The collie ran back to her and barked a few times, just before the sound of an engine signalled a vehicle coming up from behind. Anjuli jumped onto the verge. Another tumble and she’d refuse to get up, settle into the soil and become a mud monster.
A black Land Rover pulled into the passing place a few feet ahead and cut its engine. Oh, thank God. This was what she loved about the Scottish Borders; it might be isolated but in the middle of a storm people would stop to help a muddy, battered-looking woman with a wrecked bike and a wild dog.
The driver’s door opened and Rob jumped out, his expression as stormy as the gale raging around them.
“Are you daft, woman?”
Anjuli stifled a mad urge to laugh. Of course she was daft. She’d bought a manor she now couldn’t afford, insulted her only chance at restoring it and was limping home in the middle of a howling gale with a dog that would probably give her rabies. But even rabies would be preferable to hearing what Rob had to say, and it looked as though he had plenty.
“Get in.”
Somewhere inside her a little voice protested against his order, but she clamped her mouth shut. The cut on her hand was throbbing and besides, one should never antagonise a reluctant rescuer. Rob shoved the bicycle into the boot, whistling for the collie to follow suit. The dog settled down with his tail over his nose. Wouldn’t it be great if she could do the same?
Rob got into the car and slammed the door shut, making her jump. He wiped his face and raked a hand through his dripping hair. A turn of his head and he took in her sodden, mud-speckled face before slowly lowering his gaze to her soaked top. Anjuli shivered, though whether it was from the cold or from his look, she couldn’t say.
Rob reached into the back seat for his jacket. “Put this on.”
Get in. Put this on. Peremptory orders, but it was hard to argue with common sense. The jacket was large and warm, and soon stilled the trembling in her shoulders if not in her stomach. Jaw hard and face tight, Rob pulled out of the passing place.
Anjuli clamped down on the insane urge to throw herself into his arms and hang on for dear life. It was time to apologise, but which one of her transgressions should take pride of place? London? What should she say about that little disaster? Nothing she’d planned seemed right and the blank, shuttered glance Rob gave her as she shifted in her seat stifled her words before she’d even begun.
“Don’t bother,” he said tersely. “I don’t need an apology.”
“But I should explain—”
“I think you said enough that night.”
He could sell his voice as a weapon. Its cool, clear tone was smooth on the surface, so full of contempt in the undertow.
Anjuli cleared her throat. “My divorce had just been finalised and I took it badly. When I saw you it was a shock and I wasn’t thinking straight.”
It was the truth, although the divorce had affected her because Brendan had been her last link to Chloe. Not because she’d loved him. Rob’s hand tightened on the gearshift. “Divorce?”
Hard not to wince at his tone. “I was married for a short time, to B. R. Kavon. It was hasty and we kept it secret. It didn’t last.”
Please God, don’t let him recognise the name.
“B. R. Kavon, the Welsh guitarist from Death Instinct?”
And that was why she shouldn’t put her faith in prayer. “That’s the one.”
“B. R. Kavon, who married an heiress last month and then got busted for punching a paparazzo so hard he broke his jaw? Charged with possession of class A drugs when they booked him?”
“That would be him, too,” she said lightly.
Rob frowned. “Interesting company you keep.”
“Interesting magazines you read.”
“Everybody needs to see their GP now and again and I didn’t have a book.”
Anjuli sighed. “Brendan isn’t really like that. Violent, I mean. He struggles with the pressure of fame and sometimes does stupid things. He’s lonely most of the time and he thinks drinking and...doing other things help him to deal with being a star.”
“Right.”
They drove in silence for a few seconds before Rob’s face went dark. “So...Brendan R. Kavon was the man in bed with us that night.”
Remorse rolled over Anjuli and spread, like the muddy surface water hitting the windshield. “Listen, about what I said—”
“Don’t worry about it,” he interrupted. “I’ve never been used for rebound sex before, but I’m no’ complaining. I had a good time and so did you, regardless of whose dick you pretended was pleasuring you.”
Huh? “But you were furious,” Anjuli said incredulously. “What I said and did was terrible and I’m very sorry.”