“There will be no ‘wooing’ of anybody,” she said, as soon as Viking had gone.
Ash grinned. “Skip over that part, then.”
“I’m not in search of a husband.”
“Jesus, lighten up, Babes. Who said anything about marriage? There’s loads of Heaverlock hotties around who can’t restore your house but can sure give you a thorough clean. And your nooks and crannies, sister mine, need a long, deep seeing to.”
Anjuli huffed. “My nooks and crannies—”
“Are like a granny’s. Let’s see, there’s Kenneth Baker, all grown up. Remember him? Quite shy, but such a sweetie. Only twenty-one and just broke up with his girlfriend, ripe for a fling with an older woman.”
She gave Ash a quelling look. “Boy toys are passé.”
“Nick Haddington is a bit older than us but maybe too serious for you. Cups of tea in front of the TV and early nights, but I hear he knows how to keep a woman warm in the winter.”
“It’s spring.”
Ash waggled her eyebrows. “He’s got the salt-and-pepper ménage á deux down pat.”
“Salt and pepper whatta?”
“His—” Ash broke off to stare at the man who’d just walked in. So did a lot of other women, gazes fixed on the blond’s lean, athletic body as he approached the bar. Dressed casually, in a dark green T-shirt and jeans that moulded to his bulge, it wasn’t hard to guess exactly what had drawn their attention.
“Dr. Mitchell, the vet I told you about,” Ash whispered. “He likes ’em juicy so you’re in with a chance. From what I hear he’s insatiable.”
Well, he could be starving for all she cared, she was in no danger of feeding his appetite with her extra padding. Nevertheless, she sucked in her gut. One should never slouch at work. It’s lazy, not to mention bad for your posture.
“Damien,” Ash said, accepting his kiss on the cheek. She gave Anjuli an innocent look. “This is my sister, Anjuli, and she’s in dire need.”
What would the villagers say if she strangled their publican? “I have a stray dog.”
He leaned into the bar. “And where have you been, gorgeous?” he said, Irish lilt teasing.
“All your life?”
“No, but the rest of it will do fine.”
Well, he was definitely Irish Cheddar, but with a self-mocking smile that said he was laughing at himself more than hitting on her.
Anjuli tried to look stern. “If you’re Dr. Damien Mitchell, I’ve been warned you become dangerous after prolonged contact.”
“We could keep it short and fast if you prefer, but I’d rather not, with you.”
“Why do I get the feeling you’re an incorrigible flirt?”
“Ah lass, you’re splicing my heart. All I want is a pint of the black stuff and a kiss from a beautiful woman. Those are the last two things on my list for a perfect St. Paddy’s Day.”
She pointed at the wall calendar. “It’s the seventh, not the seventeenth.”
He took her hand. “An Irishman always prepares in advance.”
“So I’ve heard.”
A dimple came out on his chin and his eyes gleamed. She’d never seen eyes that colour before, like a lion’s. No wonder he’d enthralled half the women in the village. His charm was cheeky and he seemed harmless. Unless, of course, you fell into his den.
His clasp on her hand was firm, but he let her go as soon as she tugged free. “I never kiss men who rank me as the last thing on their to-do list.”
“Then kissing you will be my top priority, Anjuli Carver.”
Rob’s steel-edged voice cut across the bar. “A double Glenmorangie and a glass of Chardonnay, if it’s no’ too much trouble.”
Startled, Anjuli straightened, feeling absurdly guilty. That is, until she noticed the statuesque blonde next to Rob. “I’ll get us a table,” the woman said.
It was Sarah bloody Brunel, looking at him with a possessive glint to her eyes, just as she had done the day before. Anjuli stared at her sleek figure as she moved away, hating its slender lines. When she pulled her attention back, Rob was talking to Damien but staring at her. Unwaveringly, watching her every move.
Why the hell was his face so stony? In he’d sauntered wearing a navy blue Scotland jersey and his informal kilt, destroying her peace of mind. Flaunting his masculinity and accompanied by his...whatever she was, and yet he was angry?
Anjuli gave him her back and searched for a wine glass at the opposite end of the bar. Where had she put them? Ash offered her a glass, her voice chirpy. “Give it to her, Babes.”
Anjuli grabbed the wine glass. “Where do you keep the arsenic?” Though she didn’t know whose glass it was for—the reporter who’d written the article, or Rob, for not seeming to care.