The Last Guy She Should Call (17 page)

‘For you? Any time.’ Seb shucked his jeans along with his boxers and stared down at her, his heart in his eyes. ‘You are so beautiful, Ro. I’m so glad you’re home.’

‘Me too.’ Rowan sighed, placing her fingers on his cheek. ‘Now, why don’t you show me how glad you are by—?’

Seb’s mouth cut off her words as one hand hoisted her thigh, his other hand pulled aside her panties and he thrust into her, hard and deep, filling her body, her mind and heart.

Seb. There was only Seb—would only be Seb.

‘Ah,
now
I’m home,’ Seb said into her mouth. ‘You’re my home, Ro. Only you.’

* * *

Later, after they’d made love again in his bed, Rowan sat on the love seat in the window of Seb’s room and was thankful that he’d said that he needed to run downstairs for a minute.

She needed that minute. She needed more than a minute. To catch her breath, to allow her brain to catch up with her body.

She was trying to be brave, trying not to worry, but her brain was now in hyper-drive, red-lining with worry. Had nothing changed while she was away? Were they just going to fall back into what they’d had? When were they going to talk, work this out, as Seb had suggested in the car?

And what, exactly, did his ‘working it out’ entail?

Rowan released her bottom lip from between her teeth as Seb walked back into the room, carrying a large tray. His boxer shorts rode low on his hips and his 6-pack rippled as he walked over to her.

‘Stop looking at me like that or you’ll be back on that bed so fast your head will spin,’ Seb said as he placed the tray on the cushions next to her.

‘Promises, promises,’ Rowan replied, and frowned when she looked down at the tray. A bottle of champagne she could understand, and the two glasses, but the set of keys that looked like a carbon copy of his house set and a keyless car remote had her puzzled. There was also a red jewellery box on the tray...

A jewellery box? Oh, dear God...

‘You’re not proposing, are you?’ she asked, in a very high, very nervous voice.

Seb laughed. ‘Not today.’

Phew!

‘Then what’s all this?’ Rowan asked as Seb sat down, keeping the tray between them.

‘We’ll get to the box eventually, but first...it’s time to work it out, Ro,’ Seb said, popping the cork on the champagne and pouring her a glass.

He handed it over and poured his own glass.

‘Why did you come home?’ he asked her bluntly.

Rowan licked her lips. ‘I missed you.’

‘I missed you too. And...?’

Rowan stared at the bubbles in her glass. If she said these next words she could never take them back. They would be out there for ever...and she was okay with that.

‘I love you. I do... I never expected to, never wanted to, but I do. So I thought I’d come home, tell you that and see how you feel about it.’

Seb just looked at her, his glass halfway to his mouth.

The moisture in Rowan’s mouth dried up and she swirled some champagne around her tongue to get it to work. ‘Feel free to give me a reaction, here, Hollis.’

‘I feel pretty good about it. I thought I’d have to drag those words out of you with pliers but you’ve astounded me again.’ Seb reached across the tray, kissed her gently and ran his thumb across her trembling bottom lip. ‘I love you too, by the way. In every way possible and in lot of ways I thought were impossible.’

Ah...
Aaaahhhhh!
Rowan’s shoulders fell down from her ears and her cheeks deepened. Relief, hot and strong, pulsed through her.

‘Good to know... My mum says that we will destroy each other. That we are too different, diametrically opposed.’ Rowan thought it was important to tell him that her mother rated their chances as less than nil.

‘Your mother talks a lot of crap,’ Seb said mildly, playing with her fingers as he sipped his champagne. ‘We’ll be fine. Yes, you’ll turn my life upside down, but as long as you leave the War Room and my hackers alone you can do whatever you want. And if you go too crazy I’ll pull you back in. In the same way, if I get too stuck in my head, you’ll bully me out of it. We’re good for each other precisely because we are so different.’

‘I’ve been independent for so long and I’m worried that I’ll get restless, feel hemmed-in.’ Rowan also felt it was important to warn him. Maybe staying in one place would be enough for her, being with him would be enough, but there might come a day that she needed to fly, just to know that she could...

‘I know.’ Seb gestured to the tray. ‘I’ve thought about that. So, first things first.’ He held up the set of keys. ‘Keys to your house—this house. I don’t want to hear any more of this “your bedroom” and “your house” rubbish. This house is as much yours as it is mine. Replace the furniture, paint the walls—do whatever you want; just treat it as yours, okay?’

‘It’s not mine.’

‘Rowan...!’ Seb warned.

‘Or yours, or Patch’s. It’s Yas’s, as we all know. And whatever I do I’ll have to put up with Yas yapping on about it, so I’ll think long and hard before I go mad. You might not care, but she will.’ Rowan took the keys and bounced them in her hand.

Seb grinned. ‘All true, but I’ll back you if comes down to a fight.’ He lifted up the credit-card-type key. ‘Keyless car key. We’ll share the Quattro until I get you something else to drive.’

‘You can’t buy me a car!’ Rowan squeaked. ‘I have money. I can buy my own car. I sold the netsukes.’

‘Thanks for mine, by the way. I love it. It’s kept me from going insane these past couple of weeks.’ Seb tossed the key card into her lap. ‘Are we going to argue about money and stuff for the rest of our lives?’

‘Are you going to love me that long?’ Rowan asked, her hands on his knees.

‘Planning on it.’

Seb picked up the jewellery box and tossed it from hand to hand. Rowan saw fear flash in his eyes.

‘Giving you this is hard for me, but I know that it’s necessary.’

Rowan frowned, took the box, flipped open the lid and saw that it was a credit card. He was giving her a credit card? What on earth...?

‘There’s enough money there to buy you ticket anywhere in the world, any time you want to go. Enough for you to book into any hotel you want to, buy what you want to. It has a heck of a limit in that it doesn’t
have
a limit.’

‘Seb. Why are you giving me a credit card? I don’t understand.’

Seb licked his lips. ‘It comes with a couple of conditions.’

‘I’m listening.’

‘I’ll pay for everything, but you have to promise to say goodbye, to tell me that you’re going. No walking out. And you can’t use it after we’ve had a fight. You have to give us—me—a chance to work it out before you run.’

Tears tumbled. That was fair. God, that was so fair. She nodded furiously. ‘Okay.’

‘And you have to promise me that you’ll always come back, because if you don’t I swear I’ll find you and drag you back home. I love you. It took me nine years to find you and I am not letting you go again.’

‘Oh, Seb.’ Rowan used the heels of her hands to swipe away her tears. It was such an enormous gift, such a demonstration of how well he knew her, how much he trusted her.

‘Is that a deal, Brat?’

Rowan nodded. ‘Deal.’

‘Good. I told you we could work this out. Do you love me?’

‘So much!’

‘And I love you.’ Seb’s eyes brimmed with all the emotion he usually tried so hard to suppress. ‘So explain to me—again—why you aren’t over here, kissing me stupid?’

Rowan sighed as she moved into his arms. ‘Another very epic fail on my part. Must try harder.’

* * * * *

Keep reading for an excerpt from ROMANCE FOR CYNICS by Nicola Marsh.

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ONE

‘This is a
screw-up of monumental proportions.’ Cashel Burgess flung the daily newspaper on his desk and glared at the offending print.

Maybe if he stared at it hard enough this whole damn mess would disappear.

As if.

‘That’ll teach you for dating beautiful bimbos.’ Barton Clegg, an old college buddy who had the power to get him out of this godforsaken mess, pointed at the picture in the paper. ‘She’s a stunner all right, but Cash?’ Barton made a gesture resembling grabbing him by the balls and twisting. ‘She’s got you by these, mate.’

‘Tell me something I don’t know.’ Cash pushed away from his desk, stood and resumed pacing, something he’d been doing way too much of since he’d learned the starlet he’d given financial advice to over a long lunch was concocting some twisted version of what had happened between the veal scaloppini and tiramisu.

‘Why did you call me over?’

‘Damage control.’ Cash stopped pacing and stabbed a finger at the paper. ‘You know I lost a packet when that overseas bank went under. And now this. If I lose clients over some slighted woman’s concocted BS...’ Cash shook his head. ‘The PR firm you work for is the best in the business. I need you to boost my profile to overshadow this crap.’

He turned the newspaper over before he did something crazy. Like stab a letter opener through the woman’s heart.

Bart shook his head. ‘We’re not taking on new clients at the moment, you know that.’

Cash frowned and stared down his soon-to-be former best friend. ‘You owe me after I got your ass out of trouble the night the dean bailed you up following that butt-out-the-back-window-of-the-uni-bus prank.’

Bart grinned like a goofball. ‘Those were the days.’

Cash rolled his eyes. ‘You’re a putz.’

‘A putz that’s going to get you out of a fix, apparently.’ Bart swivelled on the ergonomic chair. ‘I can put in a good word for you but it won’t do any good...’

A frown momentarily creased Bart’s brow before he snapped his fingers and leaped from the chair. ‘There is a way the firm can take you on. Guaranteed.’

Relieved he’d found a way out of this mess, Cash nodded. ‘Whatever it is, I’ll do it.’

A knowing grin spread across his friend’s face. ‘Sure?’

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Cash perched on the edge of his desk. ‘As you so delicately implied, that woman has my balls in a vice, so yeah, I’ll do anything.’

‘Fine. Then all you need to do is find yourself a girlfriend for a week.’

‘What the—?’

‘The firm’s running a massive fundraiser in the lead up to Valentine’s Day. A week-long love-in, where couples do a bunch of mushy stuff together, get filmed, soundbites get posted on the firm’s website and people vote for the most romantic couple.’ Bart’s smug grin widened. ‘You wanted positive PR. What could be better than raising a stack of cash for a good cause while being viewed by millions? Oh, and make sure your
girlfriend
is clean and wholesome, the opposite of your usual arm candy.’

Speechless, Cash gaped at his friend. ‘Are you freaking crazy? Where the hell do I find a girlfriend for a week?’

Bart waved away his concern. ‘Minor details.’ He strolled towards the massive French windows overlooking the sprawling lawn of Cash’s Williamstown mansion. ‘I’m sure you’ll figure something out.’

Cash’s fingers curled into fists. This couldn’t be happening. Bad enough he’d lost a bundle after following a bad investment tip from one of the best in the business, an old college mentor.

But having some scorned woman spreading gossip and innuendo about him because he’d knocked her back? That was something else. She was damaging his reputation in an industry where reputation was everything.

He gave financial advice to the stars. Australia’s elite actors and musicians came to him when they wanted to invest their money. And he’d built a considerable fortune from it.

He liked money. Liked the comfort derived from seeing cold, hard cash accumulate in the bank, providing security and reliability. Two things he’d never had growing up.

With the threat of his cash source drying up, Cash had turned to Bart. His mate’s solution sounded easy enough but he couldn’t exactly pull a girlfriend out of thin air.

Bart wolf-whistled. ‘Hey, what about her?’

‘Who?’

‘The hottie in the obscenely tight shorts.’

Cash crossed to the window, where Bart had his nosed pressed against the glass like a hormonal teenager.

‘Lucy? You’re kidding, right?’

Lucy Grant, his gardener, would be the last woman he’d ask to be his fake girlfriend for a week.

The woman despised him.

Not that she’d ever said or done anything overt, but she gave off an air of untouchability that made him want to ruffle her.

So he’d tried. Several times. Whenever they crossed paths, he’d flirt with her. Deliberately taunting, trying to get a rise out of her.

Nada.

Her hands-off aura intrigued him a little, but he hadn’t given her aloofness much thought. Except those odd times he’d been taking a business call and found himself at this very window, copping a very nice eyeful of firm ass, long legs and B-cups in a tight tank top.

Watching Lucy stride as she mowed his lawn or bend over as she clipped hedges made working from home that much more pleasurable.

In fact, he timed his rare workdays from home with her fortnightly gardening visits. Maybe she’d crack one of these days and give him a smile? Doubtful, considering the death glare she’d shot him this morning when they’d crossed paths on the back patio.

‘Why not?’ Bart peeled his nose away from the window with reluctance. ‘The firm only has room for one more couple and they’re closing applications today.’ He tapped the side of his nose. ‘I put in a good word for you and you’re in. Guaranteed.’

‘You’re nuts,’ Cash said, his gaze unwittingly drifting to where Lucy stood near the front gate, pruning with her usual efficiency.

For all he knew, Lucy had a hubby and a string of dirt-smudged rug-rats at home. Though she didn’t wear a ring...not that it meant anything. Probably took it off for safety reasons while working.

Cash shook his head. ‘I don’t know the woman.’

‘No time like the present to get to know her.’ Bart glanced at his watch. ‘I need to head back to the office and I need your answer now. You in?’

Tension knotted the muscles in Cash’s neck. The last thing he felt like doing was parade around for seven days acting like a lovestruck fool.

But his business was everything. He’d worked too long and too hard to let it suffer because of circumstances beyond his control.

He’d approached Bart because he needed positive PR. But Valentine’s Day? Seriously?

‘Three...two...one...’ Bart made a buzzing sound and Cash nodded.

‘Fine. I’ll do it.’

Bart smirked as he shrugged into his suit jacket. ‘So who’s the lucky lady going to be?’

‘Leave that to me,’ Cash said, mentally scrolling through his list of female friends and coming up empty.

Half of them he’d dated and would never go there again. The other half wanted more and would see this week of lovey-dovey crap as a full-blown declaration.

Uh-uh. He needed someone without any romantic illusions.

Someone without any view to the future.

Someone without cunning, ulterior motives or the urge to shackle him to a ball and chain.

As he walked Bart out and Lucy acknowledged him with a curt nod, he knew.

He needed someone like Lucy.

* * *

‘Damn it.’ Lucy’s pruning shears slipped and she hacked off a chunk of ivy leaf violet when Cash appeared at the front door.

The guy had that effect on her. The ability to raise her hackles and make her want to chop something off—not of the flora variety.

Not his fault entirely, that she had a healthy disregard for millionaires in slick suits. It was a personal aversion, one she’d honed to a fine art nine years ago.

And Cash seemed more charming than most, with his ready smile and quick wit. But that was what put her on guard: his ability to flirt without trying, his easy-going approach when she knew it would be a practiced façade presented to the world.

Go-getters like him wouldn’t get anywhere if they were that laid-back all the time. And she knew enough about her number one client Cashel Burgess, courtesy of Google, to assume he would be a tiger in the boardroom.

Self-made millionaire by the time he was twenty-eight. High IQ, skipped a year at high school. Economics degree. MBA. Impressive jobs at elite actuary firms before opening his own financial advisory business to the stars.

He moved in A-list circles, often gracing the social pages and gossip columns in Melbourne media. Par for the course, considering he always had a busty blonde actress on his arm. She half expected to see the entire female cast of Melbourne’s top-rating soap opera stroll out of his house the mornings she worked here, but surprisingly she’d never seen a woman do the walk of shame out of his enviable mansion. Perhaps he spirited them away out the back.

No, she didn’t trust guys who behaved one way in public and another in private. Which was why she preferred ignoring him when they crossed paths every two weeks.

She knew her aloofness was why he deliberately went out of his way to seek her out. He saw her coolness as a challenge. She didn’t let it bother her. If anything, she notched her haughtiness up further. No way in hell would she ever let down her guard, because then she might have to face reality: that a small part of her was super attracted to the whole casually mussed brown hair, piercing blue eyes, chiselled jaw, dimpled smile thing he had going on.

Unfathomable. And wrong on so many levels, considering she’d vowed to never go for a suit again.

Must be her dating drought making her secretly lust after her boss. Maybe she should say yes the next time the guy at the hardware shop asked her out?

Cash’s visitor slid into a Porsche and backed out of the drive with a jaunty wave in her direction. She managed a terse nod in response and gripped the pruning shears, ready to resume work.

However, rather than heading back into the house, Cash started down the path towards her.

Crap.

They’d already done their usual him-flirt-her-avoid dance this morning so what did he want now? An encore?

She opened the shears then snapped them shut with a loud metallic clink that carried clear across the garden and she could’ve sworn she saw Cash falter, wince or both. Probably wishful thinking but she did it again for good measure.

‘Is that a warning?’ he said, eyeing the shears with a mix of wariness and amusement.

The corners of her mouth twitched against her better judgement. ‘No, but it could be if you keep hassling me while I’m trying to work.’

He smiled and the impact of those lips curving hit her somewhere in the vicinity of her solar plexus. ‘Why don’t you put the DIY castrating tool down so we can talk?’

This time, she couldn’t stop the laughter spilling from her lips. ‘About?’

‘Wow.’ He clutched his heart and staggered a little. ‘You’re gorgeous when you smile.’

‘And you’re full of it.’ She waved the shears in his direction. ‘What do you want?’

He flinched. ‘Not that.’

Damn, she loved sparring with a quick-witted guy. And if she were completely honest with herself, she missed it. Missed the fun of swapping banter with a guy who could fire back.

‘I’m busy—’

‘I really need to talk to you.’ His sincerity scared her as much as his overt flirting. ‘Would you like to come inside for a drink?’

‘No thanks.’ She shook her head. Bad enough bumping into him outside. No way would she set foot inside his place and risk pining for what she’d once had.

She’d put her past behind her a long time ago but she’d be lying if she didn’t admit there were times when she missed the luxury, the wealth, the glamour. ‘What’s up? Is it my work—?’

‘No, nothing like that.’ He huffed out a breath and for the first time since she’d started working for the tycoon six months ago via referral, he appeared uncertain and unsure. And damn, if that hint of vulnerability didn’t make him all the more appealing.

‘I have a problem I need your help with.’ A frown appeared between his brows. ‘Actually, it’s more than a problem. More like an impending catastrophe.’

Her curiosity was piqued. ‘Unless it has something to do with your jasmine wilting or your compost needing mulching, not sure what I can do to help.’

His frown eased as his mouth lost its pinched quirk. ‘This isn’t a gardening matter.’

‘Then I’m not sure what I can do—’

‘I need a fake girlfriend for a week and you’d be perfect.’

Copyright © 2014 by Nicola Marsh