by Joss Wood
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.
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 t
he 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 re
al.
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.’