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He nodded and then looked away from her open, earnest face. At least this woman couldn’t be interested in the prestige and power of his family name or his considerable personal fortune, dressed the way he was. She couldn’t know his family owned half of Manhattan and a sizeable chunk of London. She couldn’t guess he’d come to London to distance himself from his ‘real estate tycoon’ reputation—as well as from the ruthless deception by one family member in particular. Not unless she read the society pages of the New York Times.
He tasted bile. How could his father do that to him? To his own son? Making a mockery of the years of professional loyalty Ash had given the family business? Fuck—did he have ‘trusting schmuck’ stamped across his forehead?
The sexy stranger didn’t seem aware of his inner turmoil. She turned her body to face him so her bare knees bumped his denim-clad thigh, eyes alight. ‘London is an amazing city, isn’t it? Have you seen Buckingham Palace? It’s just over there.’ She pointed over her shoulder, warming to her change of subject and speaking with dizzying speed in her excitement about the tourist attractions the city had to offer.
‘And do you know about the Seven Noses of Soho? I’m scouting them out today. Fun fact...’ She pointed towards the small lake in the park. ‘Did you know the pelicans were a gift from a Russian ambassador to King Charles the second in 1664?’
She talked so quickly, her charming accent distorting the English until she might as well have been speaking Mandarin. Noses? Pelicans? Perhaps the impotence coiled inside him was steadily infecting and destroying his brain cells. Perhaps he was more jet-lagged than he’d assumed. Perhaps testosterone had fried his usual laser-sharp mind.
‘So, you wanted a picture?’ He unlocked his phone and leaned forward, preparing to stand. Do a good deed for the beautiful English rose so he could get on with trying to cobble his shit back together. He could no longer pretend that his sole motivation for coming to London was for a new business opportunity. Other factors had made him flee across the Atlantic—his guilt at forcing his mother to face her sham of a marriage, and the shameful publicity that had followed his bust-up with his father. Belonging to a high-profile family had its distinct downsides.
But he’d left all that behind.
Focus on the here and now.
London, the rich culture and vibrancy of the city, provided abundant distractions, though none quite as appealing as the distraction warming the sliver of space between her body and his and momentarily taking his mind from his troubles.
‘How long have you been here?’ Another head tilt, her tongue peeking out to swipe her lower lip.
A silent groan rattled his skull.
So not fair.
‘A day or two.’ How could he ignore such delicious temptation right in front of him? Surely he’d read her signals correctly. The perfect diversion sat before him looking at him as if he were a tasty snack—what could be more temporary than two travellers making a connection and enjoying one lost night in London?
No need to confess his real identity—one of New York’s top corporate attorneys, a real estate mogul and heir to the Jacob fortune. Not that he wanted to publicise any association with his bastard father right now. Hal Jacob’s ruthless streak had long made Ash wince. But even he hadn’t seen the train wreck approaching, hadn’t anticipated the far-reaching, closer-to-home consequences.
He scrubbed his hand over his face, forcing his dark thoughts to take a sharp left turn, and focussed on the enticing, quirky and sexy woman in front of him. She smelled fantastic. Just the thing to settle the out-of-control spiralling of his thoughts,
Yes, she was a little greener than most of the women who passed briefly through his life, but just as striking. Practically the polar opposite of the sophisticated women he usually invited into his bed, her bubbly personality was as intoxicating as a breath of fresh and fragrant summer air. The flicker of interest in his groin built, stirring his limbs with urgent energy.
Ash covertly checked her ring finger—bare.
But in his experience, women who looked like her—peaches and cream complexion, whimsical ponytail—wanted more than he was willing to offer. Wanted a relationship. And he never went there, no matter how appealing the inducement.
Not since his ex-fiancée...
Ash stood in an attempt to banish the jitters in his legs. He’d take her damn snap and put an end to this weird Transatlantic lesson in charming, but eccentric, cultural differences. Remove himself far from temptation.
He stepped into the centre of the path and raised his phone to the distant iconic view of one of London’s most popular tourist attractions. With a click he’d completed his obligation, his intentions still wavering between polite dismissal and revealing some of his cards in case he’d been wrong about her and she shared his philosophies on casual sex.
‘Have you taken the ride?’ She appeared at his side, her eyes focussed on the giant wheel, its half-glass pods glinting in the sun.
‘Not yet.’ He held out his phone for her inspection, his mind flitting to a different kind of ride as she leaned close to stare at the screen and the tips of her silky hair glided over his wrist.
Fuck! No amount of English fresh air was going to shift this...urge. And, away from the negotiation table, Ash was never more in control than in the bedroom.
Yes, a little summer loving would both banish his restlessness and put his head straight. Hopefully, the control he demanded in the bedroom would re-infect the rest of him and shunt him back onto an even keel in time for the first day of his new business venture tomorrow.
The captivating stranger smiled, and his heart rate accelerated again.
‘Thanks so much. You’re a lifesaver.’ She rattled off her number and he typed in the digits, sending the photo via text.
‘My name’s Essie, by the way.’ She held out her hand—delicate; smooth-skinned; short nails painted purple.
He shook it, the brief slide of palm-to-palm grating in its formality after the mild flirtatious banter bouncing between them.
‘Ash.’
She grinned as if he’d confessed his name began with HRH and he’d come to invite her back to the palace for afternoon tea.
‘So, Ash the American tourist...’ She had her photo, but she wasn’t leaving. In fact, she was twirling that hair again, her eyes glinting with an unmistakable interest—one matched in him. No, his instincts were spot on.
‘So, Essie, English fun facts expert...’
Another laugh that shot straight to his balls. ‘Wanna grab lunch?’ she said. ‘I don’t know this part of London well, but there’s a cute deli not far from here and I have tons more facts about the city...’ Her pretty blue eyes gleamed.
Heat soared in his chest. She was coming on to him in a subtle, fetching way he found way more enticing than the overt advances of his usual hook-ups. Absolutely, he’d be up for a no-strings one-time with this beautiful stranger. And as a tourist, he needn’t spin his usual spiel about having a good time, keeping things casual, hooking up and other euphemisms that let the women he bedded know exactly where they stood. Where he stood.
She’d leave London to go back to whatever charming part of the UK she came from and, as far as she’d know, he’d go back to America.
He held out his arm, indicating she take the path ahead of them before tucking both his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. She smiled, swung her hair over her shoulder and set off at his side. For a few beats they walked in silence, the warm summer air heavy with possibility and an insistent flicker of sexual chemistry.
Something stirred in his gut—that delicious coil of excitement that the anonymity of meeting a stranger in a foreign place brought. Today he could be anyone. There were endless possibilities to reinvent himself and shake off the recently acquired shackles that held him down as if his feet were entombed in concrete.
Not Ash the duped, who’d not only been cheated on but also lied to by the two people in his life who should have had his back. Yeah, fuck that guy. He was Ash the American tourist, killing time with the interesting, beautiful breath of fresh air that was Essie.
‘So...’ he flashed his first genuine smile her way, enjoying the telling pink flush of her cheeks ‘...tell me about these noses.’
* * *
Essie Newbold laughed and bumped shoulders with the sexy American she’d spent the afternoon and evening with. Well, she would have bumped shoulders with him if he weren’t so tall—instead, her shoulder bumped his arm. But the effect was the same.
Contact.
Those delicious little trembles of static electricity zinged to all her highly attuned erogenous zones as they’d been doing all day, every time their arms had brushed as they’d hunted the Seven Noses of Soho or when they were squeezed together, chest to chest, on the standing-room-only Tube. She’d never been more grateful for the crowding of London’s underground.
Instead of allowing the momentum of her flirty little shoulder bump to ping her away from him, Ash scooped his arm around her waist and grinned down at her.
Her head swam.
She was really going to do this—sleep with the dreamy man she’d met in the park this morning? Her first one-night stand.
Essie slipped her hand into the back pocket of his jeans, her fingers pressing into his tightly toned backside. Where had her uncharacteristic bravery come from? The desire for something more than the dribs and drabs she’d tolerated from her no-good ex?
Her ex’s idea of foreplay had been a mandatory squeeze of the boob. And to her shame, she’d accepted such lazy, shoddy attention.
All the more reason to explore a one-night stand with the drool-worthy, confident American. She’d gain some much-needed experience in the one-night-stand stakes, and hopefully score herself the kind of orgasm that only existed in her world as a mythical will-o’-the-wisp, and afterwards they’d move on having both had a good time. Unless Ash was a serial killer, it was a win-win situation. She absorbed the foreign, heady thrill of his big warm body next to hers. Not that it was cold—her shivers originated purely from anticipation.
The best kind of shivers.
She sucked in a stuttering breath—she’d never felt more reckless. And, if she was honest, she also felt a little embarrassed. There was no law that stated that, before her twenty-fifth birthday, she should have experienced at least one night of no-strings sex, but, as she touted herself as something of a relationship expert, didn’t she owe it to the readers of her relationship psychology blog to experience what all the fuss was about?
Ash’s hand looped around her shoulder. She reached up and clasped his fingers. They grinned at each other, Essie’s belly jolting in time with her excitable pulse.
No serious scientist could rely solely on academic theory. She could finally verify her years of extensive research with some cold, hard, scientific data.
Surely he must be able to hear the blood whooshing through her head?
Because in practical terms, what did she really know about relationships, especially the functional kind?
Her face fell at the momentary wobble. Her one serious boyfriend during uni had left her practically swearing off the opposite sex for good on the grounds she clearly couldn’t spot a decent relationship candidate if he was stark naked in front of her wearing a pick me, I’m a safer than houses bet hat.
A trait she’d inherited from her mother perhaps... The woman had, after all, procreated with Essie’s lying, cheating, deserting father and spent many years playing second fiddle to his actual wife, his real family.
Not that Essie had known all that back then. She’d simply been a girl who desperately missed her beloved father while he’d worked overseas for long stretches of time. Clearly she and her mother shared a desperate-for-love vibe that usually sent men running.
But Ash wasn’t running.
And she wasn’t looking for a relationship. Just sex. She’d gleaned from Ash’s subtext that, like her, he was only interested in a one-night thing. She shoved the buzzkill thoughts from her mind, focussing on the specimen of manly perfection beside her. Exotic Ash. A gentleman. Funny, intelligent and interested in what she had to say.
So different from her ex, and she’d wasted two years in that flawed relationship.
Her throat tightened.
Perhaps she was ready for a change. It was, after all, the eve of a brand-new chapter of her life—her new job working for her until-recently estranged half-brother began tomorrow. Or perhaps it was just charming, sophisticated, sexy-as-sin Ash with his crinkle-eyed smile, his quick wit and his tales of New York that earned him a place at the top of Essie’s bucket list.
Nothing at all to do with his muscular physique and his dark good looks, which were enough to attract smiles and stares everywhere they’d gone today. And she instinctively knew, as if it were stamped on her overworked ovaries, that Ash would be phenomenal between the sheets. High-calibre screaming orgasms—another experience sadly lacking from her rather pathetic repertoire.
But she could still back out of this. Thank Ash for his company and bid his sexy American butt farewell. Her insides twisted while her indecision ping-ponged inside her skull, releasing an uncharacteristic verbal catharsis.
‘I’ve never done this before.’ She nibbled her lip, ignored the heat almost suffocating her and raised her eyes to Ash’s.
Now he’d think her some sort of ingénue when really she’d simply tolerated mediocre for far too long.
He turned to face her, drawing her closer with the arm banded around her waist while his glittering blue stare danced over her features. ‘Okay...’
No judgment. Only the heat she’d seen in his eyes most of the afternoon.
The sizzle and spark over lunch at the funky deli had turned into flirting around Piccadilly Circus and Trafalgar Square, where Essie had provided a ‘how to’ tutorial on travelling the Tube. Flirting had turned to inhibition-lowering drinking at a typical Victorian Soho pub, where Ash had insisted they sample pints of tepid real ale, which was strong enough to make Essie both giggly and bold. Which was probably how they’d come to their current location—on the pavement outside his hotel, with his arms around her and her lips tingling to kiss him.
Still she wavered, caught between lust and caution.
She wanted to slap herself. Her doubts, her desperation to get it right where her parents had got it so wrong, hadn’t helped her avoid heartache. She’d just had one bad experience...
Ash didn’t have to be the perfect man—he could be perfect for now, this one night. Then she’d never see him again. And she could try out her sexually sophisticated legs.
Ash smiled, his blue eyes sparkling with promise and his yummy mouth stretching in a sexy, lopsided way.
Full lips so close.
Warm breath laced with hops.
Shrugging off the last reservation, Essie stood on tiptoes and kissed him, right there in the street where people walked around them. For a second he seemed frozen, his stubble chafing her chin and his lips slightly parted as she feathered the lightest of kisses on his beautiful mouth. And then his hand found the small of her back, pressing her close as he took control, angling his head and orchestrating the slide and thrust of lips and tongues, a thrilling concerto that left her head light and her legs weak.
Wow. The easy-going, considerate gentleman she’d spent the day with had a demanding side. She wanted more. The street snog was so good, her stomach clenched like the final seconds of a free fall, and her heart ricocheted against her ribs.
Ash groaned and pulled back from her kiss, his erection a hard length against her belly. He looked down as if trying to dissect her inner secrets from her irises. ‘Not that I’m bothered...’ he pushed back a stray wisp of hair from her face ‘...but I’m intrigued. Why not?’
Essie captured her lip with her teeth, her insecurities rising like bile. What did she want this sexy tourist to know about her poor track record with the opposite sex? Despite her psychology degree and her PhD in human relationships, her own love life, and most of her non-romantic personal relationships, relied heavily on the theory she pored over for her studies and for her beloved blog, one she’d started as an undergraduate as a way to purge her own feelings of abandonment and constant rejection at the hands of her father.
Ash wanted her; the evidence was crystal clear. Why burst the bubble? Yes, she normally avoided picking up hunky strangers in parks. But once he’d cracked his first genuine smile, Ash had relaxed into a fun, smart and entertaining guy. She hadn’t confessed she lived in South East London and was soon to graduate from her PhD. She’d merely gone along with his wrong assumption—that she, like him, was a tourist. It added to the mystique, the risqué recklessness currently pounding through her blood and fanning her libido to a blaze.
But they’d never see each other again after tonight. Who better to take off her training wheels with than a sexy stranger, a temporary tourist, soon to be on a plane to a whole other continent?
While Ash fingered the end of her ponytail, waiting, Essie shrugged. ‘My male role model growing up was an unreliable, lying shit. It kind of put me off men.’ Oversimplified, but true. She’d spent years trying to fit her subpar relationship with her ex into a perfect mould, desperate to have the opposite of her parents’ dysfunctional union and determined to flex her psychology muscles and prove she could practise what she preached. But when she’d finally conceded that the emotionally abusive relationship she’d pinned all her hopes on was over, she’d given up on her own happily-ever-after and shelved finding love, preferring instead to focus on helping others with their relationships through her blog.
‘I’m a man.’
Wasn’t he just? She nodded, stopping short of rolling her eyes back at the solid hard bulk of him pressed against her. ‘You are.’
She knew enough about human interactions to know there was more to Ash than the charming backpacker, despite appearances. For a start, he was older than the typical traveller, she guessed early thirties. Although casually dressed in slightly rumpled clothing, he carried himself with that air of command, confidence and authority that was such a turn-on—she practically had drool on her chin. That he was bothering to explore the reasons behind her hesitancy instead of ramming his tongue down her throat or hurrying her inside faster than he could say ‘God Save the Queen’ was another astounding point in his favour.
But the less she knew about him, the easier it would be to walk away. When she left in the morning, she’d feel satisfied no boundaries had been crossed, no misunderstandings had been created and no feelings had had time to develop.
Mustering every ounce of confidence and female allure, she gripped his biceps and pressed her body closer. ‘Are we on the same page?’ Her limbs twitched while she waited for his confirmation. What if she’d read him all wrong? What if, like her ex, Ash thought her too clingy? Surely he could appreciate the merits of this—they’d never see each other again.
Ash dipped his head, pressing his mouth to hers once more. ‘Totally.’ The word buzzed over her tingling lips and then the tip of his tongue dipped inside. With a surge of lust Essie embraced the kiss, scooping her arms around his neck with renewed enthusiasm.
Please let her be right about his sexual talents.
When she pulled back, breathless, she registered her surroundings. They’d come to a stop outside a rather upmarket hotel in St James’s. She looked up at Ash, her eyes round.
‘Is this where you’re staying?’ She’d guessed that he was more than he’d seemed in the park, but wealthy...?
He shrugged, a playful twitch on his lips.
Yes, Ash had offered to pay for her sandwich at lunch, but after she’d insisted on paying for herself, he’d accepted they’d be going Dutch for the rest of the day. He hadn’t flashed money around—a definite turn-off for Essie, who had what her flatmate called money issues.
He released his grip on her waist and Essie missed his touch instantly. ‘I know the owner. I’m only here tonight.’ He placed his index finger under her chin and tilted her face up to his. ‘Changed your mind? It’s okay if you have.’
So considerate.
Her body was still fully on board with spending the night with this ruggedly handsome stranger. And did it matter if he had rich, hotel-owning friends? She wouldn’t know him long enough to confess her monetary hang-ups, ones that originated with her absent father, who used affluent bribes and constant gifts as a substitute for investing quality time in his only daughter’s life.
A shudder snaked down her spine.
One of the reasons she’d taken a job working for her half-brother, which began tomorrow, was to start earning some money. Finally, after five years of full-time study, she’d actually be able to support herself rather than take more student loans. Because she’d rather be in debt for the rest of her life than take one penny from her scheming father. She’d never once cashed one of the regular cheques he sent towards her tuition fees. It felt like hush money, and by accepting it she would be condoning what he’d done, to her, to her mother, to his wife and to Ben. She’d rather live on a park bench.
