placed a plate of eggs, fried mushrooms and bacon in front of Anjuli before serving himself and sitting opposite. Anjuli occupied herself with pouring hot water over mint leaves, then smelling the infusion to calm her nerves. Rob had that look on his face, the one that said he wanted a deep and meaningful. Breakfast in front of her, it was time for the angst.

“I appreciate what you did for me last night,” she said hesitantly. “It was very kind of you.”

Rob put down his fork. “Kindness had nothing to do with it, lass.”

“Friendship, then.”

He chewed his bacon, regarding her silently. How could he sit there, calmly eating when she felt as if she’d put one piece of food in her mouth and choke? His unnerving scrutiny lasted the entire weather forecast, during which she pushed the food around her plate. She couldn’t eat, couldn’t drink, with him staring at her like that, as if any second he was going to forgo his eggs to have her instead.

Rob finished his breakfast and reached his hand across the table. Anjuli’s heart leapt into her throat and before she knew it her chair was slamming back and she was at the kitchen door.

* * *

Oh no you don’t
,
lass
. Rob caught her in the entrance hall. “No more running, Anjuli,” he said, tugging her hair back to give her a kiss that would leave her in no doubt he meant it.

Anjuli pulled her lips away and pushed at his chest. “There’s still so much between us, so much I don’t know about you, things I have to tell you about me. I have to talk to you about the house and you’re going to America and—”

Another kiss, this one deeper, more forceful because he couldn’t help how much he wanted her, showing her his need until she was clinging to his arms, her luscious body pressed against his. She was grasping at straws and he was going to caress her until the only thing she wanted to grasp was
him
. For the rest of their lives, if he had his way. It was time she knew everything about him. Absolutely everything. Reluctantly, he let her break the kiss and step away, but not too far.

Her face was flushed with pleasure, but her expression was grim. “I have to talk to you about the restoration,” she said.

“Talking about the house and the job in America can wait,” he said, willing himself to take a leap of faith. “Last night you told me something close to your heart, something that defines the person you are and now it’s my turn. I want you to know what nobody else does except Mac and Ben.”

Her mouth opened and she looked him up and down in dismay. “Oh God, please tell me you’re not gay.”

Rob laughed. “Only in as much as I’m very happy right now.” He sobered, then took a deep breath. “A few days before the wedding I was diagnosed with testicular cancer.”

Anjuli gasped and her eyes widened, but he held up his hand and pre-empted her from speaking. “Here me out, lass, this has been a long time coming. I’d been to the doctor and had some tests, but I didn’t say anything to you because I didn’t want you to worry. I thought it was nothing, but it wasn’t.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Every time I tried, I couldn’t. And...I was a coward,” he said angrily. “I’m no’ proud of that, believe me.”

Anjuli’s face had gone a light shade of green, and her hand was over her mouth. She stared at him in disbelief, as though he’d suddenly go up in smoke. “You had cancer?” she rasped.