Pitch Imperfect(55)
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me. You won’t stop tormenting me until you prove your manhood and I—what was it you said? Until I begged for it. So c’mon, let’s fuck. See? I’m begging just like you wanted. Right here, right now. Let’s do it. There’s a bunch of trees between us and the village and nothing around for miles. Get your revenge. Fuck me and dump me and then for God’s sake. Leave. Me. Alone.”
Rob’s voice vibrated like a piano string, pulled too tightly. “I don’t want revenge. And I don’t want to fuck you and dump you.”
“Well, what else then?” she said.
Silence.
“D-don’t look at me like that.”
His voice deepened with frustration. “You don’t want me to look at you? Well, I can’t stop. I’ve wanted to take you into my arms the minute you arrived, but if I said your casual attitude toward sex doesn’t bother me or your callousness doesn’t boil my blood, I’d be lying.
“But every time I remember who you used to be, every time I see flashes of the Anjuli I fell in love with—determined and enthusiastic, loving and compassionate, a woman who never stopped sending roses to Jamie’s fort because she won’t forget a friend—it wipes those angry, bitter thoughts from my mind.”
“Mac shouldn’t have told you that was me.”
“She didn’t have to. I found them every year, sitting right where Jamie used to write his poems. One year I caught the courier and he told me the order had come from New York. Another time it was from Tokyo.” Rob’s tone became contemplative. Probing. “I ask myself why someone who would remember Jamie even while she was busy touring the world would turn into the selfish, destructive woman I saw in London. Cruelty used to be as foreign to you as arrogance.
“Something changed you and it wasn’t fame and fortune. What happened? Why did you disappear for so long and suddenly move back to Heaverlock? Is your ex-husband the reason you lost yourself, the reason your eyes are so lifeless?”
She had dead eyes?
Anjuli hoped it was too dark for Rob to see her face. The desire to confide in him, to tell him everything that had happened to her was almost overpowering. Almost. She couldn’t do that, but at least she could tell him the truth about London.
“I lied to you that night,” she said quietly. “I could never think of another man while you made love to me. I wanted you, badly, and then I wanted you to leave me alone. I still do.”
“Why?”
Why, why, why. The words wouldn’t let her be. Anjuli’s throat dried painfully and she couldn’t speak, eyes shut and head bowed.
Because I killed my daughter.
What would Rob say if he knew that? Would he condemn her, or parrot meaningless platitudes? It wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t foresee what happened. There was nothing you could have done. Oh, she may not have lifted a hand to hurt her baby, but Chloe was dead because of her all the same.
How many times would she relive that terrible night, knowing that one selfish decision had sealed her daughter’s fate? Chloe would never learn to read, play games or sing. She would never have friends or travel the world; never love a man or have his children. All because of her. Anjuli backed away. She couldn’t allow herself another minute, another second in Rob’s company.
Rob’s quick reflexes stopped her flight. He grabbed her hand, raised her calloused palm and pressed a kiss into the centre—a single touch that spread through her body like a balm. The ache inside her eased a little, then dug deeper, more so when he folded her fingers over the lambent spot, encasing her hand in his.
“Talk to me, lass. Tell me why you turned me away in London. Why did you disappear for so long and why don’t you sing anymore?”
Anjuli pulled her hand away. “There’s nothing to tell.”
“You’re lying.”
“And you know that how, exactly?”
“Because I think you’re still the woman I used to love.”
She hardened her voice. “I’m the woman who was a complete bitch to you in London, the one who humiliated you eight years ago, remember? I left you at the altar and didn’t come back until now. But I guess that didn’t hurt enough for you to leave me alone.”
A deep breath he let out slowly. “It hurt more than you’ll ever know,” he said, without the rancour she expected. “But I was partly to blame. I’ve had a lot of time to think since you left, and to reflect on where I went wrong. If I could I would go back and do things differently, and if you so much as tried to leave me I would chain you to my bed and fuck you senseless. Just like I should’ve done in London.”