The Last Guy She Should Call Read online

  He waited for Patch and Annie to leave—Patch’s hand was very low on Annie’s back...definitely something happening there—and then banged his bottle down on the counter. He looked at Rowan, who was still packing bags, and rubbed his hands across his face. It annoyed the pants off him that she was living in his house and yet he hardly saw her, that she was so damn close—across the hall from him—yet might as well be in China in terms of being available. He wanted to spend time with her, get to know her, but she was never in the bloody building!

  And that felt strange—very bizarre. He’d never actively wanted to seek out a woman’s company before, had never wanted to deepen the connection between him and his lovers.

  Yet here he was, wanting to spend time with a woman he wasn’t sleeping with. It didn’t make any sense.

  Look at her, Seb thought. Sexiness on steroids. She wore her hair up in a high ponytail and a tank top revealed the curves of the tops of her breasts. It skimmed her long, slim torso and ended an inch above the waistband of her white cotton shorts. Endless slim legs ended in bare feet tipped with fire-red nails. Rowan turned away, bent over to pick up a sweet that had fallen to the floor, and he saw the thin string of the top of her thong, a little red heart on the cross of the white T.

  His saliva disappeared as his eyes slid over the rounded curve of her ass, the knobs of her spine under that thin shirt. The band of her bra, the slim column of her neck.

  He took two steps to reach her, and his arm banded around her waist as he hauled her back against him, his hand low on her stomach, pushing her into his throbbing erection.

  Rowan spun round and her hips slammed into his. Her eyes were on his mouth as her hands went up to his neck and she mashed her chest against his. Then her mouth slammed against his and she yanked him into a kiss that set his blood on fire.

  Rowan was poised for a moment on the edge of that precipice and then she tumbled into kissing Seb. She’d been thinking of this, dreaming about being in his arms again, all week—a mess of sexual frustration—and she’d kept herself super-busy to keep her mind off jumping him again. But now, as his hand grabbed her butt and yanked her up and into him, she could indulge in her need to rediscover those strong muscles, the heat of his skin, his talented hands, his sexy mouth.

  Rowan yanked at his shirt and pulled it up his chest, her lips kissing the skin it revealed. Seb pulled the shirt over his head with one hand and Rowan placed her lips on the edge of the fabulous geometric tattoo that covered his shoulder and his bicep.

  ‘I love this,’ she murmured against his inked skin. ‘So hot, so sexy.’

  ‘I love the way you smell,’ Seb replied, his words blowing warm air against her neck. ‘Of sunshine and flowers.’

  The tip of Rowan’s tongue swirled against his collarbone. ‘I thought we weren’t going to do this...that we were going to get to know each other.’

  ‘I know that you are a brat and that you kiss like a dream,’ Seb replied, his hand curling around her breast and his thumb swiping her nipple. ‘So I’m good, knowledge-wise, for now.’

  Rowan’s breath caught in her throat. ‘And I know that nobody spikes my temper like you do and that you make my blood boil when you touch me like that. That’s all I need to know right now.’

  ‘Bed?’ Seb demanded, clasping her face in his hands.

  Rowan licked her lips. ‘Bed, couch, floor. Take your pick.’

  Seb grinned. ‘I really like the way you think.’

  SEVEN

  ‘One of these days we are going to have a post-coital conversation,’ Seb muttered as Rowan bounded from his bed and headed into his en-suite bathroom.

  She grinned as she shoved her hand into the shower and flipped on the taps to boiling. She popped her head around the doorway and smiled again. Seb lay face down on the bed, his head turned in her direction. ‘Poor baby, are you feeling neglected?’ she teased. ‘Do you need me to act like your girlfriend?’

  His eyes narrowed. ‘I’ve never needed my actual girlfriends to act like my girlfriend so...no. You’re exhausting. You never stay still for a second.’

  He was right. She didn’t. Staying still gave her too much time to think about things she’d rather not think about—needs that had gone unrecognised for far too long. Like affection and friendship, a sense of belonging, a house to come home to. Since they were too high a price to pay for losing her freedom she pushed them away and refused to think about them.

  ‘One of these days I’m going to tie you to this bed with silk scarves and keep you here.’

  Rowan flushed at the thought of being at his mercy, being under his control. Instead of making her feel panicky she felt excitement and...lust. Excitement? Good grief.

  But she’d ignore the silk scarves portion of that sentence for a minute...

  ‘Does that mean that you want us to carry on sleeping together?’ Rowan demanded, ignoring the pounding shower.

  ‘Since I spend so much time thinking about sleeping with you I might as well just have sex with you.’

  ‘Ooh, don’t stop. I just love it when you say such sexy, sweet things,’ Rowan drawled.

  Seb winced, turned over, and pushed himself up on his elbows. ‘Sorry, that sounded churlish.’

  Rowan folded her arms against the towel she’d wrapped around her torso. ‘Churlish is the least of it.’

  Seb rubbed his hand over his head and scowled. ‘Dammit, Ro...this situation is going to bite me—us—in the butt, yet I can’t stop wanting you. Sleep with you...don’t sleep with you. Either way my ass is on the line to get chomped. I look at you and my control flies out of the window.’

  Seb had looked as if he was passing a kidney stone as he’d said that, Rowan thought on an internal hiccupped laugh. Still, he was trying to express himself and she appreciated the effort, even if it was clumsy and ass-related. And, really, didn’t she feel exactly the same way? She was leaving soon, and had no intention of letting Seb get under her skin, yet here she was, newborn-naked in his room, wishing he’d get out of bed and join her in the shower. And if they did this—continued to sleep together—they had to be very careful about what they were jumping into.

  ‘If we’re going to do this then we need to be very sure of what we are doing.’ Rowan repeated her thought. ‘I’ll lay my cards on the table... I like you, and I love sleeping with you, but I am going to leave.’

  Seb nodded, his gorgeous eyes holding hers. ‘I love sleeping with you, I like you, and I don’t want you to stay.’

  Why did that sting? Rowan asked herself. It shouldn’t—couldn’t. He was saying what she wanted him to say! Stupid, stupid girl...

  ‘But...’

  Rowan tipped her head at his hard tone, his intractable face.

  ‘While we are sleeping together we’re together. There’s only me and you. No one else. No colouring outside the lines.’

  She could live with that—wouldn’t actually accept anything else. Rowan pushed her shoulders back and tossed her hair. ‘Just so you know, I won’t act like your girlfriend.’

  ‘Good. I won’t act like yours...boyfriend, that is.’ Seb pulled a face. ‘That’s such a juvenile term. How come the word boyfriend sounds so much worse than girlfriend?’

  ‘It’s a moot point, since we’re not either,’ Rowan said firmly as Seb swung his legs off the bed, stood up and walked over to her, all long, lean, masculine grace.

  ‘What time will you be home from your shift at the bar?’ he asked, running a possessive hand down her arm.

  ‘My shift ends at twelve. So around half past twelve,’ Rowan replied as he put his hands on her hips and backed her into the steaming shower.

  He bent his head to her breast and tongued her nipple.

  ‘That sounded remarkably like a question a boyfriend would ask, Hollis,’ Rowan said, streaking her hands over his broa
d shoulders.

  Seb picked up his head and sent her a wicked look that had her toes curling.

  ‘Nope, just trying to work out how much time I have to buy some more condoms.’ A foil packet appeared as if by magic between his thumb and finger. ‘This is the last one. Shower sex?’

  Rowan sighed. She was definitely going to have to buy herself a toy when she left... Then she’d be able to drift back to memories of what Seb was doing to her. And why did that thought make her feel instinctively sad?

  ‘Ro?’ Seb lifted his head and his hand stilled on her breast. ‘You okay to go again?’

  She needed to make as many memories as she could. ‘Yes, please.’

  * * *

  It was past three in the morning when Rowan parked her car—Yas’s car—in the carport next to the three-car garage. Seb’s hog sat in one spot, Patch’s Jag in the other and his SUV in the last space. Poor little car, Rowan thought, left out in the cold. She glanced up at the house and saw that the light was off in Seb’s room. Rowan considered slipping quietly into bed with him, snuggling down for the night, with his back warm against her chest, her legs tucked in behind his knees. And if he woke up so much the better...

  No! Rowan shook her head. That would be a girlfriendy thing to do, and she wasn’t going to act like that. She and Seb were having sex, for a defined period, then she was leaving and he was staying. Getting cosy was a sure way to get her heart involved, and that would be a disaster of magnificent proportions! Leaving would be so much harder than it needed to be, and settling back into her transient life would take more effort than normal.

  Was that why she’d accepted the offer from a couple of the pub’s regulars to accompany them into the city and listen to a blues band in a late-night café? Because it was an impulsive decision? Because it was something that she’d do if she was on her own...accept a random invitation from strangers to try something different?

  She sometimes felt that she was too comfortable in Seb’s house—in his bed, his arms.

  She couldn’t afford to get too attached to him, to his house or this city, Rowan told herself as she climbed out of the car and headed towards the front door. She had a little over a ten days left here; her parents were due back at the end of next week and she’d spend the weekend with them. Hopefully, if she could land the boat party gig, she’d have enough money to feed and house herself when she got back to London.

  Of course if she actually did some work researching those netsukes she could be out of here sooner. She knew Grayson wanted them, and she suspected that, judging by his increasingly frequent e-mails on the subject, and as long as she could prove that they weren’t stolen, he might buy them unseen. At the very least she’d recover the cash she’d laid out and then she could go anywhere she wanted to...

  She should start with researching the Laughing Buddha—the miniature she’d spotted first in the shop, instantly recognising that it was the stand-out piece of the collection—so why wasn’t she carving out some time to research the wretched thing? Sure, it would take a bite out of her money-collecting time, but she wasn’t a total numpty on the computer, as she’d made herself out to be to Seb.

  Did she want to keep it? Or could it be—dammit—because she was feeling slightly sentimental? A tad grateful to that tiny little object that it had been the catalyst to her coming home?

  Home. There—she’d said it. And it was time she acknowledged that, no matter what had transpired before, this was home. This house,—not the house next door... This was home.

  Whoomph!

  Rowan let out a high-pitched squeal and cannoned into a hard shape as she pushed open the door to Awelfor. Familiar arms grabbed her before she toppled over and her heart steadied as she realised that she’d run into Seb.

  ‘You scared my breath out of me!’ She wheezed as she placed a hand on her chest. ‘Jeez, Seb!’

  Seb flicked on the hall light and Rowan blinked at the brightness. When the black dots receded she turned to Seb, and her smile faded when she saw that he was dressed in jeans and an old T-shirt and held his car keys in his hands.

  ‘Where are you going at three in morning?’ she asked, puzzled.

  ‘To bloody look for you!’

  Rowan took a step back as his roar washed over her. Then she saw his wild eyes, his dishevelled hair and his inside-out T-shirt. He was in a complete tizzy and it was fairly obvious that she was the cause of it.

  ‘You said that you would be home around half-twelve!’ Seb paced the hallway, tension bunching every muscle in his body. ‘At twelve-forty-five I was worried. At one-fifteen I was concerned enough to call you on your mobile and I’ve been calling every ten minutes since then. Why don’t you bloody well answer your phone?’

  Rowan pulled the mobile out of her bag and checked the display. Oh, yeah... She’d missed more than a couple of calls...like fifteen.... ‘I’d put my mobile on silent...I didn’t think to change it back.’

  ‘And doesn’t that just explain a whole lot?’ Seb shouted. ‘You don’t think, Rowan. Where on earth have you been?’

  Crap. She hadn’t seen Seb this mad since she’d chirped him about his ex-fiancée. And he’d passed that level of anger five minutes ago. ‘I went to a late-night blues café in Simon’s Town.’

  ‘You what?’

  Rowan thought that she saw the chandelier tremble. ‘Whoa, hold on a sec! I thought you’d be sleeping—’

  ‘Like I could sleep until I knew you were home safely!’

  ‘Seb, the pub is five minutes away.’

  ‘And I expected you home fifteen minutes or so after the pub closed. And I know it closed at one because I called there too!’ Seb shoved his hands into his hair. ‘I’ve been imagining you stabbed or raped or driven off the road—’

  ‘Oh, come on, Seb! You’re overreacting!’ Rowan retorted. When his eyes lightened she knew that she’d made an tactical error. His anger had just deepened and his eyes had gone cold.

  ‘You know, I get that you have this free-spirit, answer-to-no-one gig going on, and I know you well enough to choose my battles with you,’ Seb said, his voice colder than an Arctic breeze. ‘So I’m prepared to let the little things go... But when you roll in at three in the morning, after saying that you’ll be home a lot earlier, I get to yell at you!’

  ‘I’m not a child, and you’re not allowed to place restrictions on me!’ Rowan snapped, going on the defensive because she suspected that she’d crossed a rather big line.

  ‘You keep telling me that you’re not a child, but you’re acting like one. A responsible, thoughtful grown-up would’ve picked up the phone and called me, told me not to worry.’

  Seb rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. His anger had faded and she could see disappointment and resignation on his face. She could fight anger. The other two were like acid on her soul.

  ‘Rowan, you’re free to come and go as you please. I can’t and won’t ask you to be something you are not. But I do expect you to think, occasionally, about other people. I was worried. I had a right to be. If not as your lover, then as a man who has known you all your life.’ Seb twisted his lips. ‘And if you can’t see that then you are even more screwed up than any of us thought.’

  * * *

  Seb’s words hovered in the air as he walked up the stairs and a minute later she heard his bedroom door close. Rowan sank to the third step of the staircase and dropped her head to her knees. He was right and she couldn’t run away from it. She had been selfish and thoughtless and she didn’t like being either.

  Why couldn’t people understand—and why couldn’t she explain?—that restrictions felt like chains to her? That rules felt like the bars of that long-ago jail cell and that she couldn’t trust anyone not to change the rules on her to suit their needs better?

  She knew that he had a point—a really valid point. She knew s
he should apologise, ask for forgiveness for being thoughtless, but the words were stuck in her throat. Why did she feel that if she apologised she would also be apologising for her lifestyle? For being impulsive, freedom-seeking, for being who she was?

  She was at fault and she knew that she should admit it—just go up those steps and say sorry. Wake him up if she had to... But saying I’m sorry had become incredibly difficult for her. Maybe it was because she hadn’t had anybody in her life for so long to say sorry to—or was it because she’d apologised constantly as a child and a teenager for her high spirits and impulsive behaviour? Back then her apology had always been followed by more lectures, more disappointment, more opportunities to throw her indiscretions back in her face.

  By seventeen she’d stopped saying sorry—mostly because nobody had heard her any more. They certainly hadn’t believed she was remorseful, and no one except for Callie—God, she loved that woman—had ever attempted to understand why she felt the need to push the barriers, to taste, touch, experience life.

  Geez, she sounded like a whiny, childish...victim. Damn, she sounded like a victim? Did she subconsciously see herself that way? As a casualty of her parents’ narrow-minded world view, Joe’s deception?

  Maybe she did.

  And she didn’t like it.

  So, she could sit on these stairs and think about how misunderstood she was, justify why she should brush this incident under the carpet, but then she’d feel guilty and dreadful—especially since it was pure pride standing in the way of her saying sorry.

  Seb would probably give her another lecture on thoughtlessness and selfishness, but she was a big girl. She’d take it, say goodnight and go back to her own room. She could do this—she had to do this! If only to prove to him that she had grown up...

  Rowan dragged herself up the stairs, hesitated outside Seb’s door. When she saw the sliver of light under the door she gently knocked. She heard his ‘Come in’ and when she entered saw that he was in bed, a computer on his knees. His face was blank when he looked at her.