Pitch Imperfect (22 page)

“I was going to tell you the morning of our wedding, but when I went to your house you weren’t there. I thought you might’ve gone off to get ready somewhere else, and I waited for you outside the church, but then you didn’t show and...”

“Oh my God,” Anjuli whispered, backing away. “Mac never said...I would have come back. I never would have left, not if I’d known.”

“Exactly,” he said grimly. “I was angry, aye, but I didn’t answer your calls or letters because I didn’t want you to stay with me, or come back and marry me out of pity. I made Mac promise not to say a word. The supposed girlfriend Mrs. P. told you about was Liliana Mederos, one of the doctors at the practice in Halton. Yes, she wanted more than friendship, but I was still in love with you, going through hell. She helped me through my treatment and we’ve kept in touch.”

A flash of jealousy, quickly concealed. “I should have been here.”

“And I should have been a better man. I had a lot of time to think about my life and our relationship as I faced my mortality,” he said quietly. “I realised I hadn’t given you what you needed, that I was more concerned with my professional future than with yours. I was jealous, as possessive as you accused. Selfish. I didn’t want you to be gone for long stretches but then you were gone forever and it was too late. When I was finally able I travelled the world, because you had wanted us to. And every second, I wished that you were at my side.”

Silent tears rolled down Anjuli’s cheeks. “I’m so sorry...for everything.”

Rob shrugged. “Mac and Ben took good care of me. I’m not telling you this to give you another guilt trip.”

“How self-centred I was, how blind.”

“And I was overbearing and impatient, but I’m not going to make the same mistakes again. My cancer’s been in remission for six years and I’ve got a clean bill of health. I love you Anjuli, and I think you still love me. Let me try to make you happy.”

Her eyes widened and something like alarm flashed across her face. “I’m not the right woman for you,” she said, jumping out of his reach. “Most days I’m not very balanced. I can’t be in a relationship because no matter what anyone says, I can’t forget what I did to Chloe.” He opened his mouth and she shook her head. “No, don’t tell me you’ll wait for me to be ready. You need a woman who can love you without feeling guilty about it, and that’s not me,” she said earnestly. “A mother for your children, and I don’t think I’ll ever want another child.” Her voice was frightened, tortured, and it pained him to hear it.

Rob took her cold, trembling hand. “Before I had chemotherapy I took measures in case I ever wanted children, but the only way that will happen is via IVF.” He took a deep breath and looked her in the eyes. “I’m infertile.”

Her brows raised, but after surprise what he saw wasn’t disappointment or even rejection. It was relief. Instead of easing his concerns, it saddened him.

Rob took her hand. “I think we’ve earned the right to try again, don’t you?”

“What about Mac and Ash?” she said, sounding panicked. “You hate me for not telling Mac about Craig, and I’m standing by Ash no matter what.”

Rob’s face grew hard. “Craig is a heartless bastard and my sister is better off without him. I’ll admit I was angry at you, but I should have tried to talk to you in spite of Mac. You’re not to blame for Craig’s actions, or Ash’s for that matter. I’m not going to let anything or anybody get between us again.”

“You might feel differently when you hear what I have to say.” She lifted her hand to her collarbone and cleared her throat. “I’ve got something else to tell you, about the restoration. Something I’m ashamed to admit.”

Anything she wanted to discuss about the house would have to wait. “I promised Mac I’d take care of the boys today and I have to pick them up. I’ll cook you dinner at seven,” he said, drawing her into his arms.

She looked dubious. “And...?”

“And if you want me to, I’ll stay the night.”

A rosy blush spread across her cheeks. “Last night you could have...You didn’t try to... Oh God, I can’t believe I’m saying this. Twice you’ve put me to bed and haven’t wanted to make love to me.”

How could she think he didn’t want her?

“I wanted you, believe me, lass,” he said huskily. “I’m infertile, not impotent, but you had other things on your mind. Tonight, I’ll remedy the situation.”

Her eyes were on his chest, a location she tended to stare at when she was nervous—or aroused. “Maybe we should cool off for a while.”

He put a finger to her lips, tracing red velvet that trembled under his touch. “Is that really what you want?”

Anjuli swallowed, and he followed the ripple in her throat, hypnotised by the small hollow between her collarbone. And lower, by the shape of full, unbound breasts under her T-shirt.

Rob circled a hard peak, hot and responsive to his touch. “You’re blushing, lass,” he teased.

Anjuli stared at his finger, her face strained. “Don’t.”

“Don’t do this?”

He cupped her breast, lifted it to his lips and sucked her nipple through the fabric and into his mouth. Anjuli gasped and stumbled back, arching her back under his pull.

“Rob,” she exhaled softly.

Unrestrained, his erection poked into his kilt, cock head brushing against the prickly wool. He sucked in his teeth, wanting to shift the kilt aside, thrust into Anjuli’s moist, tight pussy and...Fuck! He was burning up, so hot he could meld them together, but a rushed coupling was not how he wanted to start their life together. He had a gift for Anjuli, something he’d wanted to give her for years and thought he never would. It was at his house, where he should be right now, hiking into Halton Forest with his nephews. With a groan, Rob released her nipple, leaving a circle of moisture on her T-shirt.

Be patient and think
,
man.

Anjuli stared at the protrusion under his kilt. Her pupils widened and she wet her lips as if ready to taste him. Gifts for her and prior plans with his nephews popped out of Rob’s mind. Reason, consumed by need, patience ousted by passion. He wanted her lips around his cock, his shaft inside her mouth. But first he wanted to make her come. She’d experienced so much pain and he wanted to give her only pleasure, mindless and overwhelming. Pleasure that banished her fears and drowned her in bliss, pleasure that destroyed sorrow and guilt.

Swiftly, Rob pulled down her sweat pants and the scrap of lace keeping him from exploring her pussy. Her hand went to his hair as if to push him away, but he wasn’t going to let her escape, kneeling down and kissing slick, quivering flesh that parted at his touch. He delved into her tunnel and she gasped and clutched his shoulders.

“Rob,” she moaned, as he slid a finger inside her, then another, rotating slowly and pushing up with a thrust that loosened a longer, desperate sounding moan from her throat.

He increased his pace; she whimpered. He circled her clit; she moaned. He licked her labia and sucked on her flesh, and she screamed, clutching his head so hard he was immersed in wet, fragrant pussy. She clenched around his fingers, tightening and pulling him deeper until she was incoherent with pleasure, gushing her climax into his mouth.

Rob kissed, licked and circled until Anjuli stopped shaking and her hand fell from his hair. A satisfied grin spread over his face as he listened to her ragged breathing.
This
was his purpose, to give Anjuli joy and make her live again. His own need could wait.

Straightening, he held her close. Her heart beat as rapidly as his, and she was crying softly against his shoulder. Healing tears, he hoped.

He was elated, soaring beyond the cloudy sky and wanting to tease her, lift her in his arms and swing her around the room until she laughed. But now was not the moment for levity. That would come later, when she was used to being happy. His voice was hoarse, as reluctant to move as the rest of him, but he forced himself to step away. A quick wash of his face and hands in the lavatory, and he was back at the entrance hall, where Anjuli still leaned against the wall, looking breathless and stunned.

He kissed her quickly, lest he forget his responsibilities and stay. “Tonight.”

Tonight he would erase any lingering doubts from her mind and convince her to give them a second chance.

Chapter Eighteen

Fear and panic warred for supremacy in Anjuli’s mind. Since Rob had gone she’d been researching everything she could about testicular cancer, and lunch time had been and gone. She shifted on the sofa, a rush of heat making her feel languid, even now, at the memory of his mouth on her skin. The pleasure had been intense, her climax flowing like the River Redes, erasing everything else but delight.

How could she have come like that in barely a few minutes? So much for a vagina made of steel. Hers was meltable, malleable putty where Robert Douglas was concerned, but that wasn’t the only reason she’d reacted so strongly. Fear had been her aphrodisiac, panic her spur.

Rob’s revelation had turned her inside out, filled her with dread, but then he’d made her forget everything except his mouth and his tongue, stroking her into bliss. But now that he was gone her guilt had returned, and not just about Chloe. Anjuli contemplated what Rob had told her, and once more felt ashamed at her twenty-year-old self. While she’d been railing at his intransigence eight years ago, angry he hadn’t followed her and hurt he hadn’t answered her letters, he had been facing death without her.

How hard it must have been to hide his illness, to continue working and hand over the new primary school on time. No wonder Mac was full of pride, her tone so venomous when she’d spewed her accusations.

Anjuli’s rubbed her chest. Rob’s cancer was in the past, she told herself vehemently. He was healthy and had been for years. He’d said so, hadn’t he? And he’d proved how strong he was time and again. But what if the cancer returned? How would he cope? How would she?

“Cancer,” she murmured.

F sharp, B flat.

Four consonants, two vowels. Backwards it meant nothing and forwards it spelled death.

She wiped away a tear and stared at the clear drop on her finger.

Rob had made her cry, freed her to grieve and then taken her to heights she hadn’t felt since they’d been together. Why, then, was she dreading a future with him? Why did she want to pack up and leave Heaverlock?

Because you’re a coward
,
like Ash said
.

Well, Ash
would
say that. She hadn’t suffered the loss of a child or lover. Ash would say she was weak for wanting to save herself more pain. Well, maybe she
was
, damn it! What was “strong” anyway, but a meaningless word people used to hide their suffering behind a façade of stoic endurance?

Chloe had died suddenly, without her being able to say goodbye or hold her one last time. She wouldn’t wish that on anyone. But what about watching Rob slowly die while she could do nothing to save him? How terrible would that be? Why would she deliberately choose to put herself through that sort of suffering if she could avoid it?

She wasn’t a masochist, and she wasn’t strong or brave. Most of the time she contemplated the years ahead and wondered how she would manage. And those years without Rob? What would happen if she gave in to her love for him and he died? What then? Death was final, grief wasn’t.

Reiver was outside and Castle Manor silent; thick stone walls insulating her from the sound of river and wind. She felt alone, stuck in a mausoleum of rising panic. Her mind fought against her heart, her fears against her love for Rob. Her fingers itched to feel the smooth surface of ivory keys and she tapped them on her thighs dejectedly.

The doorbell sounded and Anjuli jumped, startled. The morning room was at the back of the manor, facing the moors, and she hadn’t heard a car pull up. Was Rob back so soon? Damn it, she wasn’t ready to talk to him yet. Sure, she had to tell him about her finances, but what about her fears? After his confession she couldn’t tell him she was too afraid to love him.

Anjuli opened the door and smiled with relief when she saw Damien’s handsome face. He held up a shopping bag. “You promised I could cook for you if I went out with Murran so here I am. Late lunch or early dinner, whichever you prefer.”

Whistling a jaunty tune, Damien followed her to the kitchen. God, it felt good to be in his uncomplicated company. She helped him unpack the butcher wrapped, blood-red steaks and season them with black pepper, garlic and Worcestershire sauce. He made space for them to marinate in her fridge, prepped baby potatoes and washed the salad.

When had two gorgeous men become so casually familiar with her kitchen?

Damien grinned. “I only know how to cook man food. I also brought a steak for Reiver.”

Hearing his name, Reiver ran in from the garden and barked a greeting at Damien. “My dog is in love with you.”

“One down, one to go.”

“Are you calling me a bitch?”

Damien stuttered an apology, looking distressed. Oh, how could Mac not like him? He was a gentleman, good company and a good friend. And he was great fun to tease.

“Gotcha,” she laughed, surprised that she could.

What she needed was Damien’s lightness, his laughter and his charm even if only for an hour or two. He could tell her about his date and she could give him the female perspective. Her public spectacle, the meltdown and Rob’s previous illness would be the last thing on her mind.

“You are a wicked woman, Anjuli Carver.”

“How about a beer before lunch to make up for it?”

Damien followed her to the morning room, occasionally stopping to make a comment about progress on the manor. He leaned against the large sash window to read the neat, cursive writing above the fireplace. Underneath the layers of old wallpaper, Anjuli had uncovered an eight-line poem, dated 1842.

The scrawl started a few inches under the cornice, ending with the date and signature just above the wooden mantel. It was amateur and sweet, and had probably been penned by one of the decorators for his sweetheart before he’d papered the walls. Feeling whimsical, Anjuli had decided to keep the poem and clear-varnished over it. The other walls were newly plastered and with the exception of a faded Victorian day bed and the bookshelf Rob had put up, the room was empty and ready for decorating.

Damien sighed. “The poor lad should have memorised some Byron if he was so desperate to win...” he skimmed through the poem, “his bonnie wee lass’s heart.”

Anjuli arched her brows. “Did declaiming poetry work for you with Murran last night?”

“She likes motorbikes and acrobatics. Let’s leave it at that.”

“Not the woman for you, then?”

“Don’t think there is one.” He looked suddenly sad and turned to face the view. Anjuli put her beer on the mantelpiece and walked over, placing her hand on his arm. Whatever had happened to him in the past had left its mark, but she wasn’t the person to erase it.

They stared at the grass-covered moors in companionable silence. The river snaked to the right and then disappeared from sight, hidden between the hills. The early grey mist had burned away and it was windy. Cotton-candy clouds raced overhead, revealing the sun and then hiding it like a magician’s hat trick.

Well, there was no magic that could counter how she felt about Rob’s cancer. Pretending she was fine when he came back would be impossible. She was terrified. Images swirled in her mind, a large coffin being interred this time, and of her, standing as she had stood at Chloe’s funeral, wanting to jump in and be buried under the same wet earth.

The wind outside beckoned.
Escape to the moors and the world beyond
. Anjuli shook her head. Tempted as she was, she couldn’t run away from Heaverlock. Not this time. She had to stay, talk to Rob. Tell him about the house and then make him understand she never wanted to risk her heart again. She made a noise between a sigh and a sob, her insides twisting along with her thoughts.

Damien laid a comforting hand at the back of her neck and kneaded it. “You’re tense, gorgeous.”

“I had a stressful night.”

He drew her to the day bed and sat down behind her, legs planted either side of her hips. “I know exactly how to work out those knots.”

“Seduction on Sunday?” she said, only half-joking.

“Only if you insist. Scout’s honour,” he said.

Anjuli relaxed, and he pushed her hair out of the way and massaged the back of her neck. He knew what he was doing, and when he talked of the course he’d done on animal muscle massage, she relaxed. Tension eased from her body and she forgot her discomfort, giving herself up to his pressure point, circular sweeps. Firm fingers, working out the kinks.

Her eyes shut and she leaned forward so Damien could move his massage to her upper back. He paused, his hands on her shoulders. “It’s best hand to skin.”

She glanced back, expecting to see a flirtatious look, but he was frowning at her back as if she were one of his patients, his expression clinical. Well, if she could open her legs to her gynaecologist, then surely she could bare her back to a veterinarian.

“Scout’s honour?”

His wounded look made her laugh, and she turned back and unbuttoned her shirt dress. Tiny, tricky buttons in mother of pearl, and it took her a minute or so to unfasten them to her waist. She slid her shoulders out, hesitated, and then unclasped her bra. Holding her dress up to her breasts, she nodded. “Five minutes, then I’ll start lunch.”

He pressed his palms into her shoulder blades, soothing her into pleasant lassitude. His hands left her for a few moments, and she heard a soft, rustling noise. Before she could ask, he was back at the knots in her back, pressing hard. She breathed out a long sigh. “Oh God, that’s good.”

“That’s what they all say.”

“I’ll bet they say a lot more,” she said tartly.

His fingers tightened. “I heard about what happened at the ball last night.”

Well, that hadn’t taken long. She grimaced, thinking about her non-performance and dramatic exit. “Who told you?”

“Mrs. Scott,” he said quietly and when she started, “Don’t hold what she did against her. She’s not thinking straight.”

There was a tender, yet frustrated note in his voice. “You like her, don’t you?”

“I like
you
.”

“I certainly hope so. We’re friends and—”

Damien kissed her neck and she jumped, then twisted around to look at him, mouth dropping at the sight of his naked chest. Impressive, but what the hell? “What happened to ‘scout’s honour’?”

He winked. “Don’t know anything about it. I belonged to the Boy’s Brigade.”

Another smooch, this one on her open lips. Forceful, and strangely...mechanical. It was as though Damien was trying to convince
himself
that he wanted her. Did he? Somehow she doubted it.

Anjuli pulled away and he let her. “You’ve got it bad, my friend, but not for me.”

Damien made a frustrated sound. “I like you Anjuli, very much, but...”

She raised her hand to his cheek. “But no matter how much you try to feel something more for me than flirty friendship, I’m not her.”

He sighed. “And I’m not Rob.”

“What a sorry pair we are,” Anjuli said. “But if I’ve learned one thing, it’s that you can’t help who your heart wants, no matter how it kills you.”

A low grunt of consent. “Better eat then, before I tell the village you tried your wiles on me.”

Anjuli laughed and scooted forward. She pulled her dress over her shoulders feeling lighter than she had in months. Hopeful. Her neck and back pain were gone, if not the ache in her heart, but maybe, just maybe, she could slowly come to terms with her guilt. Maybe she could risk her heart again in spite of dark shadows.

Maybe she had panicked over Rob’s cancer for nothing.

The front door opened and banged shut. “Anjuli,” Rob called out. “Ben offered to take the boys in my place so he could practise his uncle skills.”

It was time to panic. Steady footsteps were in the corridor, in the kitchen, sitting room, turning back and around to the morning room, getting closer every second. Anjuli worked frantically at her dress. Her black bra got caught in one of her buttons, mocking her efforts at modesty.

Rob’s footsteps stopped and Anjuli’s hands froze.
Shit and double
,
triple shit.
This was not happening! Rob was not standing at the doorway, watching her wrestle with her buttons while Damien pulled his shirt over his head.

“Nothing happened,” Anjuli cried.

* * *

Nothing happened?
Rob narrowed his eyes.
What the fuck was going on?
Damien looked chagrined and Anjuli flushed, hands shaking as she did up her buttons. The vet stuffed his shirt into his jeans and sent him a steady look that made him want to smash his fists into his skull. Had Anjuli stroked his dick? Maybe she’d taken him into her mouth until he was so crazy he’d returned the favour. Guilt was written all over Anjuli’s face, and for a moment Rob couldn’t breathe.

While he’d been driving over, thinking only of her worry and fear, she was happily getting undressed for the man Mac called a male strumpet. White-hot rage threatened to wipe out his control. At that moment, had Damien as much as glanced his way, he wouldn’t have been able to answer for his actions. Never before had he felt such murderous fury, such willingness to beat a man to a bloody pulp. But that was Ben’s modus operandi, not his.

God damn it, what the fuck was wrong with him? The utter savagery of his thoughts not only stunned him, but increased his fury.

“We didn’t have sex,” Damien said bluntly.

Anjuli gave the vet an imploring look that set Rob’s teeth on edge. “Please leave, Damien,” she said

“Are you sure?” he asked, flicking his eyes to Rob’s clenched fists.

“I won’t touch her if that’s what you’re worried about,” Rob said tightly.

As soon as Damien was gone, Anjuli reached out her hand. Rob recoiled, and she flinched but didn’t try to touch him. “He gave me a massage and kissed me, but that’s all that happened,” she said.

“All that happened?” he repeated hoarsely. “I don’t know what kind of circles you’re used to these days, but I’m a Border man, set in my ways, and they don’t include allowing my woman to receive half-naked massages and kiss other men.

“Your woman?” she said, eyes flashing.

“Aye.”

“More like Border caveman.”

He certainly felt like one, fists clenched and wishing he’d smashed them into Damien’s face. But more than that he wanted to throw Anjuli down on the sofa, thrust straight into her and wipe out Damien’s touch. “Do you want him?”