1-900-Lover Page 7

  Well, that did suck, Rowan thought with a commiserating frown. “So what makes you so sure that she’s going to like my garden?” Honestly, if the woman was that hard to please, why did he think she’d like her work? she wondered. Why was he so sure?

  “Oh, you’ll see when you meet her,” he readily assured her. “She’s a character. Trust me. Your style is right up her alley.”

  Rowan scowled at the receiver, unable to decide if she should be insulted or flattered. Evidently her lack of response conveyed that message because he quickly moved to fill the yawning silence.

  “Damn. That didn’t come out precisely right. What I meant is that I think that she’ll like your…unconventional approach to landscaping.”

  Mollified, Rowan felt her lips twitch. “Is that a PC way of telling me that you think my approach to gardening is weird?”

  “Nah, not weird.” Humor laced his sexy baritone. “Weird has a negative connotation.”

  Rowan detected the distinct hiss of a bottle being opened, then the muted gulp of a swallow. She found the sound curiously erotic and, to her immeasurable surprise, a flame of heat licked her nipples.

  “Unique works,” he told her. “Whimsical works better. It’s ordered pandemonium, which is completely different to anything I design, by the way, and,” he sighed, “is most likely the problem with Doris.”

  She’d just bet it was different. Though she’d just met him, she could just imagine what he’d design. Lots of symmetrical gardens, regimented lines, plants marching at attention rather than growing at will. Not that there was anything wrong with that, Rowan thought, but it hardly appealed to her.

  “Honestly,” he continued, “I was impressed. Particularly with your antique roses. Those are a passion of mine as well.”

  This guy just got better and better, Rowan decided as an unexpected warmth moved through her chest. Well, hell, she thought. He made her warm everywhere else—her chest might as well be infected as well.

  She shifted into a more comfortable position and filled her spoon again. “Thanks. I wish that I could take credit for them, but I got them from my mom.” She told him about her globe-trotting parents. Rowan chuckled. “She doesn’t know it yet, but she’s not getting them back.”

  “Hey, I know what you mean. I’ve got a Cornelia that I nursed for my grandfather that he’s not getting back either.”

  A Cornelia, Rowan thought, equally awed and impressed. She stilled as something more than sexual attraction, something cerebral went to work on her. So it wasn’t just lip service. He really did have a thing for antique roses. Another sparkler of delight ignited in her chest. “I’m envious. I may have to beg a cutting from you.”

  A deep, sexy chuckle seduced her ear. “Certainly, but only if you’re willing to share.”

  The distinctive ring of her 900-line sounded, interrupting the easy flow of their conversation, and it belatedly occurred to Rowan that she should have turned it off, or at the very least down, before she called him. She mentally swore, then smothered a disappointed sigh as a taut silence suddenly hummed between them, a stark contrast to the lively conversation they’d shared just seconds ago.

  “Duty calls, eh?” he said. She detected a gratifying hint of disappointment in his voice as well, and something else. Something not easily read. Irritation, maybe?

  “You could say that,” Rowan replied. The 900-line shrieked again, an insistent reminder that she really needed to let him go. She took a deep breath and strove for a brisk tone. “So I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

  “Yeah. Before noon.”

  “Great. Well…good night.”

  He barely hesitated, but she felt it all the same. His voice, when he finally spoke, was soft and husky and it made a shiver run through her. “Good night, Rowan.”

  “YOU WERE RIGHT, Will,” Doris told him as she gazed in apparent rapture around Rowan’s garden. “I love it. I absolutely love it. Why, I wouldn’t be surprised if a flower fairy suddenly flitted through the air. It’s…enchanting,” she sighed. “Mystical.”

  He loved being right, Will thought as he struggled to suppress a smug smile. From the knowing little quirk of Rowan’s lips, she’d apparently made that deduction herself. Was he that transparent? he wondered, or did she simply have a keen sense of perception where he was concerned? For reasons he couldn’t explain, he got the distinct impression the latter was true. And, astonishingly, he found it singularly…arousing. If she carried that same intuition into the bedroom, he’d be—

  “This is definitely what I want,” Doris continued, thankfully interrupting him before he could take that thought any further and embarrass himself. “And I’d really love some of those whirly-things, and the stained glass ornaments.” She shot Rowan an anxious look. “You can make me some, right?” Doris asked. “They’re fabo. Divine. I absolutely must have some.”

  “I can,” Rowan told her with a quick nod. “Or you’re welcome to go through my garage—” She gestured to a building snugged against the back of the property. “—and see if there’s anything in there that you like.” She chuckled softly. “I’ve got tons of stuff in there.”

  Doris’s pencil thin brows rose in anticipation. “Oh. Would you mind if I…” She left the rest of the sentence unsaid, but leaned expectantly in the direction of the garage.

  Rowan shook her head. “No, not at all. Be my guest. The light’s on. I’ve been out there already this morning.”

  Will resisted the increasing urge to rock back on his heels. The morning was shaping up quite nicely. Doris liked Rowan’s work, which meant a) he’d finally heave that albatross from around his neck, and b) he was guaranteed a minimum of two weeks in relatively close quarters with Rowan. Two weeks to explore this bizarre connection, this phenomenal attraction, to listen to that ultrasexy voice.

  Talking on the phone had never been one of Will’s favorite pastimes. In fact, he typically hated it. It was a way to expedite information, to increase productivity, to relay pertinent details. Even as a teen, Will hadn’t been interested in spending hours on the phone like his other counterparts. Hell, he’d had friends who’d kept the lines tied up for hours at a time simply listening to each other breathe. It had baffled him then, and baffled him now.

  But a funny thing had happened to him last night—he’d enjoyed talking to Rowan. It wasn’t just the sound of her voice—though God knows that sweet, sultry nonwhisper did it for him—or the fact that he’d needed to talk to her about Doris—he’d simply liked talking to her. It had been easy, effortless, and he thought darkly, he could have undoubtedly continued to talk to her until the wee hours of the morning if it hadn’t been for her friggin’ 900-line.

  It was unreasonable, irrational and all those other adjectives which pertained to his asinine reaction, but Will couldn’t seem to help himself. When he’d heard that other line ring, his lips had actually peeled away from his teeth, and every muscle in his body had tensed with equal amounts of irritation and dread.

  His response had been swift, irrational and—most disturbingly—telling.

  Reason told him that he shouldn’t care about what she did, or even who she did it with, for that matter. He barely knew her. Had just met her, dammit. What could it possibly be to him? Logically, he knew that he shouldn’t give a damn about what she did on her own time. But there was nothing logical about the way he felt. Nothing logical about the instantaneous attraction he’d felt for her, the keen, almost obsessive fascination.

  And curiously, even knowing that she merely talked guys through phone sex—he’d seen her yesterday, and knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she hadn’t gotten one iota of sexual gratification from that conversation with Roy. She’d been weeding, of all things. Even knowing that, Will still hated the idea of her talking—that way—to another guy. It made his brain cramp. Stupid? Ridiculous? Unreasonable? Definitely. But he couldn’t help it.

  Thankfully this morning when he and Doris had arrived, he’d noticed, among other things—like the way he
r shorts hugged her curves, the healthy tan on her slim shoulders, and that ever-present twinkle in those gorgeous green eyes—that the phone and accompanying headset were gone.

  Will had breathed a silent sigh of relief and had concluded that, after having a chance to think about his offer and the resulting wage, she’d evidently decided to end her career as a phone sex operator. He couldn’t know for sure, of course, but it only stood to reason.

  She’d been wearing it yesterday.

  She wasn’t today.

  Ergo, she’d quit.

  You could drive a truck through the hole in that shaky self-serving deduction, but until he had proof otherwise, he fully planned to delude himself. It was better for his peace of mind.

  And the fact that he had to—or was willing to—resort to such tactics absolutely annoyed the hell out of him. It smacked of jealousy—unwarranted, at that—and he knew from personal experience that that hideous emotion could make a man completely lose control. He swallowed a bitter laugh. His unfaithful ex had been a queen manipulator and the number one tool in her secret bag of tricks had been the green-eyed monster.

  To his immeasurable regret, he’d let her drag him around by the short hairs for months. Will was embarrassed to admit how many times she’d made a fool of him, and even more embarrassed to admit how long it had taken him to see her for what she really was—a faithless, self-centered bitch.

  Never again, he’d decided.

  His gaze slid to Rowan. And yet here he was, infatuated to the point of near obsession. This woman had completely monopolized his thoughts since meeting her yesterday. Yet despite the fact that she was a phone sex operator, of all things, and despite the fact that he barely knew her, somehow Will instinctively knew that she had character.

  He saw truth in the determined line of her jaw, sincerity in those frank green eyes and just the smallest hint of vulnerability in her dainty chin. Add hot and sexy, smart and funny to the mix and, well…she became particularly irresistible. He studied the delicate slope of her cheek, the lush curve of her bottom lip and felt a bolt of heat incinerate his groin.

  He wanted her.

  Another disconcerting realization, but he hadn’t truly wanted anyone in a long time. Wanted sex? Hell, yeah. He was a man. What man didn’t eat, breathe and live for the opportunity of getting laid? Just because he’d bowed out of the dating scene didn’t mean that he’d abstained. Getting laid, quite frankly, was easy.

  Finding a woman that he really wanted, however, was a rarity.

  Rowan’s gaze swung back to him. Her absolute beauty sucker-punched him once more, and that curious electrical current again raced up his spine.

  She smiled and released a small breath. “You’re right. She’s definitely a character.”

  “I was relatively certain that she’d like your work,” Will replied, swallowing the immediate I-told-you-so that had leaped instantly to his lips.

  Perceptive humor lit her gaze. She smiled, crossed her arms over her chest, inadvertently forming an impressive view of her cleavage. “Go ahead and say it,” she told him. “I know you want to.”

  “Want to what?” he asked innocently.

  “Say, ‘I told you so.’” She laughed. “It’s practically eating you up, isn’t it?”

  “Not eating me up, no,” Will qualified. His gaze slid to hers. “However, I told you she would like it,” he improvised, unable to help himself.

  Another sexy chuckle bubbled up her throat. “And you were right. Modesty isn’t something that comes easy to you, is it?”

  Will laughed. “Not really, no,” he admitted with a sheepish grin. “What can I say? I enjoy being right.”

  “Really,” Rowan returned drolly. “I’d barely noticed.” She gave him another one of those considering looks, the kind that made him feel like she’d just peeked right into his head. “Why do I get the feeling that being wrong isn’t something that happens to you often?”

  Will grinned, shoved his hands into his pockets. “Because you’re insightful?”

  Her delighted laugh made his chest inexplicably swell. “Now that’s an interesting compliment,” she chuckled.

  Will poked his tongue into his cheek. “Thanks. I try.”

  “I’m sure you do.” Her laughter petered out into a soft sigh. “So she likes it. What happens next?”

  Ah, the good part, Will thought. “I’ve got a couple of things that I have to take care of today, but I was hoping that we could use this afternoon to cover some preliminary ground. I thought I could swing by and get you later, then we’d head over to Doris’s so that you can get a feel for the size and scope of what you’re going to be working on.” He covered a nervous sigh with a small cough. “Then, we could either come back here, go to my office…or to my house and get started on the initial layout. We’ll need to put in at least a couple of hours, if not more, just so I can go ahead and get a materials list.” He blew out a breath. “How does that sound to you?”

  “Er… How about I swing by and pick you up,” she suggested. “Then we’ll check out Doris’s, and then we can either go to your house or your office, whichever has the best delivery options.” She quirked a brow. “I’m assuming we’ll be working through dinner?”

  Will laughed. “You’re right, we will. Actually, the options are about the same, but we’d probably be more comfortable at my house.” Will made a mental note to try and get home early enough to straighten up. She wouldn’t be able to find so much as a weed or an uneven blade of grass on his lawn, but unfortunately, he’d never carried that attention to detail into his house. He had a cleaning service come in a couple of times a month, but they weren’t due until the end of the week. He inwardly winced. Which meant things were particularly messy.

  She nodded. “That sounds fine to me. Just give me a call when you’re ready.”

  Will cast a significant glance at her car parked in the drive and smiled. “Are you going to pick me up in that?”

  “No, I thought I’d give you a piggyback ride,” she deadpanned, causing a startled chuckle to break up in his throat. She laughed at his frozen expression. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be a smart-ass. Yes, I’m picking you up in that.”

  Oh, but she did mean to be a smart-ass, Will thought, instantly intrigued as he thoughtfully considered her. For reasons which escaped him, he got the distinct impression that the car was a bone of contention. He didn’t know why, but he knew it all the same. “Good,” he returned smoothly. “Then I’ll look forward to the ride. I bet she’s a smooth one.” He arched a brow. “It’s a ’62, right?”

  She nodded. “Yep.”

  “I thought so.” He hummed thoughtfully, continued to study the vintage vehicle. Honestly, the car was every man’s wet dream and, he thought with a covert look at the woman beside him, her behind the wheel made it a double pleasure. “A 327 V-eight?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Well, it’s gorgeous.”

  “Thanks.”

  Will’s senses went on heightened alert. Her posture hadn’t changed, and she sounded friendly enough, but clearly talking about the car hit some sort of nerve and, though he didn’t know where the idea came from, he felt like he’d inadvertently stumbled into some sort of test. What? he wondered. Did she expect him to ask to drive? He suppressed a snort. Like he didn’t know better.

  That Vette was not the sort of vehicle a person asked to drive.

  It was disrespectful, not to mention presumptuous, rude and tacky. Had that been why she’d insisted on picking him up? Will wondered now. Or did she merely like to be the one behind the wheel, to literally be in the driver’s seat?

  He didn’t know, but he found himself grimly determined to find out. To solve this little mystery as well. Only one of many concerning Rowan Crosswhite, his principled phone sex operator, he thought with a bemused smile.

  His gaze slid to her once more—to her mouth, specifically—and a pulse of heat throbbed in his loins. His mouth parched and his scalp literally prickled with aw
areness. His palms itched and a sluggish sort of heat wound through his limbs. Need landed another direct hit below his navel and another curious emotion, one not easily read, landed an equally daunting hit in his chest.

  Luckily, he could start looking for clues tonight.

  7

  WILL FOSTER was gorgeous under ordinary circumstances. Will Foster kicked back in her passenger seat—tawny hair blowing in the breeze, slick silver shades over those gorgeous brown eyes, and his long, muscled legs stretched out in front of him—was simply breathtaking.

  Since picking him up a little over an hour ago, Rowan had been startlingly aware of him. Every hair on her body had stood on end, a funky quiver had vibrated her belly, and her palms had tingled to the point she’d had to tighten her hands on the wheel to keep from slipping one over his taut thigh.

  He hadn’t had time to change—in fact, she had the sneaking suspicion that she’d barely beaten him home. She’d caught him shoving an armful of dirty clothes into his kitchen pantry, an act she found stupidly endearing. But he still looked fantastic all the same. Wonderful. Yummy. Delicious.

  She’d only been in his house for a moment—the kitchen specifically—but a mere sixty seconds had been enough for her to realize that he didn’t concern himself with the finer points of domestication. There were no pictures on the walls, no sentimental bric-a-brac littered about the counter—not so much as a cookie jar—and, horror of horrors, she thought with a small smile, no magnets on his refrigerator.

  But despite the glaring lack of decor, the old farmhouse retained a comforting sense of warmth, a cozy ambiance that made her honey-I’m-home fantasy—the one she normally ignored—zoom into Technicolor focus. She could easily see herself in his kitchen, making his house hers and it had absolutely frightened the hell out of her. In a blink of her mind’s eye, she’d instantly redecorated the entire room in cobalt blue, pale yellow, red and green. Blue willow and strawberries, toile fabrics and the like. She’d been so caught up in her mental musings that, embarrassingly, it had taken a significant cough from Will to startle her toward the door.