and to the hand on her leg. She spluttered for an answer. “The cold obviously affected your brain.”
“Maybe, but if memory serves me right you were begging for it.”
Had he always been such a jerk? Another casual squeeze and he shifted up a gear to overtake the tractor in front of them.
The next time you need a man let me know
,
my arse.
Rob made her sound like a desperate nympho. She’d let him know all right. Give him a piece of her mind—a large slice of derision smothered in get-over-yourself icing, big enough to wipe the smug look off his face.
And nothing would be gained except another scene between them.
The rain beating down on the roof seemed to amplify the tension, punctuating it with sharp exclamation points. If she apologised for leaving him at the altar, would he shrug it off as lightly as he had that night in London? She didn’t want to find out, not when thinking of that time still filled her with anguish. Anjuli looked at the blanket of relentless rain, wondering how many days of it she would need to wash away her regrets.
“We should talk about...the past,” she said.
A brief glance, no longer amused. “I’m more interested in the present. Why did you move back to Heaverlock? Why here and why now? What are you running away from this time?”
She should have remembered his uncanny knack for shoving her off balance. “I’m done with singing so why not move back?”
“As soon as you get bored with country living you’ll return to London or leave for New York. Another concert or tour will beckon and—”
“I’m never singing again,” she said flatly.
“Never?”
“That’s right. I got tired of it and now I want to do something different.”
“Soooo.” He dragged out the word like a suspicious detective. “After living the glamorous celebrity lifestyle you want to run a B&B on an isolated moor. The obvious choice.”
Why couldn’t he let it go? Why couldn’t the press, the fans and everybody else leave her alone, forget she existed and find somebody else to badger?
“Maybe I should ask Ben if moving to Heaverlock is a crime,” Anjuli said testily. “At least when he interrogates people they’ve done something wrong.”
“All right then, just one more question. Why won’t you sing at the ceilidh?”
“You wouldn’t understand if I told you,” she snapped.
Rob’s knuckles whitened around the steering wheel. “I understand a damn sight more than you think.”
“Really? Please enlighten me. I can’t wait to hear it.”
“I understand you need my help to restore Castle Manor and you wish to God that you didn’t. In fact, it kills you to ask me for anything, though you think using me in bed is okay. You came to the pub today to find me, but instead you insulted me and ran off. I believe you’re hiding something, something that spurred your decision to move back to Heaverlock.” He shifted gears and took a steadying breath. “Is that understanding enough for you?”
Anjuli sank into her seat and looked out her window. She didn’t want Rob to see her face. He could still read her like one of his blueprints, with all the doors and windows clearly marked. She felt boxed in, with him using up entirely too much room in the car and the tension eating up what little space there was between them.
This section of the road was lined with birch trees, the nascent leaves clinging to the branches and shimmering in the wet. She looked towards the west where the sun would be if it hadn’t gone AWOL. The sky was no longer black but a dull, murky grey. The colour of her mood.
Rob flicked on the radio, filling the car with the sound of her voice.
Oh God
,
anything but this
.
Her vocal cords contracted and her throat went dry. The song was “River Tide,” her favourite, a tribute to the Scottish folk band they’d gone to see on their first date. The song Rob had whispered in her ear when he’d proposed to her at Heaverlock Castle. They had slow danced and it had
“Maybe, but if memory serves me right you were begging for it.”
Had he always been such a jerk? Another casual squeeze and he shifted up a gear to overtake the tractor in front of them.
The next time you need a man let me know
,
my arse.
Rob made her sound like a desperate nympho. She’d let him know all right. Give him a piece of her mind—a large slice of derision smothered in get-over-yourself icing, big enough to wipe the smug look off his face.
And nothing would be gained except another scene between them.
The rain beating down on the roof seemed to amplify the tension, punctuating it with sharp exclamation points. If she apologised for leaving him at the altar, would he shrug it off as lightly as he had that night in London? She didn’t want to find out, not when thinking of that time still filled her with anguish. Anjuli looked at the blanket of relentless rain, wondering how many days of it she would need to wash away her regrets.
“We should talk about...the past,” she said.
A brief glance, no longer amused. “I’m more interested in the present. Why did you move back to Heaverlock? Why here and why now? What are you running away from this time?”
She should have remembered his uncanny knack for shoving her off balance. “I’m done with singing so why not move back?”
“As soon as you get bored with country living you’ll return to London or leave for New York. Another concert or tour will beckon and—”
“I’m never singing again,” she said flatly.
“Never?”
“That’s right. I got tired of it and now I want to do something different.”
“Soooo.” He dragged out the word like a suspicious detective. “After living the glamorous celebrity lifestyle you want to run a B&B on an isolated moor. The obvious choice.”
Why couldn’t he let it go? Why couldn’t the press, the fans and everybody else leave her alone, forget she existed and find somebody else to badger?
“Maybe I should ask Ben if moving to Heaverlock is a crime,” Anjuli said testily. “At least when he interrogates people they’ve done something wrong.”
“All right then, just one more question. Why won’t you sing at the ceilidh?”
“You wouldn’t understand if I told you,” she snapped.
Rob’s knuckles whitened around the steering wheel. “I understand a damn sight more than you think.”
“Really? Please enlighten me. I can’t wait to hear it.”
“I understand you need my help to restore Castle Manor and you wish to God that you didn’t. In fact, it kills you to ask me for anything, though you think using me in bed is okay. You came to the pub today to find me, but instead you insulted me and ran off. I believe you’re hiding something, something that spurred your decision to move back to Heaverlock.” He shifted gears and took a steadying breath. “Is that understanding enough for you?”
Anjuli sank into her seat and looked out her window. She didn’t want Rob to see her face. He could still read her like one of his blueprints, with all the doors and windows clearly marked. She felt boxed in, with him using up entirely too much room in the car and the tension eating up what little space there was between them.
This section of the road was lined with birch trees, the nascent leaves clinging to the branches and shimmering in the wet. She looked towards the west where the sun would be if it hadn’t gone AWOL. The sky was no longer black but a dull, murky grey. The colour of her mood.
Rob flicked on the radio, filling the car with the sound of her voice.
Oh God
,
anything but this
.
Her vocal cords contracted and her throat went dry. The song was “River Tide,” her favourite, a tribute to the Scottish folk band they’d gone to see on their first date. The song Rob had whispered in her ear when he’d proposed to her at Heaverlock Castle. They had slow danced and it had
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