His logic scouted at the edges of Anjuli’s mind, looking for a crack in its perimeter, one second advancing, the next retreating.
Rob rubbed his hands down her arms. “You should have told me in London.”
Anjuli trembled, seeing again that cold, bittersweet night. “When you walked into the bar I wanted to turn back the clock. The only times I’ve ever been happy are with you and then with Chloe.” She pounded her hands on his chest. “But I can’t change the past and I can’t have her back.”
Rob caught her hands and pressed them together. “No, lass, you can’t, but you can still be happy, and I’m going to make sure that you are.”
Deep breaths and deflect the trigger. She wrenched away from Rob and he pulled her back, wrapping his arms around her torso.
Her body shook violently. “I can’t do this.”
“You can. I won’t let you go.”
That bittersweet promise again. Anjuli dug her nails into Rob’s arms. Didn’t he see she was close to the edge, that she had to jump back before she fell? She tried to break free, couldn’t, and slapped him, making vicious contact with his cheek. He remained immobile, holding her tightly.
“Do your worst,” he challenged.
She should have been horrified at her behaviour, apologetic, but instead she pummelled his chest with her fists, fighting against his hold as she fought against her grief. Impossible, in the end, to conquer either. Tears streamed from her eyes, saltiness burning her skin like acid. She didn’t want to cry, damn it. She wanted to hit something. Hit him, crack her fist against his jaw, because he was making her face her sorrow. Anjuli drew her fist back and Rob braced himself.
She couldn’t do it.
She couldn’t hurt Rob and she couldn’t bring Chloe back. Helplessly, Anjuli clutched at his lapels as the tide inside her reached its peak. From her gut came a low rumble that grew in volume and intensity until it became a moan, clawing its way through her throat in a long, agonising scream. It was rage and despair, sorrow and pain. It was guilt.
The scream went on and on until her voice was hoarse. Rob held her through the vortex, arms around her and lips in her hair until she slumped into his chest, dry-eyed. The moon cast their shadows against the walls as he carried her up to her bedroom. She couldn’t protest and she couldn’t stop her hands from clasping his neck or her body from moulding to his.
Gently, Rob set her down next to her bed, then searched her room and handed her a T-shirt. “Put this on.”
She should have been annoyed at how easily she obeyed him. Instead she meekly did as he commanded. Rob helped her out of her gown, his touch almost impersonal as he unzipped the back. A quick glance showed he’d gone to the window and was looking out, allowing her privacy. She let the dress drop to the floor and tugged on the T-shirt.
“And now?”
Rob came back and tilted her chin up. “Whatever feels right.”
He pulled back her duvet cover and she slipped underneath. Fully dressed, he lay down next to her on top of the sheets, then drew her into his chest and stroked her back in gentle circles.
Pat, pat, pat and soothe.
Her eyes overflowed with tears, rolling down her face and onto the steady heartbeat under her cheek. Rob kissed her head and she held on to him and sobbed. Big waves of ugly, gut-wrenching grief she’d never allowed herself to express, never felt she was entitled to. She sobbed for her regrets and for her guilt, but most of all she sobbed for Chloe and the life she would never have.
For the bubbly little baby whose soul had flown away.
She felt that hers might also, but Rob held her close, his solid body her stone sentry, his voice her guide back to Castle Manor when she was finally spent.
Chapter Seventeen
Rob’s cock was so hard it was painful to move, but move he must before he embarrassed himself in Anjuli’s bed. Slowly, he inched his hips away from Anjuli’s sleeping body, trying not to wake her. She sighed in her sleep and he looked at her face. Eyes shut, long brown hair tousled and lips curled in a faint smile. On her side, clutching his hand in hers, she looked vulnerable and young. But still very much the woman who made his blood boil in ways that led straight to his groin.
His control was as flimsy as the sheet between them. After spending the night in bed with her soft, voluptuous body, her wearing only a tight T-shirt and those lacy knickers that had been haunting him since Viking had thrown her over his shoulder, Rob wanted, needed, to be inside her. Hold her in his arms as she came.
No matter what Ben and Mac said, Anjuli Carver was the woman for him and always would be. A feeling of rightness he hadn’t experienced since she’d left settled over his mind, and elation filled him as he watched her sleep. Happiness. His chest was bursting with it and—Anjuli shifted against him—and soon his cock would be also, if he didn’t get out of bed and shower.