Pitch Imperfect (3 page)

Anjuli wrapped her hands around his neck, pulling him tighter, showing him with her body what her mind could no longer deny. Rob withdrew and she whimpered, moaned as he paused, then drove into her with a long, commanding thrust.

“Come with me.”

No!
She had to stop, but, oh God, the tidal wave inside her was going to break. Angering Rob wouldn’t be enough; she had to make him
despise
her. She clutched his buttocks, squeezed his shaft.

“Anjuli,” he groaned, teeth grazing her neck.

Goosebumps spread under her palms as his orgasm ripped through him, and she catapulted into bliss. With her climax came her answer. She was a singer not an actress, but she would put on the performance of her life.

“Brendan,” she shouted, scrunching her eyes shut. “Harder, Brendan.”

Rob jerked to a halt. He lifted his head from her neck and stared at her. “Brendan?”

Anjuli grabbed his shoulders and tried to pull him back. “Don’t stop, Brendan. You’re making me come.”

Rob tore himself from her body, his breathing ragged. Orange street lights showed the shock on his face and the tension in his body; the thin sheen of sweat on his skin. His erection. “Who the hell is Brendan?”

Anjuli pulled up the duvet and covered herself, cleared her throat and aimed for nonchalance. “Does it matter?”

A muscle jumped in his jaw. “It matters to me.”

“Do you interrogate every woman you screw?” she forced herself to ask.

His voice dropped so low she could barely hear. “Is that what this is to you? A
screw
?”

“Shit.” The tremor in her voice was unfeigned. “I’m sorry, okay? It’s bad form to have sex with one man while thinking about another, but I couldn’t help it. Brendan’s the best I’ve ever had and I wanted to recapture how it felt to be with him.”

“You used me?”

“Don’t look at me like that. I didn’t think you’d mind getting laid.”

Rob unpeeled his condom, his movements short and jerky. “I’m glad I could be of service.”

Anjuli clutched the duvet, twisting it in her hands. “Service? You talked so much I had to block out your voice.”

If looks could kill she would be drawn, hung and quartered.

“You dragged me into your flat,” he reminded her. “You said you missed me and that you wanted me.”

Anjuli tried to shrug but her shoulder refused to obey. “I...I say a lot of things to get what I want, especially when I’ve had a few too many. I’m a celebrity, Rob. I constantly fake how I really feel. This time I faked that I wanted you.”

No response except a long, hard look.

“Oh, bloody hell. Did you think what just happened actually meant something? That it was a romantic prelude to happy-ever-after? You’re the one I left at the altar for something much better than marital boredom, remember?”

The air seemed to still and charge with fury as Rob digested her words. He backed away until he was at the opposite wall, his face a dark mask of rage. Anjuli’s scalp tingled and her hairs stood on end, and for a second she wished she’d allowed Ash to keep her informed about him. That way she would know whether Rob had turned into a serial killer.

He might be glowering as if he wanted to throttle her, but did he despise her yet? She had to make sure that he would.

“I’ve learned my lesson about one-night stands,” she said. “There’s no substituting the man I want with poor seconds.”

“You wanted
me
, don’t try to deny it.”

“I wanted a cock I could pretend was Brendan’s,” she said, hating her disgusting, insulting words. “And now I want that cock to leave.”

Anjuli got off the bed and pulled on her dressing gown. She had to get out of the bedroom before she told him she was lying, that her heart was bleeding because she was hurting him, losing him all over again. Guilt and self-loathing rose to the back of her throat, bile she gagged on and swallowed.

Rob followed her to the sitting room, a towering, naked man at her back, exuding wrath. He gathered his clothing and dressed swiftly. At the door he paused and regarded her silently. Hastily, Anjuli opened it and steeled herself to look at him.

“I never want to see you again,” she said.

Rob pushed his answer through gritted teeth. “Whatever you want.”

Chapter Three

Heaverlock, present

Rob turned his head, breaking eye contact and releasing Anjuli from memories of that bitter night. He cleared his throat and launched into a defence of the windmill proposal, as if they hadn’t just spent a lifetime staring at each other across the crowded pub. His words were fluid and measured, but she could see the tension in the angles of his body, the slight strain around his mouth and eyes.

Gradually, Anjuli became aware of the low hum of murmuring voices, of villagers dividing their attention between the man on the platform and the woman gaping at him like an idiot. Damn it! Nothing ever went smoothly where Rob was concerned. Crouching, she picked up the broken glass, careful of the sharp edges against her skin.

She could see the headlines now: Has-Been Singer Slits Wrists in Borders Village Pub After Encounter with Former Fiancé. Dies in Lumpy Mess on Flagstones
.

Of course, that would be one way to avoid apologising to Rob.

Anjuli tried to calm herself with slow, regulated breaths, wishing like hell that the heat would drain from her face. Rob’s voice made a mockery of her efforts. His Scottish brogue, a musical lilt of lowlander words and rolling r’s, enveloped her like cashmere, wrapping her in unwanted memories. That is, until strident female tones she recognised from secondary school interrupted the onslaught.

Her old geography teacher, Maggie Drummond, was in battle mode. She gave the leaflet in her hand an irate look before she transferred her gaze to Rob. “Our moors are rich with native flora and fauna, like the hen harriers that nest and hunt in the Redesburn valley. These hawks are an important part of our environment and I refuse to see them eviscerated by wind turbines.”

Huh? Anjuli sprang to her feet. If Maggie was worried about the Redesburn valley then they must be thinking of siting the wind farm close to the village. But how close exactly? Those moors extended far and wide, backing onto Castle Manor to the south. She racked her brain, trying to dredge up what the land search had said. Surely she’d remember if a wind farm had been on the cards, wouldn’t she? From now on she would read every bit of paper that came through her door. And she was going to pay close attention to the village meeting instead of giving in to her nerves over Rob. Maybe.

At six foot two of muscular, dark Border Scot, he cut an arresting figure, but it was the sincerity in his direct gaze and the quiet assurance in his voice that made the people of Heaverlock stop arguing to listen. “Our moors are special, aye, but we have to look to the future. The turbines have far less of an environmental impact than other forms of energy. I agree they’re no’ perfect, but they’ll help to preserve the land for our bairns, and theirs after.”

Maggie’s trenchant response set off more alarm bells. The old battle-axe was her nearest neighbour, ten miles east, and if she was crumpling the leaflet in her fist and insisting the wind farm be sighted elsewhere that must mean they wanted to plonk it...near Castle Manor?

Rob waited for Maggie’s tirade to end. “The wind farm’s impact on the moors will be minimal but the impact on our lives, and the planet’s, will be priceless.”

His defence didn’t surprise Anjuli. The Rob she remembered had championed green architecture and renewable energy sources. She was also pro that eco stuff, wasn’t she? Dutifully separating plastics, glass and paper was part of her daily routine. It was, however, a far cry from being at peace with seeing large, ugly turbines from her front door.

Her new livelihood depended on the influx of tourists to Heaverlock and the success of her B&B, but what tourist would pay to wake up with a view of those monstrous things? Anjuli willed Maggie Drummond to continue her protest, but she seemed appeased and had subsided into reluctant acceptance. Anjuli took a step forward, then stopped, clamping her lips together. She was back in Heaverlock to start over, not to thrust herself into the public eye. She’d had enough publicity to last a lifetime and Castle Manor was going to be her refuge. No paparazzi and no reporters.

Why did you disappear and where did you go?
Is it true you were in rehab?
Why did you start a comeback tour only to pull out with no explanation?

Nobody except her “eccentric” parents and Ash knew the answers, and that was how it was going to stay. Mum and Dad had taken a holiday from the spiritual “Centre for Life Studies” they managed. They were on an extended trip to India and therefore out of the reach of nosy reporters, and Ash was a clam.

A large man brushed past Anjuli, knocking against her shoulder on his way to the platform.

“Out of my way.”

It was Angus Buchanan, and it looked as though the bullish farmer hadn’t changed one bit. His voice was still as thick as his body and his words as blunt as his brain.

Angus heaved himself onto the platform and shook his fist at the councillors. “The annual Common Riding Festival is coming up in June. How do you propose we gallop through a field of bloody turbines? Our lads won’t be able to ride out to mark the boundaries of our common land if you put those damned things on our moors. They won’t be safe. You’re threatening five hundred years of history, not to mention scuppering our chances of winning Best Common Riding Festival this year.”

Alarm swept through the pub and more glasses banged on tables. Discontented murmurs sped around the room. Anjuli frowned. She’d forgotten Heaverlock’s fierce competitive streak, the way they strived to beat Halton, their nearest neighbour, at every Borderland competition. Rivalry between the two villages dated back to when they’d vied for land and cattle, but now it played out on the rugby pitches, country fairs and Common Riding Festivals.

Rob held up his hand. “I’ve ridden those moors with you rain or shine since I was a lad, Angus. I propose we shut down the turbines for the festival. Like I said when I was running for the Council, I’ll always support village interests.”

Running for council? Anjuli’s jaw dropped. Since when was Rob interested in politics? She was the activist; at least she had been until she’d left Heaverlock. She’d caused her first stir as a teenager, newly arrived in the village. Outraged that women weren’t allowed to participate in the festival she and her best friend, Rob’s little sister Mac, had campaigned for change.

Some of the Heaverlock men—Angus Buchanan included—had tried to intimidate them when they’d turned up on horseback for the first Ride Out. Rob and his twin brother Ben had escorted Mac and Anjuli through the village, riding either side of their mounts to protect them. A scary experience, to say the least. Along with verbal abuse, many villagers had hurled rocks and bottles. But Mac and Anjuli’s dogged persistence had worked, and now women were grudgingly allowed to ride in the festival.

Anjuli mentally listed the other local issues she’d been involved with. All the singing she’d done to raise funds for Heaverlock charities and public campaigns before she’d left. But Rob? She looked at him in amazement. Eight years ago he’d only been interested in building his architectural practice. He hadn’t liked getting involved in local affairs or giving speeches, but now it was obvious that he was both very interested in Heaverlock and quite used to public speaking. His once-soft Borders brogue was as rich as the whisky on his lips and even more potent. Deep and smooth, with just the right dose of fire. He had the villagers in the palm of his hand.

They swallowed his suggestion with alacrity and the tension in the room dissipated. Anjuli looked around, scanning each face for signs of protest. Was that it? Were no other concerns going to be raised now that the Common Riding was secured? Rob exchanged a satisfied look with Councillor Hamish, increasing her ire. She took a few steps through the opening gap and cleared her throat.

Only Rob seemed to notice. His face lost its smile and he turned his back. Eyes narrowed, Anjuli watched him schmooze with the panel. His deliberate dismissal fuelled her determination to be heard. What was between them had nothing to do with the wind farm and he had no right to ignore her. Thoughts of apologising for her past misdeeds, of needing to be humble and ask for his help, fled from her mind.

“I have something to say, Mr. Douglas, and I would appreciate it if you would turn around and listen.”

Anjuli scrambled onto the platform, careful of the broken glass still in her hand. As she straightened she could hear her name flying around the room in stage whispers. From behind the bar, Ash grinned and mouthed the word “tomorrow.”

Great, keeping a low profile had lasted less than a week and now she owed Ash a shift without pay. Anjuli lifted her chin and cloaked herself in the glamour of her performing days, giving the crowd her concert smile. She pitched her voice to a clear and steady middle C.

“Some of you may remember me. I’m Anjuli Carver, and at the weekend I moved back to Heaverlock, permanently. I’ve bought Castle Manor and I plan to open it as a B&B in the summer.”

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Rob stiffen. If she didn’t know better she would have thought him a statue. Except a statue couldn’t look at her with such thinly veiled contempt, it couldn’t make her feel bereft or fill her with pain.

For three months she’d told herself that her reaction to seeing Rob in London had been a case of blast-from-the-past blues. She’d had sex with him because she was depressed and half-drunk, confusing what she used to feel for him with reality. Yet here she was, wanting to take a chisel and close the distance between them. Chip off the cast around his body and reveal the passionate man who had made love to her.

She was a basket case, just like Ash said.

Anjuli looked at the villagers. “A wind farm would be disastrous for our tourist industry. People flock here for the Common Riding Festival and they come to see Heaverlock Castle. They want to experience the uniqueness of Scottish Borders life, to hunt in grouse season and come back for pheasant in the winter. To trek and cycle in the summer. But nobody will visit us, stay in our B&Bs or buy from our shops if they have to share the experience with a wind farm.”

Anjuli was pleased to see curiosity turning to alarm. She scanned the councillors at the trestle table, trying not to notice Rob. He regarded her coolly but his posture was angry. What the hell was his problem? Did he have a vested interest in settling a wind farm so close to the village? Had his support for the village been only pretence? He’d changed so much, maybe he was now an opportunist who cared nothing about Heaverlock.

Indignation drowned the last of her awkwardness and twisted it into anger. If Rob thought to put his own interests above people’s livelihoods he was in for a fight.

“Why are you pushing a wind farm on our moors, Mr. Douglas?” she asked heatedly. “What possible reason could you have for condoning the destruction of our tourist industry?”

The crowd drew in a collective gasp and the room went eerily silent. The only sign of Rob’s fury was the muscle twitching above his mouth. Slowly, painfully, Anjuli became aware of the seriousness of her very public, very serious accusation. People stared at her in disbelief, waiting for her next insult. Why didn’t she say something? Apologise or try to ameliorate what she’d said? She needed to find the right words but her throat was as dry as her brain.

Rob waited for the crowd’s murmurs to cease. “My motivation is simple, Ms. Carver,” he said levelly. “Protecting our environment. It’s time to take responsibility for the problems we’ve created, no’ run away from them.”

Run away?

Was he referring to their wedding day or was she paranoid as well as crazy? The adrenaline that had spurred her to the platform trickled away, leaving her feeling exposed and vulnerable. She was the last person who should accuse Rob of anything, so what was she doing making wild claims in public? People were gawping, enjoying the show and remembering that Anjuli Carver and Robert Douglas shared “a past.”

“A wind farm will benefit Heaverlock,” Rob said, ignoring her silence. “We’ll be able to generate our own supply of sustainable energy at a much lower cost. Do you dispute that cheaper energy rates will be beneficial for homes and businesses, including those involved in the tourist industry?”

All eyes turned to Anjuli, waiting for the smash return. Rob’s glinted like silver coins, bright and hard.

Anjuli held a hand out to the crowd, much as she used to when she was performing. “I think we’d rather pay a higher energy rate than see empty shops or vacancy signs. We should fight the wind-farm proposal on Redesburn Moor so we can hold on to our beautiful countryside, and to our livelihoods.”

Rob picked a leaflet off the trestle table and approached. Her stomach fluttered, but not with colourful, pretty little butterflies. A flock of hyper swallows had taken up residence.

Up close the silver coins turned into bullets. “The people of Heaverlock will make informed decisions based on the need to protect our environment and our businesses.” His voice had softened but the effect was anything but gentle. “Decisions based on facts, no’ scaremongering.”

What facts? What was he talking about?

Rob handed her the leaflet. “The proposed wind-farm site is no’ on the Redesburn Moors. If you take the time to read the information you’ll learn the basic facts.”

At that moment Anjuli would have given anything for the platform to be like the Vegas Arena, where she had sunk into the floor and disappeared from view at the end of her performance. Once again her impulsiveness had landed her in trouble. She had gone to battle when the war didn’t even exist, stirred up the crowd with false accusations and publicly insulted the one person her future depended on. It was little wonder Ash was shaking her head, staring at her like she was an idiot.

A look into the mirror over the Inglenook showed the deep blush spreading over her pale face like red wine spilling on a tablecloth. Anjuli’s hands clenched and the shards of glass dug into her skin. Rob’s look pierced her more deeply.

He turned his back and returned to the trestle table.

A reaction that didn’t go unnoticed, if the buzz below was anything to go by. Time for a strategic retreat and a few bangs of her head against the wall, somewhere private.
Or not.