The Last Guy She Should Call

by Joss Wood

  She wanted to be back in the markets in Hanoi, standing in a queue to touch a statue of Buddha in Phuket, on a crowded train on her way to Goa.

  She didn’t want to be back here, in the city that held so many bad memories for her. She didn’t want to deal with Seb, who set her blood on fire, made her feel things that were hot and uncomfortable. She didn’t want to deal with her parents, revisit her past.

  She wanted to be back on crowded streets, on the Inca trails in Peru, in an Outback logging town in the Yukon. She wanted to be on her own, having transient relationships with people who expected little or nothing from her.

  She wanted her freedom, she thought as she left the supermarket empty-handed. Her independence, solitude.

  Money in the bank.

  Money... Dammit, Rowan thought as she turned around and walked back into the shop. She’d made a deal with the devil and part of that deal required her to shop for food.

  Ugh.

  * * *

  After she’d spent a healthy amount of Seb’s money Rowan drove towards the coast and onto the main road that led to the beach in the area. Behind her sunglasses her eyes widened with surprise as she took in the changes that had occurred since she’d left. Her favourite beach was still there—of course it was—but the buildings on the other side of the road had been converted into upscale boutiques and gift shops, restaurants and a coffee shop-slash-restaurant-slash-neighbourhood bar.

  Rowan headed straight for the restaurant/bar and slid into a tiny table by the window. She ordered an espresso and a slice of cheesecake and silently told herself that she’d add it to the mental tab she owed Seb.

  It was such a stunning day. She could see Table Mountain, blue, green and purple, a natural symbol of this incredibly beautiful city. The sea was flat, aqua and green, and the sun glinted off the white sand.

  Rowan looked up at the waitress and pointed to the ‘Help Wanted’ sign on the door. ‘I see you need another waitress?’

  ‘A bartender, actually.’

  Even better, Rowan thought. She loathed waitressing. ‘Tips good?’

  ‘Very. You interested? If you are, I can call the manager over.’

  Rowan nodded and within fifteen minutes had agreed to tend bar on Friday night as a trial. If that worked out she could have three night shifts a week. Rowan agreed with alacrity... She’d do anything to add cash to her depleted coffers so she could leave this city as soon as possible.

  A stream of feminine cursing distracted Rowan from her appreciation of the scenery and she turned to see a fifty-something fashion plate slip into a chair at the table next to her. She was fantastically turned out, with styled curly hair, large breasts and long legs in skinny jeans. She wore Audrey Hepburn glasses and a very sulky expression.

  Rowan felt like a garden gnome next to her.

  Rowan took a bite of cheesecake and sighed as the flavours burst onto her tongue. The lady gestured a waiter forward and pushed her sunglasses up into her hair. Fine lines surrounded her light green eyes and Rowan revised the estimate of her age upwards. Maybe closer to sixty, but looking good. She pointed to Rowan’s cup and cheesecake.

  ‘I think she wants the same,’ Rowan told the confused waitress, and smiled when the blonde lifted her thumb.

  ‘What do you mean you’ve made a mistake?’ she shouted into her cell, in a French-accented voice. ‘L’imbécile! I booked the Farmyard on the fourth, and I don’t care if you double-booked with the President himself. Unbook it!’

  Rowan rested her chin in the palm of her hand and didn’t pretend that she wasn’t listening. She was fascinated. What was the Farmyard? A brothel? A nightclub? A restaurant?

  ‘How am I going to explain to my seven-year-old grandson that he can’t have his party there? Are you going to explain?’

  Or a children’s party venue.

  After swearing very comprehensively, in both English and French, at the Farmyard’s representative, she snapped her mobile closed and rested her head on her folded arms.

  Rowan felt her sympathy stirring and leaned over and touched her on the arm. ‘Hey.’

  She might not be able to make emotional connections to places or things but she’d never had a problem talking to anyone, making casual connections that could last a minute, an hour, a day...

  The blonde head lifted, the sunglasses slid down the pert nose and Rowan noticed tears in the dark eyes. ‘What’s the matter? Can I help?’

  The woman shoved her glasses up her nose and sniffed. ‘Only if you can provide a venue for twenty-five kids in ten days’ time, complete with horses and a mini-quadbike track and paintball shooting. And an army tank cake.’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘I booked this exclusive children’s party venue for next Saturday and they double-booked it. I’m going to have to cancel the party and I am going to break my grand-baby’s heart. I’m Annie, by the way.’

  ‘Rowan,’ Rowan replied as her mind started to whirl. She knew of a place that had horses, a paddock suitable to make a mini-quadbike track, and haybales to make up a mock battle field for paintball-shooting. ‘What’s your budget?’

  The Jane Fonda look-alike frowned at her and named a figure.

  Rowan swallowed and wasn’t sure if she’d heard her properly. Who paid that sort of money for a kid’s party? Were these people nuts? He was seven and not the Sultan of Brunei’s kid!

  Rowan stood up, picked up her plate and moved to the blonde’s table. ‘My name is Rowan, but my friends call me Ro...let’s chat.’

  * * *

  When Seb was twenty-two, Patch had told him that he was handing over the family’s property portfolio to Seb to manage and that he was going to open up a company in Simon’s Town, doing sea-kayaking tours.

  Seb hadn’t believed him, but within six months he’d had the added responsibility of managing various warehouses, office blocks and houses around Cape Town, Patch had moved out of Awelfor and into a house in Simon’s Town and had started leading tourist tours showing off Signal Hill, Lions Head and Table Mountain from a sea perspective.

  The company had taken off, and he’d opened a branch in Hermanus, but most days he still went out on the water and led a tour. For Seb, Patch’s Kayak Tours was just across the peninsula, and he often found himself driving to Simon’s Town, running along the promenade and joining his dad for an early-evening paddle.

  Today it had been easy, paddling in the shelter of the harbour, and he’d soon pulled ahead of the group in the open sea, wanting to feel the strain in his arms and his shoulders. Skirting a navy striker ship waiting to dock, he headed south towards the world-famous Boulders Beach as he kept an eye out for whales. He flew past the huge rocks at Boulders, laughing at the penguin colony that stood on the beach contemplating hunting for food, and after a half-hour turned back and caught up with the sluggish tour.

  Seb laughed again as two endangered Black Oyster Catchers pecked at Patch’s hat and with a pithy insult drew abreast with him. He cursed when his mobile jangled in its waterproof jacket. He put it to his ear and ignored Patch’s hiss of displeasure.

  ‘No mobiles on the water, Sebastian!’ Patch said loudly.

  Recognising the number at Awelfor, Seb ignored Patch and quickly answered it. ‘Rowan, what’s wrong?’

  ‘Nothing. Well—um—I need to ask you a favour.’

  Rowan’s voice sounded hesitant and his face cleared. Oh, this should be good. Another favour? She was racking them up!

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘May I hold a function here on Saturday?’

  ‘I thought you were broke! Do you have money to entertain?’

  ‘It’s not entertaining...exactly. I need a place to host a birthday party for some kids and I kind of suggested Awelfor.’

  Seb thought that she had to be joking. ‘You kind of what?’r />
  ‘This lady will pay me a grotesque amount of money to organise a kid’s birthday party and I need a place to make a track for mini-quads and to set up a paintball course.’

  Seb dropped his hand, looked at his phone and shook his head. ‘Are you nuts? I don’t want kids all over my property!’

  ‘You won’t even be here! I saw that notice on the fridge for a trail run you’re doing on Saturday!’ Rowan protested.

  ‘Rowan, you’ve been in the country two days and you’ve already managed to meet someone who can give you a job. How is that possible? And how do you know she’s not a con?’

  ‘Oh, maybe because she’ll pay me sixty per cent of the fee up front,’ Rowan whipped back. ‘Yes or no, Seb? If it’s no I need to go to Plan B.’

  ‘Do you have a Plan B?’ Seb asked, curious. Patch leaned over to yank his mobile out of his hand and he jerked away.

  ‘No, but I will have to find one if you say no. Please don’t say no.’

  ‘Why do I suspect that you’ve already told her that you can host the party at Awelfor?’

  ‘Because I have,’ Rowan said in a small voice. ‘Sorry. But I’ll make another plan if you really mean no.’

  He wasn’t even surprised or, come to think of it, that upset. If anyone else took such liberties with his house and his property he’d have a fit of incredible proportions, but Rowan had been such a part of Awelfor for so long that it wasn’t that much of an intrusion or an imposition. Weird, but true.

  ‘Okay, knock yourself out. However, when you agree to house a shedload of monkeys, or a circus comprising of Eastern European acrobats, run it by me first, okay? Got to go.’ Seb disconnected and shoved his mobile away before Patch could yank it away. He’d lost two mobiles to Patch’s strict rule about ‘disturbing the peace’.

  ‘I’m going to ban you from joining my tours,’ Patch complained.

  ‘Sorry,’ Seb replied, and picked up his paddle again and pulled it through the water.

  They rowed for a while in companionable silence until Patch spoke again.

  ‘So, what’s Ro done this time?’ Patch asked.

  Seb explained and Patch laughed.

  ‘Life certainly has been less...colourful without her presence.’

  ‘But a great deal more sensible.’

  ‘Sensible...pshaw! I had coffee with her this afternoon. It’s lovely to have her home,’ Patch said. ‘I’ve always loved that girl.’

  Seb sent him a measuring look. ‘I know you did when she was a kid, but...’

  Patch pointed out a seal to his group, exchanged some banter with them and turned back to Seb. ‘But?’

  ‘Doesn’t she remind you of...Mum?’

  Patch was silent for a minute and then shook his head. ‘The only commonality between the two is that they both like to travel. No, Seb. Ro is nothing like Laura. Ro would never leave her kids—leave the people she loved and never make contact again.’

  ‘She did for a couple of months,’ Seb pointed out.

  Why was he pushing this? What did he hope his father would say? Yes, she’s exactly like Laura and that he should run as if his tail was on his fire? Would that make his big brain override his little one and cancel out all the X-rated visions he was having about her?

  Patch’s slow, measured words pulled him back into the conversation.

  ‘Everyone seems to have forgotten that Ro sent Callie regular e-mails, asking her to tell Stan and Heidi and us that she was fine. She was a little lost and she was trying to find herself. When she had enough distance from her parents she made contact again. Ro didn’t have it easy at home, Sebastian.’

  ‘They loved her, Dad,’ Seb protested.

  ‘As much as they could. But she needed so much more. She wouldn’t have run if she’d felt loved. They didn’t understand her, and sometimes I think that’s worse. Don’t get me wrong—I like Stan and Heidi—but I think Peter fulfilled all their requirements for a child. Studious, quiet, introverted, brilliant and unemotional. Having to deal with an emotional hurricane like Rowan rocked their world.’

  ‘Maybe. And she is an emotional hurricane.’ And, because he could really talk to his dad, he cursed and muttered. ‘And she’s freakin’ hot.’

  Patch pursed his lips but his eyes danced with mischief. ‘I might date younger women, but I’d never look at my second daughter and think she’s hot. But I can see why my healthy son would think so. He might notice that she’s grown up very well and has a killer bod.’

  Seb twisted his lips. ‘And I have a killer hard-on for her.’

  Patch let out a low, rumbling laugh. ‘Oh, geez, this is not going to end well. Especially since your modus is to bag her, tag her, and send her on her way when you’re done with her. Isn’t that the way you roll?’

  Crude, but true.

  ‘And if you hurt her I’ll kick your ass,’ Patch added.

  Seb rolled his head around in an effort to relieve the knots he’d discovered in his shoulders and neck since Rowan had moved into his life. ‘We have a history. My sister is her best friend. Her parents are important to me. I don’t particularly like her; she’s everything I’d run from in any other woman. Unconventional, free-spirited, slightly eccentric. And I forget all that every time I look at her. All I want to do is—’

  ‘Don’t say it.’ Patch held up his hand and grimaced. ‘Like Callie, I prefer to think of her as untouched and unsullied.’

  ‘Hypocrite.’ Seb laughed and then turned contemplative. ‘I’ve never had such a strong reaction to any woman—ever. So why her and why now?’

  ‘It’s fate bitch-slapping you. It likes to do that.’

  ‘Sucker-punching, more like it.’ Seb picked up his oar and dipped it into the sea. He glanced over to Patch as they easily covered the gap between them and the group. ‘No pithy words of advice?’

  ‘From me? The king of bad decisions pertaining to women? Nah! I’m just going to sit back and enjoy watching you making a fool of yourself over this girl.’

  ‘That’s not going to happen. My brain is still firmly in charge of my junk,’ Seb lied through his teeth.

  Patrick’s deep laugh rippled across the sea. ‘Yeah, you keep telling yourself that, my boy!’

  ‘Thanks for your help,’ Seb said dryly. ‘I’m going to head back. Which bed are you sleeping in tonight?’

  ‘The cottage, since crazy Miranda changed the locks on my house.’ Patch shrugged. ‘I’m really going to have to do something about her soon.’

  ‘You think?’ Seb did a quick turn, slapped Patch’s hand and started to paddle away. His dad’s soft words had him looking back.

  ‘Is she okay? Your mum? I know that you...check up on her now and again.’

  Seb blew out his breath. ‘As far as I can tell, Dad.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘South America.’

  Patch suddenly looked every one of his sixty-plus years. ‘Ro’s not like Laura, Seb. She’s kinder, smarter, less self-involved.’ Patch dipped his paddle into the water and launched a stream of water into Seb’s face. ‘Go on—get out of here.’

  FIVE

  When he walked into his kitchen forty minutes later—sweat-slicked and puffing—and saw Rowan bending over the kitchen sink, eating a juicy peach, he knew that Patch was right about his brain not being in control.

  In fact it pretty much dissolved as he watched her from outside the door. Juice dripped down her chin and down her toned, tanned arms. She’d pulled her hair up into a messy knot and wore a lumo-purple bikini, the bottom half of which was covered by a thin multi-coloured wrap. Thanks to the afternoon sun pouring into the kitchen he could see the outline of her legs beneath the wrap, the shape of her hips, the rounded perfection of her butt. Sunlight on her back illuminated her spine, the soft skin between her jaw and neck, the s
lope of her thin shoulders.

  Unaware that he stood there, she groaned as she bit into the peach again and more juice dripped.

  He didn’t—couldn’t—think. His feet moved of their own accord, his hand whipped out to grab her hips and spin her around, and his mouth slammed onto hers. Peach juice, warm and sweet, thundered over his tongue, quickly followed by the taste of Rowan, as sweet and a hundred times spicier. He thought he heard—felt?—her squeak of surprise, but he didn’t care; all he needed was to taste her, to feel her breasts flattened against his chest, her pelvis lifting into his to ride his erection.

  Seb hooked his hand around her thigh and yanked her leg upwards, mentally cursed when her thigh encountered the barrier of her wrap. Without leaving her mouth—how could he?—he dropped his hands and fumbled at the loose knot at her hips. He needed to feel her, taste her, consume her... This was madness and fiercely unstoppable.

  Unable to undo the knot, he pushed his thumbs between the fabric and her hips and shimmied it down so that it fell into a rainbow at her feet. Plastering his hands on her back, on her butt, he yanked her even closer until he doubted they could slip a piece of paper between them.

  And, miracle of miracles, she was as into the kiss as he was. Little nips here. A long slide of her tongue there. Small hands were exploring his bare chest, down his ribcage, over his obliques and around to his back. She linked her arms around his neck and he was dimly aware that she still held the half-eaten peach in her hand, the juice from which was dripping down his back.

  She could lick it off... She could lick anywhere she wanted to. Hopefully the thought would occur to her...

  * * *

  It was like being caught up in a hot, sexy, whippy storm, Rowan thought. One moment she’d had a peach in her hands and mouth, the next moment they were filled with a hard, sweaty, sexy man.

  With the peach still in her hand she made a sticky path of juice across his shoulder, down his pec and over a flat nipple, lightly covered in blond hair. Dropping her head, she watched a bead of juice hit that nubby surface and shot her tongue out and licked it up, sighing as she tasted the saltiness of his skin, felt his muscles contract under her tongue.