The Last Guy She Should Call (16 page)

Every cell in her body reacted when she thought of Cape Town. She didn’t want to go anywhere else. She wanted to go home, to Seb.

Being deported and being broke had catapulted her into a situation where she’d had to slow down, move beyond the good-time surface and come face to face, heart to heart, with another person. With Seb. And she’d loved what she’d found. She’d resisted it, resisted love, with everything she had, and it was hard to admit that freedom didn’t stand a chance against not having Seb in her life.

She loved him. Just loved him with every atom in her body. He was her freedom, the next world she had to discover, understand. He was what had been missing from her life, what she’d been searching for all over the world.

And he was right. She ran when she most needed to stand and fight.

‘Fifty thousand and not a penny more for all of them,’ Grayson said.

Rowan blinked, smiled and held out her hand. ‘Deal. When can I have the money?’

Grayson looked horrified. ‘Rowan, dammit, you are supposed to negotiate! Haven’t I taught you
anything
?’

‘I know you’re low-balling me, Gray—’ Well, she did now. ‘But I don’t have the time to argue with you. How much do you have on you?’

‘Ten thousand. Okay, I’ll give you sixty,’ Grayson muttered. ‘I’d feel like I was robbing you if you took less.’

Rowan held out her hand. ‘I’ll take the ten and you can transfer the balance into my account as per normal. Maybe by then you’ll realise that you are still screwing me and up the offer again.’

Grayson sent the netsukes a greedy look before pulling out a money clip from his jacket pocket. ‘It’s entirely possible.’

Rowan took the cash from his hand, stood up and dropped a kiss on the balding crown of his head. ‘Thanks. Enjoy.’

‘If you ever want to sell the Laughing Buddha I’m your man.’

Rowan shook her head. ‘I’ll tell the new owner, but he won’t sell it.’

‘Gave it away...sacrilege.’ Grayson gestured to the pile of food still on the table. ‘Where are you shooting off to in such a hurry? We’ve hardly made a dent in the food.’

Rowan grinned at him. ‘Home. I’m going home.’

* * *

Dusk was falling and it looked as if someone was randomly sprinkling lights over Scarborough as the sea darkened to cobalt and then to midnight-blue. It was Seb’s favourite time of the day and, pre-Ro, he had often spent this half-hour at his desk, whisky in his hand, just watching the transition from night to day. With all the lights in his office off, his staff, who were still at their stations in the War Room, knew better than to disturb him.

Seb took a sip of his whisky, felt the burn and was grateful he could feel anything.

Since Rowan had left he’d felt numb. And that was when he wasn’t feeling lost and sad and crap. He was feeling opposed to thinking and he didn’t like it at all. This was why he didn’t get emotionally involved; this was why he kept his distance.

He was a walking, talking cliché. Drinking too much, thinking too much, wishing too much. Finding things to do so that he didn’t go to sleep, because she was there in his dreams and it hurt too damn much when he woke up, rolled over and realised—again—that she wasn’t there.

He just hurt. Full-stop.

The lights flashed on overhead and he lifted his hand against the glare. ‘What the...? Dad?’

‘Drinking in the dark is a new low, even for you,’ Patch said cheerfully, sitting in the chair on the opposite side of the desk. He gestured towards his half-full glass. ‘Got another of those for your old man?’

Seb pushed the glass across the desk. ‘Take this one. I’m going to hit the gym and try and work out my frustration.’

‘Horny?’ Patch joked, but his eyes were serious.

Seb couldn’t find the energy to pretend. ‘Just sad.’

‘You do have it bad. Have
her
bad.’ Patch sipped the whisky, put his ankle over his knee and looked at his son. ‘I thought she’d be the one to get hurt, yet you are taking a pounding.’

‘Yeah.’ That summed it up.

‘I’m going to marry Annie,’ Patch said, and Seb’s head snapped up.

He was wallowing and his father was getting married? What the—?

‘She doesn’t know, and I haven’t said anything, but she’s the one. I just want to be with her for ever. I know it in here.’ He thumped his heart. ‘So do you, if you’d stop thinking so much and take a chance.’

Jeez, he’d tried. His father didn’t know that he was the one who’d asked her to stay, to give them some time, so he briefly explained the situation.

Patch sent him a pitying look. ‘So you asked her to stay...what did
that
mean?’

‘Excuse me?’

‘Did you tell her that you love her? That you want to be with her?’ Patch demanded.

‘No. I just asked her to stay, to give me time to think. I just wanted time to figure it out,’ Seb protested.

‘And if she’d given you that time and you’d decided that you didn’t love her? What then? Where would she have been then?’ Patch demanded. ‘What reason did you give her to stay? Why would she stick around, running the risk of getting closer to you, when she knew she could get heart-slammed at the end of it?’

Seb dropped an F-bomb and his head. ‘I didn’t think about it like that.’

‘What is the one thing Rowan has been looking for all her life, Seb?’

‘Uh...’

‘Love, acceptance, a place and a person she can belong to. How can somebody as smart as you not know this?’

He wasn’t smart with people. He never had been.

‘So, what are you going to do about it, Seb? Are you going to track her around the world like you do your mum? Never making contact and making yourself miserable? Or are you going to reach out and try and make this work?’

Seb felt the slap of Patch’s words. ‘What? Whoa, back up! Do you think I
should
contact my mum?’

Patch sighed. ‘I think that you either have to or let her go. Callie and I, we’re reconciled to the fact that she is out of our lives. We’re over it—over her. You? Not so much. I think it would be healthier if you either had a relationship with her or if you cut ties completely. No man’s land is no place to operate from. Same with Rowan. Either take a chance or let her go. Don’t be half-assed about it.’

‘Jeez, Dad. Why don’t you just let it rip, huh?’

‘I’m trying. Get Rowan back, Seb, or get a grip! Just, for all our sakes, stop moping!’

And that was his dad’s verbal boot up the ass, Seb thought. He took a deep breath and ran his hand over his head. ‘I don’t know where she is. I presume she is still in London.’

Patch rolled his eyes. ‘You’ve been tracking Laura since you were sixteen and you’re telling me you don’t know where Rowan is? That you can’t find out where she is going? What do you do every day, Seb? Get on that bloody machine and found out!’

Seb grinned, jumped to his feet and headed for the computer across the room. Within minutes he’d plugged in the necessary code and the result flashed up on the screen.

Holy hell... Were his eyes playing cruel tricks on him?

He felt Patch at his elbow. ‘What? What’s the problem?’

Seb pointed to a line on the screen. ‘Do you believe this? Am I seeing things?’

Patch’s hand gripped his shaking shoulder to steady him. ‘No, bud, I don’t think that you are.’

* * *

Rowan cleared Customs and Immigration and stood in the middle of the arrivals hall, staring at the mobile in her hand.
Seb Hollis
, it said.
Seb Hollis. Dial me, dial me. Just push the green button.

She’d thought that asking him for a favour all those weeks ago would be hard, but it was nothing—
nothing!—
compared to the terror she felt now.

Please love me. Please keep me.

Yeah, as if she was going to come right out and say that! No, she’d figured this all out. She was going to be rational and unemotional; she’d say that they had something worth exploring, that she would stay if he wanted her to, give them time to work it out.

She would not be the gibberish-spewing, sobbing, crazy, wildly-in-love person she knew herself to be. She would be sensible if it killed her—which it probably would, if the terror didn’t get her first.

What if he refused to come and get her? What if she had to bang down his door to see him? What if...?

She was driving herself over the edge.
Just dial the damn number!

Seb took five rings to answer. ‘Seb? It’s me.’

‘Rowan.’

Rowan heard the tension in his voice and felt her stomach swoop to her toes. Oh, this was much, much harder than anything she’d ever done before.
Courage, Dunn. This is your do-over, your second chance. You’re going to regret not doing this, so do it!
‘I need a favour.’

‘Another one?’

‘It’s the last one, I promise.’

‘Uh huh.’

Before her vocal cords seized up she forced her words out. ‘Can you come pick me up? I’m back and I’m at the airport. And I need to talk to you.’

‘Yeah. Okay. Stay where you are. Sexy jeans, by the way,’ he said, before abruptly disconnecting.

What the...? She was taking the biggest chance of her life and he was commentating on her jeans? How would he know what she was wearing anyway? How
could
he know...?

‘Really sexy jeans. I like the way they hug your butt.’

Rowan spun around and there he was...large, solid,
there
...right in front of her. Dear Lord, he was there. Rowan lifted her fist to her mouth and bit her knuckle hard. The pain reassured her that he wasn’t a figment of her imagination, that he was real.

So damn real. As real as the hand that now covered the side of her face.

‘Breathe, Ro.’

Tears that she’d sworn weren’t going to fall ran down her face. ‘You’re here.’

‘I’ll always be here, if you let me,’ Seb told her, his eyes radiating emotion.

‘How did you know...? How? My flight? I only decided yesterday to come back...to come home.’ Ro gripped his shirt and hung on. As long as she held him he couldn’t disappear on her. ‘How?’

‘I keep telling you that I could track you on the moon if I wanted to. When are you going to believe me?’ Seb placed his hand on her hip and pulled her closer. ‘Come here. I need to touch you—all of you.’

Rowan burrowed her face into his neck, inhaling his scent, trying to climb inside him. One strong hand held her head there, another wrapped around her lower back, pulling her as close as possible. They stood there for many minutes, just holding on.

Maybe, just maybe, he’d missed her as much as she’d missed him.

‘Can I come home, Seb? Can I come back?’ Rowan asked when she eventually lifted her head, forcing herself to meet his eyes.

Seb placed a gentle kiss on her mouth before pushing a curl behind her ear. He stroked the pad of his thumb across her cheekbone before dropping his hand back to her hip.

‘You
are
home. You
are
back,’ Seb replied. ‘And, frankly, it’s about bloody time.’

* * *

They didn’t speak much on the way home, but Seb’s hand on her knee reassured her that they would—that they would find a way to move forward. She placed her fingers on top of his and her heart turned over when he smiled at her. Was that love she saw in his eyes, on his face, or was she just imagining it?

She was probably just imagining it... Yes, he was happy that she was back, but there was no point in jumping to conclusions. She was just setting herself up for a fall. It was enough—it should be enough—to know that that she loved him, that she was home, that she had to take every day as it came and treasure the time she had with him.

She felt Seb’s fingers widen under hers, stretch, and then he patted her knee. ‘You were gripping my hand so hard I lost all feeling. Relax, Ro, we’ll sort this out.’

‘We will?’

Seb sent her his cocky grin. ‘Damn straight. I’m not letting you go again without a fight.’

Rowan looked puzzled. ‘I thought that
was
a fight.’

‘That wasn’t even close,’ Seb assured her. ‘Now, put your hand back on mine, try not to stop the blood, and relax. We’re going to get home, have a glass of wine and talk it through. Like adults. In a reasonable, mature fashion...’

* * *

They had crazy monkey sex instead. On the stairs...

They walked into the house and Seb closed the front door behind him and dropped her rucksack to the floor. ‘I’ll take this upstairs later. Do you want a glass of wine?’

Rowan shook her head. She didn’t want anything. She just wanted that mouth on hers, that skin under her hands, him inside her.

‘Ro? Water? Juice? Food?’

Rowan shook her head again and Seb looked at her, puzzled. ‘Okay. What
do
you want?’

‘You. Just you. Right now. Right here,’ Rowan whispered.

And, while she craved his touch, she didn’t expect him to immediately back her into the wall, his mouth covering hers and his hands everywhere. On her breasts, on her butt, her thighs, skimming her face, in her hair. It was as if he was rediscovering her, re-exploring her, touching her for the first time.

And she needed him to feed off her as she was feeding off him. She shoved her hands up and under his T-shirt, pulling it over his head so that she could touch his stomach without the barrier of cotton, run her hands over his chest, up his neck.

‘Do you have any particular attachment to this shirt?’ Seb demanded, his voice hoarse in her ear.

‘Uh? What? No.’

‘Good.’ Seb grabbed each side of her shirt and ripped it open, scattering buttons over the floor. ‘Much better,’ he muttered, shoving the sleeves down her arms and letting it fall to the floor.

A finger hooked the cup of her bra away and his mouth covered her nipple as lust swirled and whirled, hot and fast.

Underneath love quivered and sighed, hoped and dreamt.

‘I missed you so much,’ Rowan said as he unhooked her bra and threw it over his shoulder.

‘This place was like a morgue without you. Get those jeans off,’ he muttered, his fingers busy pleasuring her breasts.

‘Get yours off too,’ Rowan retorted as she wiggled the fabric down her legs.