The Last Guy She Should Call (9 page)

He’d think it through, dissect the problem, and in that way he could subdue the bubbling, unpredictable mess emotions generated.

He didn’t cope well with unpredictable and messy emotions.

And Rowan was five-foot-four of unpredictable and messy.

And why on earth did he feel ticked because Rowan didn’t want to spend the rest of the night in his bed? Didn’t want to be held? Her reaction should have him slipping off to sleep guilt-free, with a satisfied body and a huge smile on his face. Instead he was lying here like a freaking moron wanting...
what?
He cursed. Was he actually considering wading into messy and unpredictable?

Was that what had sent his brain into hyper-drive?

It couldn’t possibly be, he decided.
You don’t do emotional and you don’t do connections, Butt-face.
And, really, if he decided that was something he suddenly wanted—through alien possession or a punch to his head—why would he choose a world-wanderer who couldn’t stay in one place for more than a heartbeat? Choose a connection with someone who, when the thrill of those first couple of weeks wore off and the excitement of great sex started to fade away, would be on the first plane...

Oh, wait...he was going to lend her the money to do that anyway!

Seb stood up and walked back into the bathroom, gripped the edge of the counter. It shouldn’t be this way, he thought. He should be glad that she’d walked out through that door and left him alone—instead of feeling as if he wanted to go to her, pull her back to his bed, fall asleep and wake her up by making love to her again. Again...why was he wondering whether they could connect on some sort of intellectual level as well as they did in the sack?

It didn’t matter... Bottom line, he shouldn’t be thinking about her this way. She’d been a good way to spend the night—an exceptional way to spend the night.

His junk twitched and pulsed at the memory of her...under him, over him...her hair brushing his chest, her warmth enclosing him like a warm, wet perfect glove...

Oh, hell, now he was never going to get to sleep with those thoughts rattling around in his head.

Seb walked back into his room and saw the shadows of his computers sitting in the far corner of his room.

Okay, well...he might as well give his big brain some work to do.

* * *

The following evening Seb stood just outside his front door and watched as Rowan, standing in front of the antique mirror in the hallway, tugged at the short white T-shirt that showed an inch of her waist above black low-slung jeans. Good grief, she looked hot!

They hadn’t seen each other since their awkward goodbye last night and, thanks to having to jump on the super-early flight to Durban this morning, he hadn’t had a moment to touch base with her.

He’d thought that the meeting in Durban would be a morning affair, but he’d run into some serious challenges—his clients had been more paranoid than normal and had required a lot of reassurance that their precious information was safe in his hands—and the entire day had been a nightmare, with suits peering over his shoulder, checking and rechecking his progress.

Blerch.

And Rowan hadn’t reached out to make contact. Then again, neither had he... Should he have? He didn’t have the faintest clue—mostly because women always chased
him
. It was what they did. They normally followed up with a BBM, an SMS, a hello-how-are-you-doing e-mail. But Rowan? Nothing.

He was equally intrigued and annoyed...and didn’t
that
make him sound like an egotistical jerk? He’d thought about calling to check up on her but he hadn’t been sure what to say.

He hadn’t slept much and he rubbed his eyes with his thumbs. Why was he still so wigged out about the way the evening had panned out? Maybe it was because Rowan had blown every perception he’d had about women and sex out of the window.

He’d thought that most women needed some kind of emotional connection to have sex—that they needed to talk before and after. Rowan hadn’t required before-sex cajoling
or
after-sex reassurance and she’d approached the whole experience like a guy would. Like he did.

It was a blessing in disguise that she hadn’t needed him to talk, because thanks to that damned peach and the see-through wrap his tongue wouldn’t have been able to form the words.

She was keeping him at an emotional distance, they’d had sex and practically no conversation—which he normally considered the ideal relationship—and it bugged the crap out of him.

Could he say hypocritical and bastard and then put them together in a sentence?

Rowan jumped as he stepped into the hall. Dropping his laptop and briefcase onto the old yellow wood table, he pulled off his wire-rimmed glasses, tossed them down and raised his eyebrows at Rowan. ‘Going somewhere?’

To keep from tugging her shirt down, Rowan shoved her hands into the pockets of her jeans and rocked on her heels. ‘Hi. You’re...back.’

‘It is Friday night,’ Seb pointed out. And it was his house.

‘I thought you might have plans—like a date,’ Rowan said to his back as he disappeared down the passage.

He was back in under a minute, a bottle of beer in his hand. A date? He’d slept with her last night and she had him already trawling for another woman?

He didn’t know whether to be ticked or flattered that she thought him to be such a player. Seb thought for a moment; nah, he was definitely POed.

‘My plans? Nothing more strenuous than a burger, a beer and an early night. It’s the Fish and Fern tomorrow.’

Rowan wrinkled her nose. ‘The what?’

Seb gave her a long look before emptying his pockets, placing his mobile, keys and a thin wallet on the table. ‘The triathlon race. The one on the fridge. Swimming, running, biking?’

‘Oh, right. What time do you think you’ll be home?’

Seb shrugged. ‘Eight-ish, I suppose. There’s a barbecue after the prize-giving and I’ll probably stay for that. Problem?’

‘No.’

Rowan tugged the shirt down but it sprang up her tummy with all the obstinacy of stretched cotton. He clocked her tousled but elaborate hairdo, the subtle make-up, the bangles at her wrist and the beaded earrings. She looked as if
she
was going on a date... Was that why she’d asked him whether he had plans? Because she did?

Hell, no. That wasn’t happening.

‘So, what are
you
up to tonight? That’s one heck of an outfit, by the way.’

Rowan responded to the thinly disguised annoyance in his tone by raising her chin. ‘What’s wrong with my outfit?’

‘Tight low-rise jeans, short top, fixed hair. Wherever you’re going, you are going to get hit on all night.’ The beer was not doing the trick of relaxing him; Rowan changing and staying at home would.

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

‘I’m a guy and I know exactly what
I’d
read into your outfit.’

‘Guys would read sex into a nun’s habit.’

He noticed that she still hadn’t told him where she was going. What was the big deal? His temper, on a low simmer all day, started to heat. He shrugged out of his jacket and threw it over the newel post of the staircase. He yanked his pale green dress shirt out of his black pants and sat on the bottom stair to pull off his shoes.

Seb rested his elbows on the stair above, took a long sip of his beer and picked up a shovel to dig his own grave. ‘So, where are you going? And who are you going with?’

‘I’m going to a bar.’

‘A bar?’

‘You make it sound as if I am about to do a deal with the local meth supplier! I feel like I’ve been catapulted back to my teenage years with my over-protective parents. I’m not sixteen any more, Seb. What is your problem?’ Rowan demanded when he just looked past her in stony silence. ‘Why are you acting like this?’

Fair question.

‘I didn’t expect to come home to...’ Seb rubbed his temple ‘...this.’

‘This?’
Rowan felt the bubbles of her temper rise to the surface and pop. ‘“This” being jeans and a tee?’

‘“This” being you dressed up and looking hot.’

‘I did my hair and put on some make-up...this is pretty normal!’

‘Nothing about you is normal!’ Seb sprang up, his eyes tired and sparking. ‘Do you know how sexy you look? You’ll have every male tongue dropping to the floor in that bar. You were mine last night and the thought of you going out and being someone else’s is making me want to punch something.’

As soon as the words left his mouth and their meaning sank in Seb knew that he’d made a crucial mistake—that he’d been a total tool. Her eyes shimmered with hurt and she bit her lip to keep it from wobbling. He
never
spoke without thinking, but those words had just bubbled up, over and out...

Seb swore at himself and ran an agitated hand through his hair.

‘Excuse me?’

Oh, crap. She’d kicked ‘hurt’ into the back seat and now she was seriously ticked. Wonderful. And could he blame her?

Seb twisted his lips and thought he’d attempt to explain. ‘Okay, look, that came out wrong...’

‘You think I am so easy that I could jump from your bed to someone else’s?’ Rowan laughed and the sound didn’t hold a teaspoonful of mirth. She held up a hand. ‘No, don’t answer that, because I’m very close to smacking you silly! What a joke!’

If it was, he failed to see it.

Rowan shook her head, snapped a set of car keys off the hall table and picked up the bag that she’d hung on the coat stand. She walked towards the door.

Seb was thinking of how to keep her in the room when she turned around abruptly and looked at him with blazing eyes. ‘No, I’m not going to do this again.’

‘Do what?’

‘Leave you to your assumptions. I think that’s a mistake I keep making over and over with you and my family. I allow you to jump to these crazy assumptions about me because...because of habit, maybe. Pride, maybe. But this—you thinking that I treat sex casually just because we had a great time in the sack—I can’t let this ride. The reason we had great sex is because we obviously—who knows why?—have amazing chemistry. Why we have this chemistry when I think you have the personality and charm of a horse’s ass is a mystery for another day.’

‘I—’

‘My turn.’ Rowan cut him off with a sharp wave of her hand. ‘As for my sexual history—do you know how hard it is, as a female travelling on her own, to get laid?’

She looked as if she was waiting for a response so Seb thought it was safe to say: ‘Uh...no?’

Rowan looked momentarily triumphant. ‘Hah! Of course you don’t. You just assume that it’s what we travellers do.’ Her chest rose and fell with temper. ‘Every man I meet—all the time—is a stranger. I don’t know him. I’m not given the time to know him. I can think he’s cute, but psychos come cute as well. Now, say I decide to take a chance... I have to get into a room with him—because, you know, I like a bit of privacy with my sex. That means I put myself in danger every time. And do you want to know how many times I’ve done that?’

Seb, now feeling like a first-prize fool, shrugged.

‘None, Seb. I’ve
never
done it. I’ve had a couple of relationships over the years with guys I’ve known for a long time. I don’t do hook-ups. It’s a dangerous and stupid thing to do when you don’t have any friends or family to rescue you if something goes horribly wrong.’

Seb scrubbed his face with his hands, feeling equally relieved and foolish.

‘And, just so that I’m very clear about this,
we
rocked it because you have a heck of a bod and you are a good kisser and I haven’t had any for a while.’

Okay, how deep was that hole he’d dug for himself and when could he throw himself into it?

But Rowan wasn’t quite finished; she still had another layer of skin to strip off him. ‘And I’m not going
to
a bar, you moron. I’ve got a job
tending
bar so that I can make some cash to pay you back and get out of your stupid, judgmental face!’

With that last verbal slap—which he so deserved—Rowan turned on her heel and walked out of his house.

SIX

Rowan, exhausted and
smelling of beer and bar, walked back into the hall of Awelfor shortly after twelve-thirty and sighed when she saw Seb standing in the doorway to the small TV lounge, dressed in casual track pants and a loose-fitting T-shirt.

She was still feeling raw, hurt and angry that Seb—smart, smart Seb, who apparently had the emotional intelligence of an amoeba—had assumed that she was backpacking baggage with the morals of an alley cat. She was exhausted from not sleeping much last night, from careering around Cape Town today picking up all the equipment she needed—haybales, paint guns, food—for the party the next day, and she was depressed that she hadn’t had a second to research the netsuke and that she’d been reduced to serving beers and martinis again. Dammit, she was twenty-eight years old—not nineteen.

‘I don’t want to fight, Seb.’ Rowan dropped her bag to the floor and rubbed the back of her neck. ‘If you’re going to take any more shots at me, can I ask that you do it in the morning? I’m wiped out.’

‘Come in here for a moment.’

Rowan cursed silently as he walked away without waiting for her response.
Let’s just get this over with,
she thought, following him into the messy room. A large screen, big boys’ TV dominated one wall and dark chocolate leather couches, long and wide enough to accommodate his large frame, were placed in an L-shape in front of the screen. A wooden coffee table held a large laptop and a bottle of red wine and two glasses.

Seb lifted the bottle and filled a glass, topping up his own half-full glass after he did so. He handed her the glass and nodded to the couch. Rowan, figuring that it was easier just to take the glass and sit down rather than argue with him, dropped to the couch and sighed as the pressure eased off her feet. She had forgotten how hard bartending was on the feet.

Seb sat down on the coffee table in front of her, his knees brushing hers. He held his wine glass between his knees and stared at the brown and cream carpet beneath him.

‘I owe you the biggest apology.’

Okay, she knew she was tired, but was she really hearing Seb correctly? He was apologising? Seriously?

‘Saying what I did earlier was...unkind and ugly and... Sorry. I really didn’t mean it. It was a stupid off-the-cuff-comment that slipped out because I was annoyed and tired and not thinking.’

‘Now, there’s a first—you not thinking,’ Rowan teased, and Seb’s face was transformed by a relieved smile.

Seb dropped a casual hand onto her knee. ‘Friends?’

‘Can we possibly be?’ Rowan asked him, cocking her head and looking into those dark blue eyes.

Seb tugged on his bottom lip, placed his glass on the table next to his powerful thigh and put his elbows on his knees. ‘Your verbal slap about making assumptions also hit home. Although I never believed those drugs were yours, I
did
think that you were reckless and rebellious and irresponsible as a kid.’

‘I
was
reckless and rebellious and irresponsible as a kid,’ Rowan pointed out.

‘But I carried on assuming that. I didn’t think that you had changed, that you’d grown up. There’s so much that I—we—all of us—don’t know about you. I don’t know you and I wonder if I ever did.’

Rowan felt her throat tighten. Finally. Finally someone from her past was looking at her differently, trying to see her and not the person they wanted her to be. Rowan put her fist to her lips and nibbled at the skin on her index finger. And, in fairness, how much did she know about
him
? About any of them? Surface stuff. Social media stuff. And how much of that was the truth?

She had to have some preconceived ideas about him and her family that weren’t based in reality either.

‘So, how about we try to get to know the grown-up versions of ourselves?’ Seb suggested.

There was nothing she wanted more. Acceptance and understanding. While she craved her freedom, she also wanted the freedom to be herself in this place where she’d always felt she could never be that.

Rowan dropped her hand and picked up her glass with a shaky hand. ‘I’d like that, but...’

‘But?’

‘But what about the other thing? The last night thing?’

‘Sex?’ Seb lifted his glass, drained half its contents and tapped his finger against the crystal. ‘Let’s not make this any more complicated than it has to be. What if we just put that onto the back burner for now and try to be friends?’

Rowan’s smile was wide and true. ‘Okay, let’s try that.’

‘Good.’ Seb placed his hands on the table behind him and leaned back. ‘And, as your friend, I’m going to ask you something.’

Rowan groaned theatrically. ‘Oh, no.’

‘Why haven’t you been home? Why haven’t you popped your head through the fence, looked at your house, walked through the gardens? Said hello to the dogs?’

‘New dogs. They don’t know me.’

‘Hedging, Ro.’

‘The house is occupied, Seb. I can’t just go wandering through.’

‘Hedging. I told the occupiers that you were home and not to worry if they saw you hovering around. They were cool about it. So, again, hedging...’

She was, and she didn’t know what to say. She’d been avoiding going home because that way she could avoid thinking about her parents, about what she’d say to them when she saw them again, what they would say to her. And the truth was seeing the house made her remember how unhappy—no, not unhappy, just how excluded she’d felt from her family. Her parents and brother had been so close, sharing the same interests, the same quest for knowledge and mental improvement.

It made her feel eighteen again and all at sea.

‘Were you so miserable at home, Ro?’

‘Miserable? No.’ Rowan looked around. ‘But I always felt so much more at home here in Awelfor. Here I could dance and sing and laugh loudly...home was so quiet.’

Seb smiled. ‘And you were the most lively child we knew.’

‘I suppose I should take a look at the house... I can’t avoid it for ever.’ Rowan brushed her hair back. ‘I don’t know what I’m going to say to my parents, Seb. Should I apologise for living my own life? For not coming back for so long?’

‘Did you want to?’

Rowan shook her head. ‘No, I wasn’t ready to come home. Didn’t feel strong enough.’

‘Then don’t apologise, Ro.’ Seb leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. ‘I’ve been listening to your folks—mostly your dad—moaning about your travelling for years, but tonight for the first time I looked at it from another angle. Your parents are wealthy enough to travel and you’ve always returned to London. They could’ve met you there, or anywhere else, quite a few times during the last decade.’

‘I’ve thought about that often,’ Rowan admitted in a whisper. ‘Why didn’t they do that?’

‘Because they didn’t want you there; they wanted you here. Because it would have given you their tacit approval of your travelling, for choosing your own way of life, if they did that.’ Seb grimaced. ‘I like your parents, Ro. They were good to me growing up. But I could engage them on an intellectual level. As Patch said, you were always way too emotional for them.’

‘Patch said that? I love that man.’

‘I do too. He’s been the best dad—apart from his habit of dating too-young, too-stupid-to-live gold-diggers.’

Rowan laughed, loosely linked one arm around Seb’s neck and placed her cheek to his. ‘I like this—talking to you. I think it’s the first proper conversation we’ve had.’

‘And I’m pretty sure that it’s snowing in hell.’ Seb ran his hand down Rowan’s back before pulling away. ‘You need to go home, Ro. Take a look. Confront those demons. They aren’t as big as you think. And you need to go to bed—because if you don’t I’m going to become very unfriendly and kiss you stupid.’

Rowan pulled her head back and her eyes were smoky with passion. ‘I was thinking exactly the same thing.’ She stood up and scooted around his legs. ‘Sleep well, Seb.’

‘You too, Brat.’

* * *

Rowan handed out the last goodie bag, ruffled the last head and placed her hands on her hips as she watched the last expensive car—this one was a Bentley—cruise away.

Thank God, thank God, thank God! Rowan felt almost dizzy with relief. Hauling the envelope out of her back pocket, she took out the cash and nearly did a happy dance in the middle of the driveway. Annie’s son and daughter-in-law, although taken aback by their very muddy, very happy boy, had instantly recognised by his jabbering, excited conversation that his party had been a huge success. His father, his neck pulled forward by the rope-thick gold chain around his neck, had added a bonus of five hundred to the highway robbery price Annie had already paid her.

Three other mummies, obviously in awe of Seb’s property, had asked for her business card. Not having one, she’d hastily scribbled her contact details on a serviette.

Professional, she was not.

But the cake had been perfect, and the mini-quadbikes and paintball shooting had been fun. She’d had her own gun and was supposed to be treated like Switzerland—but all that meant was that the rug-rats had had a common enemy and had shot at her whenever the opportunity arose. She had a bright purple paint mark on her neck and her T-shirt, jeans and legs were multi-coloured blotches.

Looking towards the paddock, she noticed that the haybales and used car tyres that had formed the track for the mini-quadbikes, as well as Seb’s white fence poles, were splattered as well. Nothing that a hosepipe or a good thunderstorm couldn’t fix... Rowan looked up at the sky and cursed the lack of clouds. She was exhausted already, and she had the kitchen to clean up. She didn’t feel like hosing down the poles as well.

Crab-fishing in the stream at the bottom of the property had been another highlight of the day. It had been a bit of a problem finding enough branches to make adequate poles, and she had sacrificed a nice piece of fillet steak she’d found in the fridge to use as bait, but they had pulled up a lot of the unwelcome creatures that populated the small stream.

None of the kids had got hurt, lost or even cried. They’d had enough sugar to put them on a high for days, had a whole lot of fun, and if their parents had to throw away their mud-and paint-stained designer clothes Rowan was pretty sure they could afford to buy more. She had some cash in her pocket and she felt a sense of accomplishment that was different from buying and selling.

It was being around innocence, having fun doing the simple things she’d done with Callie, feeding off the kids’ joyous energy. She’d run, skipped, hopped, climbed and crawled, and she’d frequently thought that she couldn’t believe she was getting paid to have this much fun.

Kids. Not having had much to do with them, she would never have believed that she would enjoy them so much.

Rowan grimaced as she sank onto the bottom of the four steps that led to the wide veranda. She rubbed her lower back—she’d tumbled backwards off a stack of haybales and was now paying the price—and rested her aching head against the stone wall. She’d had minimal sleep over the past few days—sleeping with Seb and bartending had both translated into very late nights—and she’d been up with the sparrows this morning to get everything done before the kids arrived.

She shouldn’t have stopped, shouldn’t have sat down. Now that she knew how tired she was she didn’t think she could find the energy to get up, never mind clear up the mess that the kids had made and the disaster area that was the kitchen. She’d just sit here for a minute with her eyes closed and try to recharge her batteries...

When Seb shook her awake the sun was dipping behind the mountains and she felt slightly chilly. She yawned as she glanced up at him, still dressed in his exercise gear, although he’d pulled on a hooded sweatshirt. Seb held out his hand and pulled her to her feet.

‘I’ve made tea,’ he said, leading her by the hand to the kitchen.

‘You hate tea,’ Rowan said on a smothered yawn.

‘Not for me, for you.’ Seb pulled out a chair from the table and shoved her into it.

As her eyes focused Rowan noticed that, instead of looking as if a nuclear bomb had exploded in it, the kitchen was tidy, all the surfaces were clean, the chip and sweet packets were packed away and the remains of the cake were in a big plastic container.

‘You cleaned up.’ Rowan took the cup he held out and wrapped her hands around it. ‘You shouldn’t have. I was going to.’

‘Anyone who could fall asleep against a stone pillar for an hour was not up to cleaning up.’ Seb held a cup of coffee in one hand, his fingers curled around the mug.

Rowan wished, passionately, that they were curled around something attached to her.

‘So, that was your function?’

‘Mmm. My stupid way to make some money.’

‘If it’s legal, there is no stupid way to make money,’ Seb responded. ‘Was it worth it?’

Rowan nodded. ‘Yes, it was. Do you mind your property being invaded by a horde of kids? They didn’t come into the house, by the way, except to use the downstairs bathroom.’

‘No, of course I don’t mind,’ Seb said, and shook his head at her puzzled look. When he spoke again, he sounded frustrated. ‘Ro, you could fill this place with a hundred kids and I wouldn’t mind. I
do
mind you working so hard that you fall asleep with your head on the wall as soon as you sit down. You coming home is supposed to give you some space to sort your life out, but you’re bartending and arranging kids’ parties and you’re exhausted. You don’t need to do this...’

‘I need to earn some money, Seb. Quickly. I hate being...’

Seb waited through her silence, then added his own words. ‘Beholden? In my debt? That’s such crap, Ro. You’re sleeping in a bed that isn’t being used, you don’t eat enough to feed a mouse, and you are housekeeping...’

Rowan looked around at the neat kitchen. ‘I pack the dishwasher and I throw a load of laundry into the machine...it’s hardly housekeeping.’

‘True; any chance of you actually mopping anything?’

‘Maybe.’ Rowan blew a tendril of hair away from her mouth and stared down into her strong tea. ‘Worse than feeling in your debt is feeling that I’m trapped. That I’m in this city, this place, this house, and I can’t leave. It makes me feel...panicky.’