The Last Guy She Should Call (13 page)

That intriguing.

Ugh, pull up those reins, cowgirl. Your horse is bolting away from you... You’re not going to get sappy and sentimental. You can’t afford to, and you know this!

Rowan stood up, grabbed the edges of the hem of the dress and pulled it up and over her head. Seb gaped as she stood in front of him in just a brief pair of white panties and silver heels. No bra.

His eyes clouded over and Rowan smiled a tiny smile of feminine satisfaction. So sue her. She could make this hot guy salivate, and as a bonus banish the sadness from his eyes.

She looked at the dress in her hand. ‘I love this dress...but I understand if you don’t want me to wear it.’

Seb bit the inside of his lip. ‘I want to say yes but... Maybe some day. Just...’

‘Not today.’ Rowan nodded her understanding. She looked at the pile of discarded dresses on the floor. ‘Okay, black it is, then. Which one?’

Seb pulled a face. ‘Ugh. Come on, Ro, let me take you shopping. One dress, one pair of shoes... Consider it as nine years’ worth of Christmas and birthday presents I never got to buy.’

He needs to do this
, Rowan realised.
He needs to spoil me—wants to do something for me that is outside of the crazy little deals we’ve struck to work around my pride and independence
. Could she allow him to do that, or would her stiff neck and habitual self-reliance spoil it for him?

It was hard. She couldn’t lie. But seeing the pleasure on his face when she finally nodded her agreement was worth the risk.

He scooted up, dropped a kiss on her nose and grabbed her hand. ‘Okay, let’s go. Now.’

‘Good grief, Hollis, I’m still half naked!’ Rowan protested. ‘Pass me my clothes, Einstein.’

Seb picked up her pink T-shirt from the floor next to his foot and Rowan saw that he did it with great reluctance. His eyes were firmly on her breasts.

She grabbed his chin and forced him to look in her eyes. ‘Get your head out of bed, Seb. We’re going shopping. For a dress. And shoes. Cocktail dresses and shoes are expensive, by the way.’

Seb grinned. ‘I’m pretty sure my credit card can stand it.’

Rowan let him go, stepped away and picked up her shorts. She pulled them up, zipped, and placed her hands on her hips. ‘Seb?’

‘Yeah?’

‘Your mum’s failings are hers, not yours. You didn’t do or say anything that made her leave. That was on her and not on you.’

Seb pulled her close and buried his face in her hair. Just stood with her in his arms. She didn’t know where those words had come from. She just knew, soul-deep, that he’d needed to hear them.

Just as she knew that all she had to do right then was hold him.

And when he pulled away to let go she pretended that the moment
hadn’t
been charged with all those pesky emotions he tried so damn hard to ignore.

She did it because quite simply he needed her to.

* * *

‘I need an ice cream,’ Seb whined theatrically, and Rowan rolled her eyes at him.

What a lightweight, she thought. They’d only done one level of the mall and there were three more to go. She still hadn’t found a dress that was both within the budget she’d set in her head—she didn’t care how flexible Seb’s credit card was; she was
not
going to pay a fortune for a dress she’d only wear once!—and nice enough to wear.

‘Or a beer. Actually, I definitely need a beer,’ Seb added as she pulled him into a tiny boutique that looked interesting.

‘This was your idea,’ Rowan told him, unsympathetic, and headed for a rail of dresses at the back of the shop.

Black, black, red... She pulled a coral chiffon cocktail dress off a hanger and held it up to look at it. Oh, it was pretty, she admitted as she held it against her and looked in the full-length mirror against the wall. It was sleeveless with a dropped waist and a multi-tiered skirt that fell to mid-thigh.

Take me home,
it whispered urgently.

‘That’s the one,’ Seb stated, jamming his hands into the pockets of his shorts while Rowan looked for a price tag. ‘Go try it on.’

No tag, Rowan thought, and knew that it would cost a bomb. She had an eye for picking out quality. She sighed. In clothes and in
objets d’art
.

Rowan shook her head and replaced the hanger on the rail. ‘We’ll look for something else.’

Seb tugged it off the rail and thrust it at her. ‘Try it on.’

‘It’s the perfect colour for you,’ the shop assistant stated, and Rowan narrowed her eyes at her.

‘Stop being stubborn and try the bloody thing on.’ Seb pushed her towards the discreet dressing room. He turned to the shop assistant. ‘Shoes?’

‘Silver diamante sandals. I have the perfect pair. Size seven?’

‘Of course you do,’ Rowan muttered as she stepped into the dressing room. She raised her voice so that it could be heard above the partition. ‘Size six.’

Rowan slipped her clothes off, carefully undid the discreet zip and slid the dress over her head.
Yeah, this is the dress,
she thought; it was a pity she couldn’t have it.

‘Does it fit?’ Seb demanded.

‘Yes. Beautifully. It’s a fairytale dress.’

And she was living in a fairytale at the moment. She had the run of a gorgeous house she’d always loved and was sleeping with a super-hot, sometimes not-so-charming prince.

She was loving every second of it.

But it wasn’t real life, Rowan reminded herself. She—no, they were
both
enthralled by their sexual chemistry, and it was colouring how they saw each other. When the dust settled, they’d start to argue, and then they’d start to fight, and soon—as per usual—they wouldn’t be able to stand each other.

Because the best predictor of future behaviour was past behaviour, and neither of them had a very good track record at playing nice for extended periods.

Then why did she feel so settled, living in Seb’s house, living with Seb? Was a part of her yearning for the stability of living in one place with one man? At twenty-eight was her biological clock starting to tick? Was it just being in Seb’s home, waking up in Seb’s arms, that had her wanting to believe that she could be happy with the picket fence and the two point four kids and the Labrador and...?

You’re being ridiculous,
she told herself.
The grass always looks greener on the other side.
She knew this—heck, she knew this well.

Before coming home she had never had a serious thought about settling down, about relationships and children and suburbia. Okay, that was a lie—of course she had—but only little, non-serious thoughts. Even
she
knew she was capable of being seduced by the idea of
what-if
, of thinking that a wonderful experience could translate into a wonderful life in that place. Hadn’t she gone through something similar in Bali, where she’d thought she’d buy a little house and stay for ever? And when she’d first seen the Teton mountain range, and that gorgeous little cake shop that had been for sale in the Cotswolds? She’d imagined herself living and working in all those places, but the urge to move on had always come—as it would here as well.

‘Rowan? You lost in there?’

Seb’s voice pulled her out of her reverie.

‘Coming.’ Rowan pulled on her clothes, stepped out of the room and handed the assistant the dress. ‘Thanks, but we’ll keep looking.’

The assistant looked at Seb, eyebrows raised, as she slipped the dress into an expensive cover.

‘I’ve already paid for it. Shoes too.’ Seb took the covered dress, slung it over his shoulder and grabbed the bag holding her shoes. ‘Can we please get a beer now?’

‘You paid for it?’ Rowan asked in a icy voice. ‘What on earth...?’

‘You said it fitted beautifully, it’s your colour, and I could see that you love it,’ Seb replied, puzzled. ‘I’m not seeing the problem here.’

‘The problem is that it costs a fortune!’ Rowan grabbed the bag and peered inside at the shoe box. ‘And the shoes are
designer
!’

‘Geez, you’re boring when you rattle on and on about money.’ Seb yawned. ‘You agreed that I could buy you a dress and shoes. I’ve bought you a dress and shoes. Can we move on to the next subject for the love of God? Please?’

Rowan sent him a dirty look, turned on her heel and stomped out of the shop. Outplayed and outmanoeuvred, she thought, and she didn’t like it.

Yes, he was on-fire hot, and he was really good company, but she had to remember that Seb could be sneaky sharp when he wanted to be.

‘Beer... Food...’ Seb breathed in her ear, before grabbing her hand, tugging her around and pushing her in the opposite direction. ‘The food court is this way.’

NINE

Seb snagged an
outside table belonging to a funky-looking bistro, draped Rowan’s dress on the third chair and grinned at her sulky face. She still wasn’t happy about the dress... No, she loved the dress, but she didn’t like the idea of him buying it for her.

She took independence to stupid heights, he thought. So the dress was expensive? So were his computers and the technology he loved to spend money on.

His last computer had cost him three times what he’d paid for the dress...

‘Stop sulking and order a drink,’ he told her, and grinned as her pert nose lifted in the air. He smiled up at the redheaded waitress, placed their orders and leaned back in his chair.

‘Thank you for the dress,’ she said primly, politeness on a knife-edge. ‘And the shoes.’

‘I can’t wait to get you out of it,’ he said, just to rattle her cage.

‘Your chances of doing so are diminishing rapidly,’ Rowan retorted, but her lips twitched with humour. ‘Do you really like the dress or did you just want to stop shopping?’

‘Both,’ Seb admitted, funeral-director-mournful. ‘The things you make me do, Brat.’

‘Talking of that...’ Rowan gestured to the huge electronic advertising board to the left of them. ‘I saw a sign advertising an antiques fair and night market in Scarborough tonight. We could go take a look when we’re finished eating.’

‘Yeah...no. I’d rather eat jellyfish. Besides, I have a houseful of antiques and you’re broke.’ Seb took the beer the waitress had placed on the table and drained half the glass in one swallow.

‘Thanks for reminding me,’ Rowan grumbled. ‘And I’m not broke. I’m financially constrained. Asset-rich and cash-poor. We don’t have to buy—we could just look.’

Seb mimed putting a gun to his head and pulling the trigger and Rowan laughed.

They sat and sipped their drinks in a comfortable silence before Seb asked, ‘By the way, what happened to the boat party you were organising?’

‘Ah, the sixteen-year-old birthday girl changed her mind. Now she wants to go to a Justin Bieber concert instead.’

Seb shuddered.

‘I’m getting party enquiries all the time, but I don’t want to take on anything I can’t deliver in the next week or so. You said that my parents should be home on Sunday—four days from now—and I have to be in London by the following weekend to meet Grayson, so there’s no point in trying to get too involved. Pity, because it’s good money.’

‘So you’ll be gone in a week or so?’ Seb asked in a very even voice that hid all the emotion in his voice.

‘That’s the plan,’ Rowan said lightly as her heart contracted violently. A week? Was that all they had? Where had the last two weeks gone? She wanted them back, dammit.

‘God...’ Seb muttered into his drink.

It would be another goodbye and the hardest one that she’d ever have to say. Harder even than that first one, when she’d run away to find herself, to find out what made sense to her. When had he become so important? So hard to leave?

‘Did you go next door this afternoon?’ Seb asked, changing the subject.

Rowan nodded.

‘And...?’

She shrugged. ‘It’s just a house. They haven’t changed much.’

‘Your parents don’t do change.’

‘But I do, and maybe now I can look at them differently.’ Rowan took a sip of wine and looked thoughtful. ‘I did a great deal of thinking this afternoon, so maybe it was a good thing that you got tied up at work.’

‘I want to hear about it, but maybe we should order first.’ Seb beckoned the waitress over, asked for two gourmet burgers and another round of drinks. When the waitress had left, he gestured to Rowan with his glass. ‘Talk.’

‘How come you just expect me to spill my guts but you don’t?’

‘Because you’re the emotional one and I’m not,’ Seb replied.

Except that she was beginning to realise that Seb was far more emotional than anyone knew. He just had years of hiding it.

‘I’m starting to think that Fate had a hand in me coming home—that it’s telling me that I need to pull my head out of the sand and start dealing with all those old hurts and grievances. If I hadn’t bought those netsukes, run out of cash and been flagged by Oz immigration I wouldn’t be here.’

‘Having amazing sex with your arch enemy?’ Seb interjected.

‘Having amazing sex with my old friend,’ Rowan corrected, and saw the flare of appreciation, of attraction...fondness?...in his eyes.
No emotion, my ass.

‘I need to see my parents, deal with my issues around my mother, reconcile with them—her. Mostly her.’ Rowan sighed. ‘Maybe I’m finally starting to understand that we are very different people. I wasn’t the daughter she needed and she didn’t understand what I needed—especially that night I got arrested—but...but my childhood is over. I need to find a new “normal” with them.’

Seb folded his arms and placed them on the table. He linked his fingers in hers and stared down at their hands. ‘I never understood why you ran. You were always a fighter. You always came out of the corner ready to fight.’

Rowan nibbled her lip. ‘I got knocked down one too many times, resulting in emotional concussion.’

‘That’s a new one... Who knocked you down?’

‘My parents—my mum especially. Peter, Joe Clark...’

‘Your dipstick ex? What did he do...exactly? Apart from frame you?’

‘When did you realise he had?’

‘I think I’ve probably always known. What else did he do?’

Rowan blew out her breath and held his eye. It was time she told him—time she told someone the whole truth of that evening.

‘I fell in love with him. He was kind and sweet and said all the right things to get me into bed. I kept him waiting because...you know...he was my first, and I wanted to make sure he was the right one. Someone who really loved me and not someone who was using me... Ha-ha, what a joke!’

Seb’s face hardened. ‘So he took your virginity...?’

‘Yeah, we made love three hours before we got to the club. The policeman knew the drugs weren’t mine—he even admitted it to me—but they were on me and he had to arrest me. Joe told me while he was laughing at me for getting arrested that he’d just wanted to bag and bed “the virgin rebel”. That’s what he called me.’

Seb swore, low and slow. ‘I swear I’m going to rearrange his face.’

‘I’m over it—over him. I really am.’ Rowan managed a small smile. ‘But it wasn’t the best night of my life. I was reeling. I’d had my heart kicked around by the boy who had just taken me to bed—the whole experience of which, sadly, was not nearly as brilliant as I thought it would be—’

‘Bad?’

Trust a man to get distracted by sex,
Rowan thought as she rocked her hand in the air. ‘Meh...’

‘Meh?’

‘Not good, not bad—and I am
not
discussing my first sexual experience with you, Hollis. Jeez! Do you want to hear this or not?’

‘Keep your panties on... So you went off to jail...’

‘I had been there for a day or so and I was so scared, terrified. Another young girl had been arrested for something—I can’t remember what. Her mother came to the jail, and when they wouldn’t release this girl her mother came into the cell with her and just held her until she
could
be released. I wanted that like I’ve never wanted anything in my life.’

Rowan swallowed and took a deep slug of her wine.

‘I just wanted my mother to love me, to support me, to hold me while I sat in that corner. And I knew that she wouldn’t. Ever. That hurt more than anything else. So when I got home I thought I would test my theory; how far could I push her until I got a reaction out of her? I never got much of one. My dad screamed and raged and tried to lay down the law but my mum switched off. Until the day I wrote my finals. I came home and she and I had a...discussion.’

‘About...?’

Okay, so this was something that she’d never told anybody. Not even Callie. ‘My life, my plans. I told her I wanted to go overseas and she immediately agreed. Said it was the first sensible sentence I’d uttered all year.’

‘What the...?’

‘She said that it would be good for all of us—mainly her, I think—that I went. I heard the subtext in her speech; she’d had enough of me and her life would be that much easier if I were out of her face. So I packed my stuff, took the money she offered—she was the one who cashed in those unit trusts of my grandmother’s—and caught the first plane I could.’

‘God, Ro...’

Seb ran his hand over his face and felt sick. They’d all known that Ro and her mum bumped heads, known that Peter was her obvious favourite, but they’d never believed—not for a second—that their relationship had been that broken. Okay, his mother wasn’t a saint, and she’d left and it sucked, but she hadn’t constantly been there, physically present but emotionally unavailable.

Rowan’s staying away from Cape Town made a lot more sense now.

‘I’m so sorry,’ he muttered, knowing his words were inadequate and stupid after so much time.

But he didn’t know what else to say—how to convey how angry and...sad he felt. Because, unlike him, Rowan had needed to be nurtured and shown affection, to be bolstered and boosted. She’d needed affection and love and affirmation.

Bile roiled in his stomach as the waitress placed their burgers in front of them. ‘I should take you home...let me take you home.’

Then he felt Rowan’s hand cover his, her touch comforting him when he should be comforting her.

‘Your mind is going into overdrive, Seb. I’m fine now and I’ve learnt to live with it. I’m way over Joe Clark and him screwing me—figuratively and literally. As for my mum...she is what she is. I’ve grown up...’

‘But you’d still like a relationship with her?’

‘I’d love a relationship with her. So I’ll see her, say my sorrys if that’s what she needs to hear, and try again.’

He turned and stared down into her face. Oh, dear God, he could fall for her; tumble for this brave, beautiful woman with midnight in her eyes.

Seb shook his head, trying to replace emotion with rational thought. He was just feeling sorry for her, feeling guilty because he hadn’t pushed hard enough, dug deep enough to find out the truth about her before this. He’d always known that there was more to Rowan’s story, more to Rowan.

Besides she was leaving...
soon
. And he had no intention of letting anyone else leave with his heart again.

Mothers...jeez. The million and two ways they could screw you up.

Rowan popped a chip in her mouth and chewed thoughtfully. ‘I really want to go to that antiques market, Seb.’

Seb picked up his knife and fork, looked at his food, and put them down again. He really didn’t feel like eating.

‘What?’ he asked, his mind still reeling. He digested her words, understood them and frowned. ‘Are you playing me?’ he demanded, innately suspicious of her cajoling face. ‘Are you making me feel sorry for you to get what you want?’

Rowan chuckled. ‘It’s what we woman do. You’re smart enough not to fall for it.’

‘Brat.’

‘Let me try something else.’ Rowan batted her eyelashes at him. ‘If you take me I’ll let you charm me out of that dress.’

Seb looked her up and down and slowly grinned. ‘I’m going to charm you out of that dress anyway, so no deal.’

Rowan twisted her lips to hide her grin. ‘I
can
resist you, you know.’

Laughter chased the shadows out of Seb’s eyes. ‘No, you can’t. I can’t resist you either. Eat—you’re going to need the energy.’

‘Is that a threat?’ Rowan asked silkily.

Seb picked up her hand, turned it over and placed an open-mouthed kiss into the palm of her hand. Rowan shuddered and lust ran up and down her spine when he touched the tip of his tongue to her palm.

‘Absolutely it’s a threat,’ Seb said, before attacking his burger.

* * *

Seb cast another look at Rowan as they walked down the steps to his car, parked by the front door earlier, and thought about walking into that cocktail party with her hand in his. Her dress would be enough to have the older men choking on their drinks, their wives raising an over-plucked eyebrow and any man below sixty sending approving looks at her stunning legs, from thigh to the two-inch silver heels she had absolutely no problem rocking.

She was gorgeous, with her wild hair pulled back into a casual roll, minimal make-up and a coral lipstick that perfectly matched the red of her dress. She looked fresh and sexy and he was already anticipating the end of the evening, when he could strip it off her as he’d promised. Which was insane, since they’d made love just over an hour ago and again this morning. And twice last night after they’d got back from visiting that antiques market, where Rowan had tried to persuade him to buy a silver cigarette case he didn’t like and certainly didn’t need.

‘It’s old and it’s valuable. You could double your money,’ he remembered her insisting.

‘It might be old but it’s ugly,’ he’d replied, not telling her that he earned more money in fifteen minutes than he’d make on the hideous case.

He’d offended Rowan’s horse-trader instincts for about a minute—until another pretty object had caught her attention and their brief argument had been totally forgotten as she’d engaged stallholder after stallholder in conversation.

It had taken them for ever to visit every stall—which she’d had to do. She was so charming, easily drawing people into conversation and melting the sternest or shyest heart there. She had a natural warmth that just pulled people to her, he thought as he drove down the driveway.

‘You look...God...amazing, Ro,’ he said, turning left into the road.

‘Thanks. You don’t look too shabby yourself. I like that suit.’

Rowan placed her hand on his thigh and he could feel her warmth through the fabric of his black suit. He’d teamed it with a white shirt—no-brainer—but Rowan had swapped the tie he’d chosen—black—for a deep blue one he’d never worn in his life which, according to his sexy date, deepened the blue in his eyes.

He’d liked her choosing his tie... Seb sighed and reminded himself yet again to get a grip, catch a clue.

She. Was. Leaving.

As in bye-bye, birdy.