1-900-Lover

by Rhonda Nelson

  He gave her a commiserating nod, then his gaze sharpened. “So you aren’t seeing anyone, then?”

  Little late to be asking her that, Rowan thought, considering only minutes ago she’d been practically humping him against the door frame—a hot tingle vibrated her belly at the mere thought—but she found herself immensely flattered all the same. She’d detected a hopeful note in his decadent voice, one that made her toes curl in her shoes.

  She shook her head and decided a little plain speaking was in order. “No. If I was, I wouldn’t have kissed you. What about you?” she asked pointedly, turning the question around on him. “Are you seeing anyone?”

  Her bluntness paid off. She watched a glimmer of respect twinkle in those honey eyes, and something else, something just beyond her understanding. His expression wavered between admiration and uncertainty, and a slow smile edged up his lips. “No, I’m not. If I was, I wouldn’t have kissed you.”

  She nodded, inordinately pleased, and barely resisted the ballooning urge to bounce on the balls of her feet. For whatever reason, she got the distinct impression that they’d just cleared some sort of imaginary hurdle, stood on the precipice of something new and exciting, slightly terrifying, potentially wonderful.

  New romance, she realized with a delighted start. And she hadn’t agonized over making the leap.

  In fact, she’d done it already—right into his arms.

  8

  WILL SAT ON his front porch steps and watched Rowan’s taillights disappear into the darkness. Sheesh, he thought as he passed a hand wearily over his face.

  He was pathetic.

  Completely pathetic.

  There were a half-dozen things that required his immediate attention, and rather than briskly tending to them as he normally would, he’d parked himself on the porch—in the dark, no less—to mope over Rowan’s premature departure.

  In truth, there was nothing premature about it—they’d been working for hours. It was late. She’d needed to go home. Were he capable of being logical, he’d understand that. Regrettably, the logical part of his brain—the part that ordinarily maintained control—had been short-circuited by single-minded selfishness and a virulent, almost debilitating case of lust.

  In fact, Will thought, still unreasonably annoyed, if it had been up to him she wouldn’t have left at all. She’d still be seated at his dining room table, poring over designs and catalogues, enthusiastically talking about her plan for Doris’s yard in that erotic almost-whisper of hers that made his scalp prickle and his dick strain against his zipper.

  She’d be laughing with him, sharing anecdotes and gardening tips. She’d be keeping him company, making this big old house feel a little smaller, a little warmer simply because she was in it. And though he knew it was the most ridiculous thing in the world and it galled him no end because it demonstrated a lamentable lack of control, he found himself curiously reluctant to go back inside, into his own damned house. Why? Because she wasn’t there, and he instinctively knew he’d feel the absence more keenly.

  How screwed up was that?

  Hell, he’d dated. He’d even had the occasional overnight lover, though quite honestly he’d never been completely comfortable sharing his bed after sex. Ironically, it felt too intimate, too personal. There was a vulnerability in sleep that required a certain level of trust.

  He’d made the mistake of trusting someone once and the outcome had been ruinous.

  Naturally, Will knew that it was unfair to paint every woman with the same rotten brush, but his confidence had been badly shaken. He grimaced. Not being able to trust a significant other was disturbing, but not being able to trust your own judgment was considerably worse. He watched a moth flutter around his porch light and absorbed the truth of that statement.

  But despite his hang-ups and reservations, Will instinctively knew that he could trust Rowan. He didn’t know where the knowledge came from—call it intuition, ESP, whatever—but after less than twenty-four hours in her company, he knew it with a certainty that defied reason and trumped doubt.

  From the moment he’d heard her voice—just her damned voice—he’d been instantly enchanted. He’d been drawn to her in a way that defied explanation, and every second up until this very minute had reinforced that initial reaction.

  Then he’d kissed her and, for all intents and purposes, his world had tilted on its axis, the sky had fallen and time had stood still.

  A residual quake shimmied through him at the mere memory, forcing him to expel a shaky breath. Heat stirred in his loins and his fingers involuntarily flexed against his palms.

  To be honest, Will had been secretly delighted when she’d tripped—it had given him a reason to touch her—and, though he’d fully intended to kiss her tonight, he hadn’t planned on making his move until after their initial work on Doris’s design had been finished. Though she had to know that he was attracted to her—she was damned perceptive, after all—he hadn’t wanted to seem too transparent, too eager or, God forbid, too needy.

  But the moment he’d touched her any preconceived notions of propriety or neediness had fled instantly from his head, burned away by a shock of heat so intense he’d almost staggered from the voltage. The feel of her body pressed against his had been painfully sweet, sinfully erotic…inexplicably right. He’d gone from semiaroused to rock-hard in a nanosecond, then she’d turned her head and… Will expelled a long breath.

  And he’d been lost.

  One look into those gorgeous green eyes—honestly, he’d never seen a shade as compelling as hers—and he’d lost the battle. They were true green, the bright, hopeful color of a new leaf, and that hue coupled with that rueful embarrassment and her wobbly smile had positively sent him over the edge. He’d watched heat chase away her humiliation, then her gaze had dropped to his lips and, lowering his head—finding her mouth—at that moment had seemed as necessary as breathing.

  Now, perversely, he felt like he’d suffocate if he couldn’t do it again.

  Kissing her had been the closest thing to a spiritual experience Will had ever had. Every hair on his body had stood on end, his pulse had tripped, his breathing had gone shallow, and a curious roaring had commenced in his head. She’d tasted like peppermint and fresh peaches, like a sweet rain after a long drought. He swallowed. Like hope, a kept promise, an unexpected gift.

  Her lush frame had molded to his effortlessly, as though her body had been specifically tailored and designed to fit his. Will had never believed in “perfect.” Like love, it was a word that had been thrown about and overused until the meaning had been diluted, bastardized. Until today, he’d never experienced anything even remotely close to what the true meaning of the word implied…but there was simply no other way to describe the way she’d felt in his arms, the way she’d tasted against his tongue.

  That had been flawless.

  He wanted her with an intensity that was frightening. Missed her, dammit, of all things, and she’d barely been gone twenty minutes. If he felt this strongly now, just what the hell would happen to him after he took her to bed? It was too disturbing to think about, so he firmly closed the door on that line of thinking—as a guy, he was wholeheartedly opposed to thinking/talking about feelings—and instead concentrated on a much more pleasant notion—planting himself between her thighs. Will grinned.

  If kissing her turned him inside out, then plunging into her tight, wet heat would undoubtedly rock his world, and God, how he looked forward to the quake.

  Tasting her mouth had only been an appetizer, a prelude to the grand event. He couldn’t wait to sample her breasts, to feel those tight buds which had raked across his chest this afternoon pebbled against his tongue, flattened against the roof of his mouth. Couldn’t wait to slip his fingers between her thighs, then his tongue, and sample the sweet nectar hidden in that secret valley.

  A painful ache built in his loins and his breath hissed out between his clenched teeth.

  God, he wanted her.

  Right n
ow.

  Will didn’t know where the idea came from, what maggot had taken hold of his brain, but before he could question what he was doing, he strode into the house and dialed her number. Since he’d acted without thinking, he was at a complete loss when she answered the phone.

  He squeezed his eyes tightly shut and swore under his breath. “Er…Rowan.” Brilliant. Just freakin’ brilliant. He sounded like a complete moron. What in God’s name had possessed him to call her?

  “Will?” she asked uncertainly.

  He plopped into his recliner and racked his brain for any plausible reason as to why he’d be calling her when she’d just left his house a few minutes ago. What the hell could be so important that it couldn’t wait until tomorrow morning, when he’d see her again?

  They had to meet with Doris for design approval—and this time he planned to get something in writing so that she couldn’t change her mind again—then, once she signed off, they planned to mock the hardscape into scale so that the next phase could begin.

  “I, uh…” I’m so friggin’ pathetic that I just wanted to hear the sound of your voice. “I forgot to ask,” he said, conjuring a brittle laugh. “Who’s picking who up in the morning?”

  She hesitated, clearly baffled because they’d gone over that right before she’d left. “Er…you’re picking me up.”

  He rested his elbows on his knees, rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Right. That’s what I thought.”

  This was ignorant. He needed to just lay it all on the line.

  Will slouched back into his chair, blew out an exasperated breath. “Look, I knew that. That’s not the reason I called. To be honest, I have no idea why I called. I just—” He paused, searching the quagmire of his brain for the right words. “I just really enjoyed tonight, more than I’ve enjoyed anything in a long time, and I— I wasn’t ready for it to be over. Can you talk for a while? Do you want to talk for a while?” Christ, did he really have to sound so damned desperate?

  Several nerve-racking seconds ticked by before she responded, and when she did, her voice held a warm but strangled quality. “Sure, I’d love to. But would you mind if I called you back in a few minutes? I’ve got a couple of things I need to take care of first.”

  Will breathed a small sigh of relief. “Sure. Just give me a call back when you’re ready. I’ll, uh…” He cleared his throat. “I’ll be waiting.”

  ROWAN DISCONNECTED. A slow smile rolled around her lips and the tingly feeling of joy she’d carried home with her tonight multiplied until a giddy burst of laughter bubbled up her throat and she did a little happy Lord of the Dance jig around her living room.

  Okay, okay, okay. She stopped, pulled in a deep calming breath and tried to act like a rational adult.

  The problem was she didn’t feel like a rational adult. Rational adults didn’t skip around their living room simply because a guy had called and said he’d had a good time with her. Rational adults didn’t smile like a donkey with a mouthful of briers for no particular reason, and rational adults didn’t absently chew on the phone antenna to keep from squealing with delight.

  Rowan knew to an uninformed bystander, she’d look like a schizophrenic who’d just gone off her meds, but there was one person who would understand how she felt right now and that person had left a message on her machine, and was the sole reason why she’d insisted on calling Will back instead of continuing to talk to him—Alexa.

  She toed her shoes off, hit speed dial and, while she waited for Alexa to pick up, she made her way to the back of the house to change clothes.

  “Well?” Alexa demanded when she answered. “How did it go?”

  Rowan shimmied out of her shorts. “It was fantastic,” she said, drawing each word out for maximum impact.

  Alexa squealed. “I knew it, I knew it. I had a feeling about this guy. Tell me everything. Start at the beginning and don’t leave anything out.”

  Rowan kicked her shorts aside, then rummaged through a drawer until she found a nightgown. “Hold on a minute.” She tossed the phone onto the bed, shed her shirt and bra, then quickly tugged the nightie over her head. It settled coolly over her skin.

  Ah. Much better.

  She didn’t know what sadistic mind had invented the bra, but she’d be willing to bet the damned torture device had been a man’s idea.

  Rowan snagged the phone once more. “Okay. I’m back.”

  “What the hell were you doing?”

  “Changing clothes.”

  “So?” she asked meaningfully. “What happened?”

  “I’ve only got a minute—he’s called and I’ve got to call him back—so I’ll have to give you the abbreviated version.”

  An exasperated huff sounded in her ear. “Fine. I’ll just ask a couple of questions, then. One…did he kiss you?”

  Rowan melted onto the side of her bed. Oh, God had he ever. “Yes, he did.”

  Alexa whooped into her ear. “Okay,” she said with a delighted laugh, “the sound of your voice answered question number two, so I get another one. Did he at any time ask or imply that he’d like to drive the car?”

  A flutter of warmth tingled beneath her breast. “No, he did not.” He’d complimented the car, her handling of it, specifically, then he’d stretched those gorgeous legs out in front of him, simply sat back and enjoyed the ride.

  “Well, there you go,” Alexa said matter-of-factly. “We’ve got a winner.”

  Rowan silently agreed. Especially if tonight were to be any sort of indicator. Everything about this evening had been absolutely wonderful. From the moment she’d picked him up, to that scorching, belly-clenching good-night kiss, and every second in between, the entire night had been beyond fantastic.

  Finding the strength to get into her car, when she knew that he’d wanted her to stay—and more importantly that she’d wanted to stay—had been one of the most difficult things Rowan had ever done. Even now, she couldn’t say precisely why she knew it would be best to leave, but she’d known it all the same, and since her disastrous engagement, she’d never been one to ignore her instincts.

  Physically, she was ready. She barely suppressed a snort. Couldn’t be any more ready. Was beyond ready. Mentally, though, for whatever reason, she simply hadn’t arrived. But it was only a matter of time, and a short one at that. She knew it, could feel it.

  I’ll be waiting.

  A shiver went through her, remembering the heat in that curiously vulnerable, sweetly poignant murmur. Three little words, and yet more meaning and promise lurked in that simple succinct phrase than she could have imagined.

  Shit, she thought with a mental duh. He was waiting.

  She scrambled from the bed, quickly related this to Alexa, and promised to call her tomorrow with more details.

  “Wait! Wait!” Alexa shrieked before Rowan could hang up.”

  She hesitated, slightly perturbed. “What?”

  “Don’t forget to turn off your 1-900-line,” she advised sagely.

  Oh, hell, Rowan thought. That could have been a disaster. “Right, thanks.”

  “I mean, you’d hate to have your phone sex line ring and interrupt your ph-phone sex.” Alexa giggled maddeningly. “That would be tragically ironic, wouldn’t it?”

  “You’re twisted,” Rowan scoffed, even as a wriggle of something slightly wicked tripped up her spine. Her belly trembled, but not with fear. With anticipation. “Who said anything about having phone sex?”

  “Nobody has to…but you can kiss your cherry goodbye, Virgin-Girl, and my money’s on tonight.”

  “We’re just going to talk.” A token protest, she knew, but one she felt compelled to make anyway. Quite frankly, after that wonderful kiss, almost orgasm, then fantastic dinner where, despite the fact that they’d gotten their work done, every word had resonated with sexual innuendo, Rowan was ready for a little sexy wordplay. To hell with being embarrassed. She was too damned hot.

  “Yeah, right. About having sex—”

  Rowan rolled her eyes
. “Shut up.”

  “—with each other.”

  Rowan grinned. Alexa was incorrigible. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  As Alexa had so fortuitously pointed out, Rowan booted it to the living room and turned off the ringer on her 1-900-line. She normally tried to keep the same hours—the majority of her clientele were repeat callers—but tonight they’d simply have to do without her. She’d take a B-12 vitamin, and make up the time once she and Will were finished with their…conversation.

  Quite honestly, in light of what she’d make from the landscaping job, Rowan had been seriously tempted to disconnect her 900-line—that job alone would float her through until her teaching contract was renewed—but then she’d imagined the big goose egg in her savings account and the balance on her student loan debt, and practicality had won out. She made a moue of disappointment. Given her recent financial straits, she couldn’t justify cutting off any income. It simply wasn’t prudent.

  So, while she had the opportunity, she’d decided that she’d be better off to net as much money as she possibly could so that if, God forbid, she ever found herself unemployed again, she wouldn’t end up in the lamentable shape she’d been in this time. She’d narrowly missed having to ask her parents for help, and quite honestly, she’d rather be eviscerated with a rusty blade.

  Unlike her brother, she would not be a source of disappointment.

  She would take care of herself.

  And if phone sex was what it took, then so be it.

  And speaking of phone sex…she needed to call Will back. As for whether or not Alexa’s prediction would come true, Rowan couldn’t say. Her belly vibrated with anticipation at the mere thought and her feminine muscles clenched, forcing her breath through her lips in a shaky, nervous hiss.

  But curiously, what had literally scared the be-jesus out of her yesterday didn’t seem frightening now and she suspected the antidote had been administered during that inferno kiss this afternoon. Mama mia, Rowan thought as remembered heat licked her nipples. Hell, who had time to be nervous? She was too damned horny.