Pitch Imperfect(65)

The object of her fantasy was standing in front of her, a dark silhouette against the sky.





Chapter Fourteen

Rob stared at Anjuli. Had she been sleeping? It was early for bed but she looked tousled. Her eyes were glazed and her skin flushed. He looked at her more closely and she swayed back and gripped the door handle.

“What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to make sure you were safe, so here I am.”

Anjuli poked him in the chest. “You are not here because you, my black-haired stallion, are trotting over the Atlantic tonight. Trot, trot, trot.”

Rob grinned. She never could take her alcohol. “I rescheduled my flight for tomorrow and am very much tethered to Castle Manor.” He lifted the shopping bag in his hand. “I’ve brought dinner.”

Anjuli didn’t look at the food. She stared at his crotch so blatantly his cock stirred. Her low, sultry chuckle reached through his trousers like an audible caress. “I am so hungry.”

Food, man, concentrate on the food. Rob shut the door and took Anjuli’s hand. She wasn’t too steady and clutched his arm for balance. She lifted her hand and pushed back her hair, and a waft of her alluring female scent rose to his nostrils, powering into him like a hydraulic drill.

Wait, was that what she’d been doing before he arrived? The reason she looked so flushed? At this intimate range he could see the flutter of her pulse and his body responded. His cock refused to behave and stretched against its confines. Anjuli wanted sex and in her inebriated state she wouldn’t stop him if he offered to give it to her.

“Kitchen,” he said, swallowing hard. “Dinner.”

That rich, sultry laugh again. “There’s a fire in the sitting room and wine. Grab a glass and join me.”

Rob used the three minutes microwaving the Spanish paella meals to cool down, or at least try. When he entered the sitting room Anjuli was stretched out on the sofa like a contented cat. The lights were out, the flames in the fireplace outlining her body. Dusky pink nipples poked hard points against her thin nightgown.

You are a mature man in your thirties, not a mindless animal. He was sweating like one though, and so hard it would be difficult to sit.

Anjuli’s held out her wine glass. “Fill me up.”

Her hand was cold, but the spark she sent through him was sizzling hot.

Armchair for the meal, not next to her on the sofa. At the ceilidh, with her hair up and wearing a low-cut dress, Anjuli had looked like a wet dream. Now the dream could be reality, her wavy hair loose and a cotton nightdress the only thing between him and her skin. One easily dealt with barrier to rip apart so he could taste her.

Taste your food.

Rob made short work of his dinner. He’d had a long day in London, his flight to Edinburgh had been delayed and he’d hit heavy traffic on his way back to Heaverlock, stretching the two-hour journey into a tedious four. From the dark circles under Anjuli’s eyes it looked as if she’d had a long day too. She was drunk and she should eat, and he wouldn’t let her if she continued to look at him as though he was her main course.

Rob inhaled deeply of the wine before he drank it, needing the warm, spicy hint to clear his head of Anjuli’s intoxicating scent. He talked about work, Mac, the village—anything that would stop him from accepting the invitation in her eyes. Watching her full mouth taste, chew and swallow her food was driving him nuts, wanting to be inside her instead of across the coffee table.

“I’m going to be extra busy for the next couple of weeks but Castle Manor is still on target in spite of the theft.”

Anjuli swallowed the last bite of her food. “Ben told me about the project in America.”

Oh? He’d take it up with Ben later, but no, maybe his brother’s overprotectiveness had done him a favour. “What do you think I should do?” Damn it, she’d tipped her head back onto the sofa.

“Pour me another drink.”

“I think you’ve had enough.”

Anjuli leaned over and poured it herself, giving him a view of her deliciously full breasts. She raised her glass, spilled some wine on her breast and—God damn it—he had to look away before he lost control.

Her voice was laced with treacle. “To October fifteenth.”

The day he’d asked her to marry him. The day he’d taken her virginity and the day he’d given her his. “I didn’t think you’d remember,” he said hoarsely.

“Every time I sit in front of the fireplace,” she said.

Fuck. At that moment all he wanted was to pour her fluid body onto the hearth and slide into her, make her steam and sizzle, heat her pussy until she was so molten she bubbled over.