1-900-Lover. Rhonda Nelson

her an apology, Will knew, and though saying he was sorry wasn’t a phrase that came naturally to him—quite frankly, he wasn’t used to being wrong—tendering the expected nicety now didn’t seem quite so onerous.

      He exhaled mightily. “Look, I’m sorry,” he said, albeit awkwardly. He glanced at the floor and was momentarily distracted by her bare feet. Lots of toe rings and a small tattoo of a butterfly decorated the skin right above her pinkie toe. Another bolt of heat landed in his groin and he struggled to find the rest of the apology. “I— I shouldn’t have come here. I, uh— I should have called.”

      “Yes, you should have,” she replied levelly. “However, when Scott needed further tutoring, I should have given him my home number instead of continuing to let him call the 900-number.” Her lips formed another droll smile, and her eyes twinkled with humor. “In my defense, I was trying to guard my privacy.” She sighed softly. “At any rate, I intend to refund the charges, so just take the check, we’ll be square and we can forget about this mess.”

      He doubted it, but he reluctantly pocketed the cash anyway. “At least let me pay you for the tutoring sessions,” he offered. He laughed grimly. “Believe me, if the kid had asked me for help with science he would have been sadly disappointed.”

      If memory served, he’d barely passed science. Not because he’d lacked the intelligence or ability, he’d merely lacked the drive. Will had been one of those kids who survived high school by way of sports.

      And—thanks to the kind hand of his father and grandfather—he’d known from the time he was old enough to plant a seed what he’d be doing with his life, so the only classes he’d been interested in throughout high school had been the ones that had pertained to agriculture.

      Both his father and his grandfather had been farmers, had earned their living from the land. Corn, cotton, soy beans. Feast or famine, depending on the weather. They’d expected him to take the same route, but while Will had shared the same enthusiasm for the land, the same fascination with the soil and all she grew—the sheer interdependency of everything—he’d ultimately decided to carve his own path. He’d liked the combination of design, the challenge of outdoor architecture found in landscaping. He’d ridden through college on a football scholarship, had majored in landscape architecture with a minor in business administration, and the rest had been history. Unable to completely abandon his farming heritage, Will had added an heirloom seed catalog to his repertoire.

      “No, those tutoring session are on me,” Rowan told him, dragging him back into the conversation. She rolled her eyes. “Hell, I needed them as much as he did.”

      An important insight lurked behind that statement, Will decided. Intrigued, he arched a brow. “Oh?”

      From her oh-hell expression, it was obvious that she thought she’d said too much. She swore under her breath, then released a pent-up sigh. “Oh, well,” she finally relented. “It’s not like you don’t know everything else about me.” She shot him a wry look. “I’m a teacher. I teach—” She winced grimly. “Correction, I taught science at Middleton High. Budget cuts ate my job, so until the system finds the money to put me back to work—hopefully in the fall—then I’m out of a contract.” She shrugged, then bit her lip and, though she met his gaze directly, he detected a hint of vulnerability he instinctively knew that she’d resent. Which, curiously, made her all the more attractive. “For obvious reasons, I would appreciate your discretion. I, uh… I don’t think the board of education would approve of my interim job.”

      Will mentally whistled. She’d certainly mastered the understatement. They wouldn’t merely disapprove—they’d freak. A phone sex operator teaching their impressionable youth? Not here, not in this century.

      The gravity of the situation he’d put her in finally dawned and he inwardly winced with regret. He’d royally screwed up by coming here. He’d literally jeopardized her livelihood. “Don’t worry,” he assured her. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

      Her slim shoulders sank in obvious relief. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

      “Can I ask you a question?”

      She nodded. “Sure. Go ahead.”

      Will hesitated. “Why phone sex?” he finally blurted out. The question had been burning a hole in his brain. She was obviously smart, educated. Geez, God. Why phone sex, of all things? Granted it was sexy and listening to her had made him unbelievably hot, but still…

      Eyes twinkling, she shrugged. “Why not phone sex? It beats checking groceries at the Bag-a-Bar-gain. It’s lucrative, and leaves me time to do the things I enjoy.” She gestured around her living room. “Like stained glass, art and gardening.” An ironic chuckle bubbled up her throat. “Believe me, I tried other things first. No one wanted to buy my art, and the whole starving-artist gig didn’t appeal to me.” Her lips curled. “I’ve grown accustomed to the little things, you know? Food, shelter, electricity.” She sighed. “What about you? Aside from tracking down unsuspecting…entrepreneurs, what do you do?”

      Will grinned, properly chastised. “I’m a landscape architect,” he told her. “Foster’s Landscape Design. Almost ten years in business without a single unsatisfied client.” Will grimaced as Doris sprang to mind. “At least for the moment, anyway. I’m working with a woman now who might ruin that particular endorsement.”

      “Oh?”

      He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “Yeah. Doris Anderson.” He gave her the abbreviated version of the past three years, then shared the episode he’d endured this morning. “It’s insane. I can’t make her happy, can’t satisfy her.”

      Rowan’s eyes twinkled with sexy humor. “Sounds like a personal problem to me.”

      Will blushed, shot her a look from beneath lowered lashes. “That didn’t come out precisely right, did it?”

      She laughed. “I sincerely hope not.” Her gaze drifted slowly over him and she rocked slightly back on the balls of her feet. “That would be a tragedy.”

      Again that little zing of missing excitement buzzed through him and he barely resisted the urge to preen like a puffed-up peacock at the implied compliment. His gaze tangled with hers and he felt a smile flirt with his lips.