1-900-Lover

by Rhonda Nelson

  The 1-900-line, specifically.

  She winced regretfully, all business once more. “I hate to be rude, but I can’t afford to miss this call.” She crossed the room, reached out and opened the door for him.

  Will swore silently, annoyed at being thwarted this close to what he knew could be victory, and reluctantly made his way onto the front porch. “But, er…what about my offer?”

  A mischievous glint lit her gaze and ultimately infected her smile. “You’ve got my number. Call me.”

  5

  ALEXA PUSHED a hand through her short curly locks and leaned forward expectantly. “Okay, let me get this straight. The kid’s uncle tracked you down, showed up at your house today and, after his failed attempt at chewing your ass, he offered you a job?”

  Leave it to Alexa to boil her twenty-minute tirade down to a ten-second synopsis, Rowan thought with a droll smile as she dumped a package of peanuts into her Coke. They’d met at Grady’s Pool Hall, their usual haunt. The scent of grease and smoke hung in the air, and the continual hum of conversation was broken only by the clack of pool balls. There was nothing chic about the shabby joint, but Grady made the best burgers in town. Contractors, executives, students and locals typically sat elbow to elbow along the battered bar during the day, then the singles crowd inevitably moved in after five. She and Alexa fell among the latter group.

  Rowan finally nodded. Her breath left her in a long whoosh. “Yeah, that about sums it up.”

  Alexa nodded thoughtfully. Her eyes twinkled with do-tell humor and her lips slid into a what-are-you-hiding? grin, a combination Rowan recognized all too well. Their friendship had been forged on the playground to the tune of ring-round-the-rosy, had survived high-school angst and post-graduation blues.

  Alexa had nursed Rowan through the broken engagement debacle, and Rowan had returned the gesture following Alexa’s nasty divorce. They’d confided every first—first crush, first heartache, first lover—and shared every significant and not-so-significant event in between. They were best buds and, Rowan remembered with a fond smile, they still had the bracelets to prove it.

  “That might sum it up—” Alexa leaned back in her seat, pressed her fingers to her forehead and did her psychic-moment impression. Her brow folded in exaggerated concentration. “—but something tells me that you’ve left a pertinent detail out of your day.” She paused. “About this guy, specifically.”

  Rowan smothered a laugh. Alexa came from a long line of clairvoyants, most recently her mother and grandmother, and despite the fact that the “gift” seemed to have bypassed her completely, Alexa still liked to pretend that she’d been touched as well. Though Rowan suspected that Alexa was secretly relieved that she didn’t possess The Sight—often more of a burden than a gift—it had nevertheless been hard for her to come to terms with the fact that she was different from her family.

  “Hold on,” Alexa said slowly, feigning sudden inspiration. “I’m getting a vision.” She nodded, winced, nodded again. “Yes… Yes…” Her eyes suddenly popped open and she grinned. “He’s a hottie, isn’t he?”

  Rowan struggled to maintain a neutral expression, but caved under the unrepentant humor behind Alexa’s knowing little stare. Her lips slid into a slow smile and she slumped under the weight of the confession. “Oh, God, yes.”

  Alexa’s eyes widened, she whooped with laughter and smacked her hand on the tabletop. “Details,” she demanded gleefully. “Now.”

  Where to start? Rowan wondered as Will’s impressive form leaped obligingly to mind. God, she’d never been so affected by a guy. Had never been so instantly—irrevocably—attracted to one. A soft sigh slipped past her lips. “He’s tall, tanned, muscled and gorgeous. Tawny hair—lighter on top, darker around the nape.” Her gaze turned inward and she propped her chin in her hand. “He’s got those heavy-lidded eyes—bedroom eyes—and they’re a very light brown, the shade of warm honey,” she said, and decided that the description seemed fitting, particularly since she seemed to have gotten stuck in that too-sexy gaze.

  Alexa arched a brow. “That close, were you?” she teased.

  Rowan blushed. “No. Just that…observant,” she improvised.

  And she’d been observing closely—almost to the point of obsession—though thankfully, he hadn’t seemed to notice. She would have gladly continued that covert, narrow scrutiny, too, if it hadn’t been for that ill-fated phone call.

  Ultimately, she knew the interruption had been for the best. Rowan rarely made snap decisions—she preferred to mull, to ponder, to consider every angle, weigh advantages versus disadvantages and make informed decisions. She wasn’t averse to taking risks—calculated ones—when the opportunity arose, but only when she was sure that risk would be worth the reward. Astonishingly, she knew if Roy hadn’t called back, she would have readily agreed to Will’s offer without the smallest hesitation. Would he be worth the risk? Most definitely. She knew it without a single doubt.

  Which just went show how much Will Foster and his sticky-honey gaze had affected her.

  Naturally she’d been annoyed that he’d violated her privacy, that he’d essentially tracked her down with the sole purpose of delivering a load of brimstone with that sexy mouth of his. No doubt he could do it, too, Rowan thought, remembering the grim expression he’d worn when she’d first caught sight of him. After all, she’d noted that intriguing best-friend-or-worst-enemy element of his too-handsome face right from the get-go. Fortunately, she’d had the pleasure of watching that face dawn with the knowledge of his error, then watching that same countenance scramble for, ironically, a face-saver. Her lips twisted with remembered humor.

  Listening to the tapes had been just that, she knew. Will hadn’t doubted her. He was a smart guy. He’d known that she wouldn’t have offered the proof of her statement if she hadn’t had the tapes to back it up.

  But after all the trouble he’d undoubtedly gone through to run her to ground—honestly, calling a friend in the P.I. business?—he’d had to follow through, or otherwise risk an item men guarded almost as vigilantly as they did their balls—male pride. And women were accused of being stubborn and vain?

  Sheesh.

  At any rate, Rowan didn’t know precisely why she’d been so intrigued by him. Granted, he was gorgeous and, just like any female with working eyesight, the she-woman in her had responded with prompt and primal efficiency when presented with such a fine specimen.

  Meaning, she hadn’t been remotely inclined to start cleaning his cave…but she certainly wouldn’t mind spreading her fur next to his fire.

  The idea sent a dart of heat straight to her womb and her toes involuntarily curled in her shoes. A shiver shook her from the inside out, forcing her to exhale a shaky breath.

  At twenty-five, Rowan was no stranger to sexual attraction. Promiscuous? No. She’d been very selective with the few lovers she’d had—given the considerable risks that arose when sharing your body it was just plain stupid not to be—but she had enough experience to know that what she’d felt the few minutes she’d spent in Will Foster’s company this afternoon was completely out of her sphere of understanding.

  The attraction had been more than intense, more than remarkable. It had been fierce and instantaneous—thrilling. She’d vibrated with it, felt it echo off her backbone, tingle through her tummy, and most disconcertingly, gently nudge her heart. A heart that had absolutely no business being nudged or prodded or engaged whatsoever. Not after just meeting him. It was crazy. Rowan let go a stuttering breath.

  The connection had been curious, to say the least.

  She’d been utterly enchanted by him, from his first irate appearance, to that sheepish “I was pissed,” confession, then to that ultimate pathetically awkward apology. Clearly he’d been out of his element, but his character had jumped a notch in her estimation with the follow-through. Her lips twisted. Hell, most guys couldn’t admit they’d made a mistake, much less apologize for it. That took integrity, a declining quality among today’
s men, and one she truly admired.

  And if those things weren’t enough, he was a landscape architect. Her ridiculous heart had actually skipped a beat when he’d confided that little tidbit. A guy who shared the same enthusiasm as she did for the soil, for the science and wonder of gardening? A rare distinction, that. If she’d pulled through a Build-A-Guy drive-through, she couldn’t have custom-ordered a better combo. He was smart, funny, into gardening, with Super-Sized sex appeal. A lethal mix to be sure. Quite frankly—probably stupidly—she was fascinated.

  “So when do you start?”

  Rowan blinked, jolted back into the conversation. “I’m sorry?”

  “When do you start?” Alexa repeated. Her eyes twinkled with knowing humor.

  Rowan shifted, feigned indifference. “Who said I was going to take the job?”

  “Honey,” Alexa chuckled with a shake of her head, “that was a foregone conclusion.”

  Rowan tried to muster mild outrage, but quickly felt her expression turn sheepish. She bit her lip, peeked up at her friend from beneath lowered lashes. “That transparent, am I?” She sighed and took a sip of her Coke. Hell, it had been a foregone conclusion. He fascinated her, made her so hot she threatened to burn right out of her skin. Like she could resist that sort of temptation? Like after months of miserable celibacy she would?

  Alexa’s brow puckered into a thoughtful frown. “Transparent wasn’t the word I had in mind—I was thinking more along the lines of horny.”

  Startled, Rowan almost strangled on a peanut. Her eyes watered as she alternately wheezed, laughed and tried to catch her breath. Geez, nothing like a little truth-therapy from a good friend, Rowan thought, as Alexa silently howled at her expense.

  But it would be utterly futile to deny the charge. She was horny. Beyond horny. Succinctly put, something about Will Foster had tripped her trigger. She’d taken one look at him and commenced to simmer. With just a minimal amount of effort on his part, she’d undoubtedly hit a full boil, and just thinking about that kind of singular potential made her loins throb with an achy, hollow sort of heat. Merely imagining that beautiful mouth of his attached to hers, or more importantly, attached to her breast, made her squirm in her seat. Made her fingers itch to slide over that tanned skin, feel those fantastic muscles bunch and flex beneath her hands. He looked fully capable of satisfying her, Rowan thought, recalling their previous conversation.

  She caught her breath, finally nodded magnanimously. “H-horny works, too,” she conceded lightly with a what-the-hell shrug. “What can I say? He’s hot…and he makes me hot.” She grimaced. “That hasn’t happened in a while.”

  Too long to remember, quite frankly. Months. A year, maybe. She’d had a little rebound sex with a former lover after the Mark Mistake, but that had been more about revenge—a stupid reason, but one that had offered a small Band-Aid to her injured pride—and less about her needs. Which was just as well, Rowan remembered now, because she’d had to finish up post-sex while he’d trotted off to the bathroom, completely satisfied. She’d been more miserable after the sex than before it.

  A shrewd gleam glinted in Alexa’s bright blue eyes. “I’m going to make a prediction. I pre—”

  Rowan snorted, took another pull from her drink. “Your third eye is blind, remember?”

  “I predict,” Alexa continued doggedly, “that he’ll call you.”

  Duh, Rowan thought. He’d have to, otherwise he wouldn’t know whether or not she planned to come to work for him. “Well, of course he’ll call. I didn’t give him an answer.” She grunted. “If he wants that answer, he’ll have to call.”

  “You’re not listening,” Alexa chided. “I said, I predict that he’ll call you,” she repeated meaningfully.

  They’d established that, Rowan thought, not following. She quirked a brow.

  Alexa heaved an impatient breath, leaned forward and lowered her voice. “For phone sex,” she hissed, exasperated. She reclined once more, bobbed her head knowingly. “Mark my words. He’ll call. He knows what you do, has seen you in action. He’s a guy and he’ll call. He won’t be able to help himself.”

  Call her for phone sex? Rowan thought faintly. Surely not. For reasons beyond her immediate understanding, the very idea sent a dart of panic directly into her rapidly beating heart. The mere thought of having phone sex with Will Foster made her mouth parch and her pulse race…and not in a good way.

  In fact, she felt distinctly ill.

  “What?” Alexa asked, seemingly concerned. “What’s wrong?”

  Though she knew it sounded utterly ridiculous, Rowan blurted out the awful truth. “I can’t have phone sex with him,” she said, her voice equally incredulous and scandalized. “I know him.”

  It was Alexa’s turn to wear the uncomprehending look. “So?”

  “So, I— I can’t do it,” Rowan stammered. This was totally bizarre. She hadn’t acted like a blushing virgin when she’d been a blushing virgin, and yet…

  “Why the hell not?” Alexa scowled, seemingly bewildered. “I thought you just said he was a hottie, that he made you hot. What’s the problem?”

  “That’s the problem,” Rowan explained grimly, struggling to find a reasonable voice for her neurosis. “I know him,” she repeated. “I can’t possibly say all those things to him.” She affected her phone-sex voice. “You make me hot. I wanna get naked and touch myself. Sheesh. Can you imagine, Alexa? I’d be mortified. Don’t you see?”

  The clank of cutlery hitting the floor sounded to her left. Rowan turned, and from the stunned, gaping looks of the men seated at the next table, they’d obviously overheard her and wrongfully assumed they’d just witnessed kinky lesbian sex talk.

  Rowan groaned as humiliation saturated every pore of her face, painting it red. Embarrassment, she thought morosely, my constant companion.

  Alexa smothered a laugh, and massaged her temples. “Rowan, this doesn’t make any sense. You’ve been pretending for cash with these other yahoos for the past several months, and now you’re telling me that you can’t do it for real with a guy you’re obviously attracted to? Come on,” she scoffed.

  Rowan winced, conjured a small smile. “Screwed up,” she conceded, “but there it is.” She paused, vainly searching for the right words to frame her twisted reasoning. “You were right when you’d said I’d been pretending. With other men, it’s just a role, Alexa. I can talk some unknown guy through phone sex and not give it a second thought. I’m a catalyst, not a participant. It’s not personal,” she emphasized with a significant look, “if you get my drift.”

  Alexa’s lips rounded in a silent “oh.” “You mean you don’t actually have—”

  “No. No!” she repeated emphatically. She shuddered. “Ick. How could you— I can’t believe you thought I—” She shuddered again, stared in horror at her friend. “With strangers? Eeeew!”

  “Well, how was I to know?” Alexa defended with an innocent shrug. “I just assumed…”

  “Well, you assumed wrong.” She exhaled mightily. “Now do you understand?”

  “Indeed I do,” Alexa replied as a slow smile dawned on her lips. Unrepentant laughter gleamed in her too-perceptive gaze. “The phone sex queen is a phone sex virgin. But I predict a change in status is imminent.” She chuckled behind her beer. “This Will Foster is going to pop your phone sex cherry.”

  Rowan heaved a long-suffering sigh even as a curious thrill followed immediately by a spasm of dread whipped through her. “You and your predictions,” she muttered, unable to muster the enthusiasm for a snarky response.

  Alexa inclined her head. “I’m right about this one. You’ll see. In fact, I would be surprised if you waited on him to call you.” She snorted indelicately. “Hell, when have you ever waited for any thing you’ve wanted? Ha! Try never.” Alexa considered her once more, looked at her until Rowan was hard-pressed not to squirm. “He’s re ally shaken you up, hasn’t he? He’s knocked you off your game.”

  Though she knew Alexa was purposely bait
ing her, Rowan bristled all the same. The mere idea that she was not in control of every aspect of her person, her world and immediate universe annoyed her no end. “I’m not off my game.” In truth, now that she thought beyond being embarrassed, she could seriously see herself getting into a lusty conversation with Will Foster…and enjoying it immensely.

  “Then you’re off your rocker. Ordinarily, you wouldn’t hesitate, would you?”

  “Who said I was hesitating?” Rowan protested. Hell, she wasn’t hesitating. She was merely considering. And she was done. If he didn’t call her, then fine. She’d call him. Because she was not off her game.

  WILL DROPPED the phone back into the cradle, exhaled wearily and massaged the bridge of his nose. Well, that had gone much better than he’d anticipated. That being, telling Jim about his son’s recent moronic detour down the dial-a-date highway.

  “You handled that well.” His mother appeared from just outside his office door—her favorite eavesdropping post, the eternal infernal snoop, Will thought tiredly—and, with a weary sigh planted herself in one of the chairs flanking Will’s desk. “Going to Jim instead of Lori was a wise decision. A boy needs to hear certain things from his father.”

  Now that was an interesting comment, particularly coming from her, Will thought. Millie had never considered any topic taboo and had never hesitated to share her opinion or advice regardless of the subject. When those ripening teenage hormones had taken hold of him, it had been Millie, not his late father, who’d given him The Talk.

  That hadn’t been all she’d given him either, Will recalled, still somewhat mortified. She’d also given him his first box of condoms along with the sage advice to “bag it before you plant it because a man shouldn’t spread his baby gravy over just any biscuit.”

  His mother, he thought, fondly exasperated…she was one of a kind. The glue that held his tight-knit family together.

  “Lying to him wasn’t wise,” she continued, “but if buying that cock-n-bull story about science lessons gave Jim peace of mind, then so be it, I suppose.” She shook her head. “I don’t know why people can’t face facts but—”