“Sure, I’ll add that to my to-do list.”
Rob glanced at the freestanding cupboard. “In the meantime, help me push.”
Together, they positioned the biggest in front of the largest hole. Blech. Anjuli made a face at the empty floor space they’d uncovered, where lumps of accumulated gunk looked like something a mad scientist would grow into a biohazard. Over the smaller hole she’d plastered a bit of newspaper. The Borders Chronicle showed the vicar’s escaped horse being pursued down the village green by two heavyset men.
Rob pulled up the linoleum and examined the flagstone floor, uncovering a section where the stone was missing. Yes! Anjuli recognised the expression on his face and felt her waning hopes blossom. He was immersed, his creative mind thinking along restoration channels.
“The kitchen is going to be a massive job,” she said worriedly. “It’s the worst part of the house.”
“Aye, but I’d say the roof is stiff competition.”
“Yeah, that silver birch wasn’t there the last time we were here, was it?”
A sharp glance. “No...but I don’t recall looking at the roof much.”
A reflexive thrill ran down Anjuli’s back at the tone of his voice. She watched the memory of that day flit over his face and wanted to slap herself. About five sharp slaps would do for starters, and then she could start in with the punches.
“Ash mentioned you were in charge of the Callants Hotel restoration in Halton a few years back,” she said, hoping to turn his thoughts to business. “I went shopping there yesterday and had a drink at the café. I love the way you left a few bits of the old plaster as you found them.”
No response.
“There’s so much more to owning a listed building than I first thought. The dos and don’ts read like a legal contract and I have no idea how to handle the restoration.”
“Maybe you should have thought about that before you put in a bid.”
And maybe you should put me out of my misery and tell me if you’ll work for me. Anjuli tried to quash her frustration. Rob in moody mode had always made her want to shake him, but she couldn’t afford to let him get to her. He knew she needed his help so why couldn’t he tell her if he was going to oblige?
Rob continued his methodical study of the kitchen, tapping the walls and looking behind units and into corners.
Anjuli washed her breakfast dishes, letting the icy water run over her hands and counting the cracks in the deep porcelain basins. She loved the symmetrical beauty of the Belfast sinks. They’d seen grander times, elegant dinner parties, weddings and christening feasts, each tiny crack perhaps made by the same large cast-iron pot.
Anjuli put a hand to her lower back and straightened slowly. The sinks were set lower than she was used to and after kissing the verge, it hurt to bend over them. She rolled her shoulders and stretched her neck. Shutting her eyes, she ran her right hand down her throbbing thigh and massaged it in slow, circular sweeps. She arched her spine, pushing her chest out. God that feels good.
A cascade of sensual warmth ran from her shoulders to her thighs as she transferred the massage to the small of her back. She opened her eyes. Rob was staring at her, his face suffused with anger and something altogether more threatening. Anjuli dropped her hand, unsure of what to say or do next. Rob solved the problem for her, closing the distance between them until she had to tilt her head back to look up at him or look away. A sensible woman, one who knew danger and backed away from it, would retreat.
She didn’t know what she was anymore, where Rob was concerned. Not an inch of his body was touching hers and yet she felt as if she were being caressed by the energy between them. And there it was again, that visceral tug of longing assaulting her barriers, beating at her resistance like the gale hammering at her house.
Rob dropped his eyes to her mouth and she lifted her chin. He parted his lips and hers parted in response. His head slanted and hers slanted with it.
Where had the wind gone, and when had the rain stopped pummelling the roof? Was that sibilant sound her own breathing or the hiss of wet, masculine chest meeting burning hot nipples?
“Have you got a proposition for me?” Rob asked huskily.
Anjuli gulped. “Never.”
One of his brows rose sardonically. “Never?”
“Unless it pertains to Castle Manor, of course.” Anjuli stepped away. “Shall we discuss it in the—”
A jaunty Beatles tune came from Rob’s pocket. He took out his mobile, read the screen and switched it off, a wry expression on his face. “I seem to have forgotten I’ve got a meeting in fifteen minutes.” He took out his wallet and handed Anjuli a crisp business card. “Phone Mrs. P. She knows my schedule better than I do.”