really tall, curly blond hair that he grew long and pulled back into a bushy tail with a leather thong, and that ultra-stupid soul patch.
Yet he’d still turned female heads. Something about him had always caught their attention. It was not only his good looks—and, while she wished otherwise, she had to admit that even at his most geeky he was a good-looking SOB—he had that I-prefer-my-own-company vibe that had woman salivating.
Live next door to him and see how you like him then, Rowan had always wanted to yell. He’s bossy and rude, patronising and supercilious, and frequently makes me want to poke him with a stick.
Rowan draped her leg over her knee and turned her head at deep-throated male laughter. Behind her a group of guys stood in a rough circle and she caught the eye of the best-looking of the bunch, who radiated confidence.
Mmm. Cute.
‘Hey,’ Good-looking said, in full flirt mode. ‘New in town?’
I’m tired, sweaty, grumpy and I suspect that I may be way too old for you.
‘Sort of.’
Good-looking looked from her to the waiter standing next to him. ‘Can I buy you a drink? What would you like?’
A hundred pounds would be useful, Rowan thought. Two hundred would be better...
‘Thanks. A glass of white wine? Anything dry,’ she responded. Why not? If he wanted to buy her a drink, she could live with it. Besides, she badly needed the restorative powers of fermented grape juice.
He turned, placed the order with the waiter, and when Rowan looked again she saw that he wasn’t quite so young, not quite so cocky. Tall, dark and handsome. And, since she was bored waiting for Seb, she might as well have a quick flirt. Nothing picked a girl up and out of the doldrums quicker than a little conversation with a man with appreciation in his eyes.
She thought flirting was a fine way to pass the time...
Rowan pushed a hand through her hair and looked at the luggage at their feet. ‘Sports tour? Hmm, let me guess...rugby?’ Rowan pointed to the bags on the floor with their identical logos. ‘Under twenty-one rugby sevens tournament?’
‘Ah... They are under twenty-one...I’m not.’
Rowan smiled slowly. ‘Me neither. I’m Rowan.’
She was about to put her hand out for him to shake when a voice spoke from behind her.
‘Isn’t it about time you used your powers for good instead of evil?’
Rowan closed her eyes as the words, words not fit to speak aloud, jumped into her head. Knowing that she couldn’t keep her eyes shut for ever, she took a deep breath and slowly turned around.
He was leaning against the stone pillar directly behind her, those dark blue eyes cool. His lower jaw was covered in golden stubble and his mouth was knife-blade-thin.
That hadn’t changed.
A lot else had. She squinted... Tall, blond, built. Broad shoulders, slim hips and long, long legs. He was a big slab of muscled male flesh. When his mouth pulled up ever so slightly at the corners she felt a slow, seductive throb deep in her womb... Oh, dear. Was that lust? It couldn’t be lust. That was crazy. It had just been a long trip, and she hadn’t eaten much, and she was feeling a little light-headed... It was life catching up with her.
Mr Good-looking was quickly forgotten as she looked at Seb. She’d known a lot of good-looking men, and some devastatingly handsome men, but pure lust had never affected her before... Was that why her blood was chasing her heart around her body? Where had the saliva in her mouth disappeared to? And—oh, dear—why was her heart now between her legs and pulsing madly?
Rowan pushed a long curl out of her eyes and, unable to meet his eyes just yet, stared at his broad chest. Her gaze travelled down his faded jeans to his expensive trainers. Pathetic creature to get hot and flustered over someone she’d never even liked.
Hoo, boy. Was that a hint of ink she saw on the bicep of his right arm under his T-shirt? No way! Conservative Seb? Geeky Seb?
Except that geeky Seb had been replaced by hunky Seb, who made her think of cool sheets and hot male skin under her hands... This Seb made her think of passion-filled nights and naughty afternoon sex. Of lust, heat and attraction.
Thoughts at the speed of light dashed through her head as she looked for an explanation for her extreme reaction. She was obviously orgasm-deprived, she decided. She hadn’t had sex for....oh, way too long. Right! If that was the problem—and she was sure it was—there was, she remembered, a very discreet little shop close to home that could take care of it.
Except that she was broke... Rowan scowled at her shoes. Broke and horny...what a miserable combination. Yet it was the only explanation that made a smidgeon of sense.
Seb stopped in front of her and jammed his hands into the pockets of very nicely fitting jeans.
‘Brat.’
His voice rumbled over her, prickling her skin.
Yep, there was the snotty devil she remembered. Under that luscious masculine body that looked and—oh, my—smelled so good. It was in those deep eyes, in the vibration of his voice. The shallow dimple in his right cheek. The grown-up version of the studious, serious boy who had either tolerated, tormented or loathed her at different stages of her life. Always irritating.
‘I have a name, Seb.’
He had the audacity to grin at her. ‘Yeah, but you know I prefer mine.’ He looked over at Mr Good-looking and his smile was shark-sharp. ‘Lucky escape for you, bro’. She’s trouble written in six-foot neon.’
* * *
As rugby-boy turned away with a disappointed sigh, inside his head Seb placed his hands on his thighs and pulled in deep, cleansing, calming breaths of pure oxygen. He felt as if his heart wanted to bungee-jump from his chest without a cord. His stomach and spleen were going along for the ride.
Well, wasn’t this a kick in the head?
This was Rowan? What had happened to the skinny kid with a silver ring through her brow and a stud in her nose? The clothes that she had called ‘boho chic’ but which had looked as if she’d been shopping in Tramp’s Alley? Skirts that had been little more than strips of cloth around her hips, knee-high combat boots, Goth make-up...
Now leather boots peeked out from under the hem of nicely fitting blue jeans. She wore a plain white button-down shirt with the bottom buttons open to show a broad leather belt, and a funky leather and blue bead necklace lay between the wilted collar of the shirt. Her hair was still the blue-black of a starling’s wing, tumbling in natural curls down her back, and her eyes, black as the deepest African night, were faintly shadowed in blue. Her face was free of make-up and those incredible eyes—framed by dark lashes and brows—brimmed with an emotion he couldn’t immediately identify.
Resignation? Trepidation and fear? Then she tossed her head and he saw pride flash in her eyes.
And there was the Rowan he remembered. He dismissed the feeling that his life was about to be impacted by this tiny dark-haired sprite with amazing eyes and a wide, mobile
