Of course not, remember? Anjuli was impulsive. Daring. Jump first and look after. She was made of vibrant colours whereas he was black and white. It was, conversely, why they used to complement each other so well. She alone had possessed the ability to curve his straight lines, to shake his foundations and make him enjoy living the moment.
Rob frowned. Not having a vehicle was okay for now, but once the weather changed she’d need to let go of her city ideals. Maybe she still hated driving. God knows, trying to teach her had been torture. With some of the money he’d inherited from his parent’s will he’d bought her a car for her eighteenth birthday, sturdy and reliable, with an excellent engine. Automatic, so she wouldn’t stress about changing gears. She’d hated manual drive.
Rob could almost hear Ben’s mocking laughter. So what if he’d loved taking care of her? Making the financial decisions and working hard at establishing his firm so he could provide for her had been his pleasure. So had planning their future.
Shit, his brother said he belonged a few centuries back, but what the hell was wrong with taking control and providing for the woman you loved?
Everything, if it makes her leave you at the altar.
Overbearing, she’d called him. Domineering. Rob swung at the next piece of wood and clipped it sideways, knocking it off the block. Anjuli must know he was at the back; he’d parked his car at the bridge and walked the rest of the way. Was she too busy getting ready to go out with Damien to talk to him? Rumour had it that they were lovers, although Mac insisted it wasn’t true.
The ceilidh was on Saturday, and two days later he was heading to America, where he would tour the proposed school sites and meet with local government officials about their requirements. If he decided to take the job he would leave all thoughts of Anjuli behind. Living in Boston, he would be able to walk into a bar or supermarket without wondering if she was inside. Without every part of his body on alert in case he saw her.
As it was now. His back was turned, but he knew the second Anjuli came round the corner. He heard her small intake of breath and felt her lingering gaze on his arms and back. Rob yanked the axe out of the wood and fought back his embarrassment. He wasn’t in the habit of going shirtless in front of women and her abrupt stop made him acutely aware he was half-naked.
He straightened, glanced at her and changed his mind about putting on his shirt. Her gaze was fixed on the V of dark hairs above his waistband, and she looked as though she was being tortured on a rack.
Good.
He knew it was petty—hell, it was downright arrogant—but he wanted her to get an eyeful of what she’d thrown away and regret it.
Like he regretted losing her.
Rob swung the axe into the large chunk of wood with vicious force. Beaded sweat ran down his chest, and his shoulders and arms bunched tightly as he wrenched it back out. He swung again and the wood split with a loud crack. With a grunt, he flung the pieces into the pile next to him.
Then he rolled his shoulders and flexed his arms, a faint smile on his face. “Have you seen your fill or should I continue?”
Anjuli stepped out of the shadows. The flush on her face made him want to feel her hot skin against his lips. “You didn’t have to inconvenience yourself,” she said hoarsely. “I’m chipping away at it slowly.”
“Learning new skills?”
Anjuli looked between her pile of wood and his and sighed, “Damien bought me the axe and gave me a wood-chopping lesson.”
And what other kind of “lessons” had he given her? Rob grabbed his shirt and slung it over his shoulder before strolling towards her.
She backed away. “C-can I offer you a coffee for your efforts?”
He needed a shower and a change of clothes before meeting clients in Carlisle for dinner. “For starters.”
Anjuli whirled around, and he followed her into Castle Manor, eyes on her hips...her bottom. It’s pert, generous contours made his hands ache to cup it, and he mentally cursed himself for the urge.
Reiver was on his bed in the kitchen but didn’t jump up to greet them. Anjuli bent over, patted him, and crooned, “Oh honey, you still feeling droopy?”
Fuck. Her husky voice wound its way down to his cock and held on like a vice. He used to love easing her onto him, squeezing her cheeks as she came apart and listening to her voice as she sang her pleasure. Gripping her fingers in his as he exploded inside her.
Her hands trembled on the gas lighter, and she fumbled with the old cooker controls.
A wry smile. “My cooker is temperamental.”
“Like its owner?”
“Funny, Douglas,” she said, then blushed a deeper shade of pink and cleared her throat. “Rob.”