Pitch Imperfect(24)

Ash grinned. “No killing my customers. Besides, I gave the last of it to Angus Buchanan, the old sod, but he’s as hard to get rid of as Foot and Mouth.”

With a barely suppressed sigh, Anjuli poured out a 250 ml measure. Maybe the arsenic should be for herself. Rob’s brogue contrasted with Damien’s lilt, and as the two men discussed the Scottish and Irish teams, memories of other games, other sporting events at Rob’s side threatened her outward calm.

She glanced at Rob and wished she hadn’t. Leaning against the bar, black hair tousled from the wind he looked relaxed and rugged. Ready for action. She remembered how he liked to celebrate a Scotland win. Exactly how he wanted her to console him when they lost.

A small thrill worked its way between her thighs. How many times had Rob barely waited until the end of a game to be inside her? And after a match where he’d been playing, well, he’d forego the post-game, male camaraderie at the pub and take her home, sweaty and full of rampant testosterone. Perhaps a soapy shower, with her up against the wall...Anjuli’s hands trembled around his tumbler and she put it down and wiped her palms on her hips. No more shattering glass or staring at Rob or giving fodder for that bitch—err, Sarah—to write about.

She put the drinks in front of Rob. “Whisky for you and wine for your date.”

“Friend,” he said, and turned to Damien. “Why don’t you join us?”

Damien winked at Anjuli. “I’ve got a kiss to collect first.”

Rob looked between them, then settled his gaze on Anjuli. “Of course.”

And what did he mean by that, exactly? Nothing good, by the congealed tone of his voice. Did he think she went around kissing any man who asked? Duh, of course he does, and whose fault is that? Still, he had no right to judge her. He was here with the woman who’d slated her in the paper, a woman who’d no doubt targeted him to be her next “anything in a kilt” conquest. Didn’t Rob care what Sarah had said about her?

Then again, why should he? So she could kiss whoever she wanted, right here in the pub if she so desired. Not that she was planning to kiss anybody. But would Rob be jealous if she did? Oh, hell, what was she, fourteen? He hadn’t left though, taking his sweet time to pocket his change.

Anjuli gave Damien the warm smile she used to bestow on fans who brought her flowers after a performance. “The stout is on the house since you didn’t get the last thing on your list,” she said, watching Rob walk over to Sarah. The reporter was in a clingy green dress that showed plenty of cleavage. The slut.

Damien flirted with Anjuli when he came back for a refill and then again when he bought a round, taking her mind off the man whose every movement she was tracking out of the corner of her eye.

“Tradition dictates that if the beautiful woman refuses to kiss the suffering Irishman she must grant him a wish,” he declared, drawing the attention of surrounding punters. “Come with me to the Town Hall ceilidh or doom me to an evening of loneliness.”

Anjuli fixed him with a direct, open look. “Please don’t take this the wrong way, gorgeous, but I’ve heard you’re a frank sort and I think you can take it. I’m not interested in romance or sex, or any combination of the two.”

Damien sighed theatrically. “If you won’t make me the happiest man in Heaverlock then I offer you my friendship.”

Anjuli watched Sarah scoot her chair closer to Rob’s. Is she desperate or something? Oh, they’re being joined by a few more people. Of course she would want to sit closer to him than the bloke staring at her cleavage.

“Friendship accepted,” she said.

“Just tell me one thing,” Damien said, surprising her with his sudden seriousness. “You’re a beautiful, single woman. What happened to turn you away from a good time? Life as a nun is damned boring. Two of my aunts married Christ so I know what I’m talking about.”

Anjuli stepped back. “If we’re going to be friends then talking about the past is strictly off limits. No deep and meaningfuls about my former relationships or emotional traumas. I’ll extend you the same courtesy, since I could ask what made you up sticks from Ireland to tiny Heaverlock.”

Damien’s expression drew inwards and he toasted her with his pint glass. “To angels and demons.”

“So we have a deal, Irishman?”

“I can’t promise I won’t forget myself and steal a kiss or two, but then you can put me in my place. I’m a sucker for a dominatrix.”

Anjuli laughed and shook her head. “Don’t you ever give up?”

“Find out next Tuesday. I don’t normally hold a pet clinic in the morning but I’ll make an exception for...?”