The Last Guy She Should Call (15 page)

God, she wished she could climb into his steady and rest awhile. But she couldn’t—wouldn’t. Whatever they’d had was at an end. Her ties were cut with her parents and she should cut them with Seb as well. While she could.

They would be friends, would some day look back on the madness that had been their affair and smile, knowing that it had been a marvellous interlude in time that was pure fantasy.

‘You are part of us,’ Seb repeated.

Rowan shook her head. She wasn’t—couldn’t be. If she couldn’t be accepted by her own family, how could she expect to be part of theirs? Especially after being away for so long. And what would that mean while she was on the road? The occasional call to Seb? To Patch? E-mails? Facebook?

It didn’t work. She knew this.

Seb’s hand drifted over her hair, a touch of pure comfort, and she jerked her head away. She had to start stepping back, start preparing herself to leave.

Practically she needed to get London to sell the netsukes, to bolster her bank account. To repay Seb.

Emotionally she had to pull away, to put some distance between them before he did. She couldn’t bear it if he rejected her too—and he would. He’d made it very clear that what they had was a brief fling. He’d said nothing to make her believe that he wanted her to stay.

The realisation that a big part of her really wanted to stay terrified her.

‘Oh, I took a call for you earlier, while you were in the shower,’ Seb said, stepping away from her and leaning against the opposite kitchen counter.

‘From..?’

‘Melanie? Melissa?’

‘Merle?’

‘That’s it. She said that you spoke to her the other day about organising her wedding?’ Seb picked up an orange from the fruit basket and dug his fingers into the skin, pulling the peel away.

‘She’s Annie’s niece and she wants a Moroccan-themed wedding. Since I’ve been to Morocco, Annie thought I could do it.’ Rowan closed her eyes. ‘I’d love to do it; I have all these ideas running through my head.’

‘When is it?’ Seb made a pile of peel on the dining room table.

‘Three months’ time.’

‘So do it,’ he suggested blandly.

Rowan blinked as she tried to process his words. Stay here for another three months? Was he insane? ‘What are you suggesting?’

‘Stay here with me. Do the wedding.’ Seb pulled a segment from the orange and popped it into his mouth.

‘Are you mad? That’s the most illogical, impractical, stupid suggestion you have ever made!’ Rowan’s voice climbed with every decibel. ‘I have to get to London to sell the netsukes!’

‘Planes go both ways,’ Seb pointed out in his cool, practical voice. ‘Go to London. Come back.’

‘I need to travel,—to keep moving, Sebastian. To be free!’ Rowan shouted. ‘I can’t stay here.’

‘Have I put a ring on your finger? Asked you to stay for ever? No. I’ve suggested that you stay for another three months, to do something you obviously want to do and obviously enjoy. I thought that you could stay here with me, which you seem to enjoy as well. Or am I wrong about that?’

‘I thought that this was a fling...’

‘And I thought you were good at change!’ Seb snapped back. ‘If you were anywhere else in the world would you stay?’

‘Yes, but—’

‘Then why can’t you stay here? For a little while longer?’

‘Because you haven’t thought this out! Because you’re feeling sorry for me, wanting to protect me, wanting to help me out of another jam! This is an impulsive offer that you are going to regret when you’ve thought it through and you’ll wish that you’d never opened your big mouth. I don’t want to be something you regret, Seb!’

‘You wouldn’t be.’

‘Of course I would, Seb! I’m great for a fling but I’d drive you mad long-term. I can’t stick to anything. I’ll waft from job to job, get involved in one project and then go off at a tangent to explore something else. I’d pick up stray people and stray animals and bring them home. I’d fill your home with crazy objects that you’d hate and colourful fabrics that would hurt your eyes. I’d turn this place upside down! Drive you nuts.’

‘Just leave the War Room alone.’

Rowan didn’t hear him, so intent on listing every reason why she couldn’t stay. ‘And I’d feel hemmed-in, constrained. I’d feel frustrated and then I’d get bitchy—and then I’d start planning trips and then I’d get depressed because I’d know that I couldn’t leave you like—’

‘Like my mother did.’

Seb’s eyes had hardened and Rowan swallowed. Dammit, why had she compared her leaving to his mother’s? If he could survive that, it would be easy to wave
her
goodbye.

Just tell me that you love me,
Rowan silently begged him
, that this is something more than just sex and I’ll be prepared to take the risk. Tell me that I am important to you, that I mean...something. Throw me a bone here, Seb. Persuade me to stay.

Seb didn’t say a damn word.

Rowan scrubbed her hands over her face. ‘I’m going to get some air. This is going nowhere.’

‘Good idea. But while you’re out there think of this.’ Seb dropped the orange, placed sticky fingers and hands onto her face and held her head still while he ransacked her mouth.

Tongues clashed and collided—frustration and fury combined with lust and confusion. His hand on her butt pushed her into him, so that she could feel the long, solid, pulsing length of him against her stomach, and under her hands his heart thumped and rolled.

Seb yanked his mouth away from hers and looked at her with wild eyes. ‘Yeah, think of that, Rowan. And then tell me you can just walk away from it.’

Rowan held her fingers to her lips, still tasting him there as he stormed out of the kitchen. She heard him thunder up the stairs and the door to his bedroom slam shut.

She would think about that—of course she would!—but she knew that thousand-degree kisses and fantastic sex wasn’t enough long-term. Because falling in love with him properly would kill her if he didn’t feel anything more than fierce attraction for her. She didn’t know if she could pick up the pieces of her life again when he told her that he was tired of her, that it wasn’t working, that he’d had enough.

She’d been the second best child, the not-up-to-par daughter, and she wasn’t prepared to be the almost-good-enough-but-not-quite, good-for-the-short-term lover.

She wasn’t prepared to play guessing games with her heart.

ELEVEN

Rowan, not knowing
where else to go, slipped through the gate into her parents’ garden and headed to the north-east corner, to the mini-orchard, overgrown and neglected. In this place,
between the peach and apricot trees, she and Callie had played, out of sight of both houses. It was a place where they could pretend, talk, wish, dream. Well, Callie had talked and she had dreamt.

God, she wished Callie was here. Callie would help her sort through her confusion.

‘Rowan?’

Rowan spun around and hastily brushed the tears off her face. Her mum stood in front of her, looking deeply uncomfortable. Rowan held up her hands in defeat. ‘Mum. What now? Why are you here?’

‘I saw you streaking across the lawn, knew where you were going.’ Heidi ran her hand through her still-black hair. ‘Your father just tore into me, said that I was cruel to you.’

Yeah. Well. Duh.

‘He thought I’d told you about Peter, about selling, moving. He thinks that we correspond regularly.’

Rowan tipped her head. ‘Why did you let him think that?’

Heidi shrugged. ‘I wanted to avoid an argument. I don’t like arguing, conflict, trouble.’

‘And I was trouble from the day I was born,’ Rowan said bitterly.

Heidi didn’t argue and Rowan cursed as pain slashed through her.

‘Just go, Mum. I can’t deal with you now.’

‘When you were so sick, when you nearly died, I thought I would die too.’

Heidi’s voice cracked and Rowan thought that she’d never heard her mum’s voice so saturated with emotion.

‘I was so scared... I don’t think I’ve ever prayed so hard and so much. I loved you with every fibre in my being and the thought of losing you was too much for me to bear.’

What the heck...?

‘When you recovered I suppose I...I retreated from you. I vowed to protect you, but I didn’t think I could go through that again so I pulled back.’

Heidi must have seen something on Rowan’s face because her lips twisted.

‘I’m not good with emotion like you are, Rowan. I can’t embrace it. I’m steadier when it’s at a distance, when I am in control. Peter didn’t demand that from me. You did.’

‘So you pushed me away?’ Rowan said, her voice flat.

Heidi nodded. ‘People like us—me, your father, Peter, even Seb—we’re intellectuals. We are brain-based not feelings-based. You were—
are
—all feelings. All the time. You need to touch, taste, experience.’

That was true, Rowan admitted.

Heidi nodded. ‘I know you think I was cruel, encouraging you to go overseas, but I knew that you needed to. To taste, experience. Though I did think you’d come home in a year or two, settle down into a degree, get it out of your system.’

‘Don’t start,’ Rowan warned her.

‘I didn’t think it would take you nine years to come home.’ Heidi twisted her hands together. ‘It’s easier when you’re not here. I can push the guilt away. But looking at you, so beautiful...’

‘Mum.’ Rowan placed her hand over her mouth.

Heidi straightened her shoulders and tossed her head. ‘As for this...thing...with Seb...’

Oh, jeez, she really didn’t want her mum commentating on her love-life. ‘Mum, I don’t feel like I want to hear—’

Heidi interrupted her. ‘You need to leave. Because the two of you—’

Rowan growled in frustration.
Stop.
Maybe she did want to hear what she had to say. ‘What, Mum?’

‘The two of you spark off each other,’ Heidi said, flustered. ‘Anybody with half a brain can see that. But you’re going to hurt each other. You are too different, worlds apart. It’s not built for long-term... Love isn’t enough.’

We’re not in love,
Rowan wanted to tell her.
Not quite. Not yet.

Heidi kicked a branch at her foot. ‘I suppose we’ll have to get this area cleared if we want to sell.’

‘Mum! We were talking about Seb and I! Tell me why you think we could never work.’

‘Because you are too irrational, too impulsive for him to live with long-term, and his inability to be spontaneous would drive you mad. He wants someone steady and settled and you want someone exciting and unstructured. You’d kill each other.’

‘So you don’t believe in the theory that opposites attract? That love can conquer all?’

Heidi shook her head. ‘It doesn’t—not in real life. In books and in the movies, maybe, but this is your life—his life—and it’s not a movie and it’s not a book. Save yourselves the heartache, Rowan. I know you and I know Seb. This will blow up in your faces. You’ll get hurt. And, believe it or not, I actually think you’ve been hurt enough.’

Rowan, reeling from having such an intense conversation with her mother, sucked in her breath. ‘Why are you telling me this now?’

‘Because I have failed you in so many ways, so many times. I should’ve tried to understand you better, loved you more, held you more. Drawn you closer instead of pushing you away. I failed you. But—’ Heidi’s voice cracked. ‘But if I can save you some heartache, some pain, maybe you can start to forgive me. Maybe I can start to forgive myself.’

Heidi wrapped her arms around her middle and Rowan saw that her eyes were wet. She couldn’t believe that her mother, who never cried, was crying over
her
.

She was nearly out of earshot when Rowan finally forced the word through her own tear-clogged throat. ‘Mum?’

Heidi turned.

‘I’m often in London. I have a house that I’m renovating there. Maybe we can meet, just you and I? Have tea, some time together. Maybe we can find a way back to each other?’

Heidi took a long time to answer and Rowan thought that she’d lost her. Again.

‘I’d like that, Ro. I’d really like that.’

* * *

Rowan was relieved that Seb’s bedroom was empty when she reached it. She immediately went to the spare room, dragged her backpack out of the cupboard and hauled it back to his room.

Somehow her clothes had found their way into his walk-in closet. Panties in his sock drawer, shorts next to his T-shirts. When had they migrated there? Who’d placed them there? Seb...? Seb had put the washing away. Hell, she’d been so busy bartending and arranging parties that she’d never got around to doing much laundry anyway. Seb had just done it quietly, with no fuss.

Shirts, shorts, jeans. Shoes? Red cowboy boots, trainers, pumps, flats. They all stood on the shelves in his shoe cupboard, along with her sparkly silver sandals. Rowan bit her lip as she traced the design on the front of one shoe; she loved these shoes but she wouldn’t take them. Like the coral dress, like Seb, she had to leave them behind.

The box containing her netsukes sat on an open shelf above the shoes and Rowan stretched up and pulled it down. She lifted the lid and furiously unwrapped the little statues until she found the one she was looking for—the one of the Laughing Buddha with mischief in his eyes.

She wouldn’t be selling this one—wouldn’t take it with her. This was Seb’s—her gift to him. She’d planned on keeping it herself but, like her, he’d fallen in love with it the first time he’d held it. It didn’t matter that it was probably the oldest and most valuable of the collection. Nothing much mattered now. She placed it on the shelf next to a pile of his T-shirts, where she knew he would see it.

She was leaving and she had a new life to make. Her mum was right. They would eventually decimate each other. While she had the right to take chances with her own heart, she didn’t have the right to play fast and loose with his. With anyone’s. It was better to be on her own, responsible for only herself...

No risk of being hurt. Of hurting him.

‘Running again, Brat?’

Rowan turned and looked at Seb, who had one shoulder plastered against the wall, his eyes shuttered.

‘Packing.’ Rowan kept her voice even. ‘We both knew that I’d be leaving once I saw my folks.’

‘Yeah, but neither of us thought that we’d be burning up the sheets a day later. That changes things, Rowan.’

‘It’s just sex, Seb. You can find it anywhere.’

Rowan yelped when Seb streaked across the room, gripped her arms and glared at her.

‘It is not just sex! Get it?’

‘Then what is it?’ Rowan demanded. ‘And let me go. You’re hurting me.’

Tell me. Tell me that you need me to stay. Give me something to work with, to take a risk on.

Seb dropped his hands and then threw them up. ‘It’s something! I don’t know what it is, exactly, but we’ll never find out if you don’t stop running!’

Something? Something wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough.

‘I’m leaving. I’m not running!’ Rowan shouted. ‘And I never said I’d stay! Besides, what would I be staying for? Another couple of months of sex? What do you want from me, Seb? Can you tell me?’

Seb raked his hand through his hair. ‘No. Maybe. Not yet. I haven’t thought it through.’

‘You see, that’s the essential difference between you and me. It has to make intellectual sense to you and it just has to feel right to me.’ Rowan sat on the edge of the bed.

‘Does it feel right for you to stay?’ Seb asked quietly.

‘Yes! But the problem is...’

‘What?’

Rowan lifted pain-saturated eyes to his. ‘This time I know that it’s smart to leave. That, no matter how right it feels to stay, I have to listen to my brain. Because this time I can’t trust my heart.’

‘Why?’

‘Because you’ll break it. And I’ll break yours. We have the ability to do that to each other,’ Rowan said in a quiet, determined voice. ‘If I walk—run—leave now, we can avoid that. You can’t give me enough of what I need for me to consider staying. I don’t want to hurt you, and God knows I don’t want you to hurt me. Let me go, Seb, please. It’s for the best. You know it is.’

‘All I know—
feel
, dammit!—is that you are running as fast and as far away from me as possible. But I’ve never begged a woman for anything in my life and I’m not going to start now.’

Seb walked over to his desk, shoved the chair so hard that it skidded across the floor and bent over his computer. His fingers skipped over the keys and ten minutes later—the longest ten minutes of her life—he turned back to face her.

His face and voice were completely devoid of emotion. ‘I’ve booked you on a flight to London, leaving tonight. I’ve ordered you a taxi. It will be here in an hour. I’m sure you won’t mind spending the afternoon in the airport. It’s what you do, isn’t it?’

‘Seb, I’m doing what I think is best for us,’ Rowan protested, trying once more to get him to understand.

‘And where does what I want, what I need, what I think is best, come into it? All I’m asking is for some time, Rowan! A slice of your time so that we can work out what we want to do. We’ve been together for nearly three weeks! We’re adults. Adults don’t make snap decisions about the rest of their lives, about whether they’re going to get hurt or not. I want time with you—time that you seem to be able to give to mountains and monasteries, temples, sights and cities but not to me!’ Seb roared. ‘So, really, take your excuses about doing what is best for us and get the hell out of my life.’

Seb slammed the lid of his computer closed, sent her another fulminating, furious look and walked out of the room. Instead of slamming the door, as she knew he wanted to do, he closed it quietly. Its snick was the soundtrack to her heart cracking and snapping.

Crap; she was
so
screwed.

* * *

‘You look awful, darling.’ Grayson Darling looked at her across the table in the English tea room and then at an original artwork just beyond her head. ‘Love that painting.’

‘Gray, I’ve drunk the tea, eaten the scones...can we talk netsukes now?’ Rowan demanded, in a thoroughly bad mood. Then again, she’d been in a bad mood since she’d left Cape Town two weeks ago and it was steadily getting worse. Having to spend two hours with Grayson, making small talk over high tea, was just making her feel even more cranky—which she hadn’t believed was possible.

She needed to do this deal with Grayson; the money she’d made arranging those parties and bartending was almost finished and she was sick of sleeping on a friend’s pull-out couch.

She needed money. Fast. She’d played this song to death; hopefully after today she wouldn’t have to hear it again.

Grayson wiped his fingers on a snow-white cloth serviette and sighed dramatically as he pulled the box towards him. ‘Where is the charming Rowan I enjoyed so much?’

Back in Cape Town, with her heart. With Seb. Seb... Her heart clenched. She missed him so much—missed her heart, which had remained behind with him. Without it she was just existing, just skating.

She didn’t skate. She didn’t exist. She
lived
. It was what she did. But no longer. Not any more. Not without Seb. She’d thought that she’d been so clever, leaving Cape Town before she fell in love with him. But love, she realised, didn’t stop to count the miles between them and had snuck inside her anyway.

‘Oh, Rowan, these are wonderful,’ Grayson said, appreciation in every syllable as he lined up the netsukes between them. ‘Fantastic composition, brilliant condition. But you’re missing one... Where’s the Laughing Buddha?’

‘It’s not for sale.’

‘Of course it’s for sale; it’s the jewel of the collection.’ Grayson looked at her in horror. ‘It’s the one I want.’

Seb’s the one I want... Okay, stop being a complete drip, Dunn, and concentrate.
‘Sorry, Grayson. I gave it away.’

Grayson closed his eyes and shook his head. ‘Dear God, you are a basket case. Get it back.’

‘It’s gone. Move on. Make me an offer on these,’ Rowan demanded, exhausted.

She watched as Grayson examined the netsukes again and allowed her mind to wander. She recognised the light of acquisition in his eyes and knew that within a day she’d be a couple of thousand pounds richer than she had been when she’d emptied her bank account a month ago. Good grief, had it only been a month? How could so much have happened in so short a time?

Forcing her mind away from the path it travelled far too frequently straight back to Seb, she tried to make plans on where to go from here. Back to Thailand or west to Canada? Or home to Cape Town.