The romantic vs. the cynic

Chemistry is all they have in common!

New York lawyer Ash has moved to London to escape his demons—and one red-hot night with gorgeous stranger Essie is the perfect distraction! He’s ready to forget about her entirely...until she walks into his office for her first day at work. She’s a romantic, seeking her happily-ever-after—he’s a distrustful cynic who can’t commit... Could a sexy fling be the best mistake of their lives?

“DARE is Harlequin’s hottest line yet. Every book should come with a free fan. I dare you to try them!”

—Tiffany Reisz, international bestselling author

Lifelong romance addict JC HARROWAY lives in New Zealand. Writing feeds her very real obsession with happy endings and the endorphin rush they create.

You can follow her at jcharroway.com, facebook.com/jcharroway, instagram.com/jcharroway and twitter.com/jcharroway.

If you liked Playing Dirty, why not try

My Royal Sin by Riley Pine No Strings by Cara Lockwood Playing Dirty by Lauren Hawkeye

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

One Night Only

JC Harroway

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-07124-6

ONE NIGHT ONLY

© 2018 JC Harroway

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

® and ™ are trademarks owned and used by the trademark owner and/or its licensee. Trademarks marked with ® are registered with the United Kingdom Patent Office and/or the Office for Harmonisation in the Internal Market and in other countries.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To E

for inspiring the fun, bubbly, caring Essie. x

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Extract

About the Publisher

CHAPTER ONE

IF THIS SETTING, so far from the wreckage he’d left behind in New York, couldn’t provide ballast, nowhere could. Ash Jacob closed his eyes, sucked in a deep breath and focussed on the sun warming his back, the hypnotic chatter of English birdsong and the continuous distant hum of London traffic.

‘Shit!’

The violent exclamation pulled him up short. So he wasn’t the only one having a bad day. His vision hazed as the bright July sunlight hit his retinas once more, his surroundings sharpening into focus. He stretched one arm along the back of the park bench, the wooden slats of which dug into his fatigued muscles—a reminder that he’d spent twelve hours on a plane yesterday, largely bent like a pretzel despite his first-class seat.

‘Bloody, buggering, shit.’

What a charming turn of phrase.

His mouth twitched and his mood lightened. She stood a short distance away from his secluded spot in St James’s Park, her short, flowery dress revealing bare, shapely legs; golden hair streaked with enough russet to turn her long ponytail to fire in the right light; a small denim backpack slung over one shoulder, which made her appear younger than what he estimated as mid-twenties.

A student? A tourist? A fellow soul, far from home?

One delicate finger jabbed at the screen of her phone, as if she could poke it back to life by dogged persistence alone.

Intrigue and a flicker of lust made Ash sit up straighter. Her quirky English accent and endearing choice of expletives reminded him that New York was a long way away. And yes, the women in his exclusive, affluent circle had the kind of polish and poise that this beguiling stranger seemed, at first glance, to lack, but the effect of the jut of her pert breasts and the cut of her fine-boned features in profile on his jet-lagged libido equalled, if not surpassed, his usual level of interest in the opposite sex. An interest that circumstances had shaped into two simple rules: one—on his terms; and two—one night only.

He shifted on the hard seat, his jeans becoming skintight, at least around the groin. The beauty dropped the hand holding the offending device to her side and cast her wide eyes around their corner of the park.

Ash slammed his own stare closed again, pretending to enjoy the formerly relaxing ambience. He’d come to London to work on a joint business venture with his oldest friend, not to rescue an English damsel, no matter how long her legs or how curvaceous her ass. And more importantly, he’d come to get away from public drama and get his life back under control. Control that couldn’t come soon enough.

‘Um, excuse me...’

Damn.

She’d moved that delectable derrière of hers closer. There were few people around, mainly joggers and the odd parent pushing a stroller. She must be talking to him. Ash relaxed his eyelids and slowed his breathing. Perhaps if she thought he was asleep, she’d leave him alone. Find someone else to rectify her technology issues.

Her footfalls scuffed the gravel of the path.

There was an embarrassed tinkle of laughter.

Right in front of him now.

Close enough for her scent to tickle his nose—light, floral and mixed with the unmistakable smell of sunscreen.

His libido roared anew. Man, would he love to see those curves and that milky skin clad in a bikini and sprawled on a lounger at his holiday place in the Hamptons.

The sexy intruder delicately cleared her throat.

The sweet sound rolled over his out-of-sync senses. Physically, she embodied the epitome of his type. Under other circumstances, he’d turn on the charm, get to know her enough to assess if her persuasion for no-strings sex aligned with his, and pass a satisfactory afternoon between her thighs.

But the last thing he needed right now was an encounter with a woman that beautiful, especially one who awoke his interest to the degree currently rendering him momentarily trapped on the park bench by his tight jeans.

He’d been played in the past—the old, female-inflicted wound recently reopened in the most humiliating and public way being the main reason for his rather hasty departure from New York.

For now, women were categorically off the agenda.

And really, who talked to complete strangers in a city centre park? His appearance today could only be described as dressed down compared to his usual attire of bespoke tailored suits. He’d wanted an escape from the cloying, air-conditioned hotel he’d booked for his first couple of nights in London until the Jacob Holdings apartment had been spring-cleaned. Some fresh air. Green spaces. Anything that helped to reprogram his brain from its current gut-churning cycle of guilt and bile-inducing self-loathing.

So he’d thrown on a T-shirt and his comfortable jeans, both the worse for wear having spent forty-eight hours in a suitcase, forgone shaving off the three days’ worth of scruff and headed outdoors. The casual look was a visual cue that his move to London represented a major change from the norm; a shift from everything he’d lived, breathed and strived for these past ten years: his role in the family business, which was fraught with dysfunctional politics in the hands of his ruthless, manipulative and, as he’d bitterly discovered in the most degrading way, cheating father.

‘Excuse me, are you...okay?’

Ash surrendered to the soothing voice with a sigh that dragged his mind back from the edge of a dark abyss. She wasn’t going to give up. Perhaps she was lost. He didn’t know London that well, but he’d spent enough time here over the years to have a vague sense of direction. Better to hear what she wanted and send her gorgeous ass on its way.

He opened his eyes, forcing his face to exhibit a tight, inquisitive smile instead of the frustration that put his teeth on edge at having the embodiment of feminine temptation literally thrown into his path.

‘Of course. Just enjoying the sun.’

Her answering beam had two opposing effects on his overwrought body: the fullness of her pouty lips direct-messaged his groin with a slug of not wholly unwelcome blood-pounding heat, and her open, friendly stare twitched his shoulders up several notches until his muscles cramped. Were all English women this naive? This trusting? For a man who trusted no one, she was a complete mystery.

‘Oh, good. I don’t suppose I could ask for a favour...?’ She waggled her dead phone in front of his face. ‘My phone just died.’

‘Okay... Are you lost?’

Give her some damn directions and watch her groan-worthy legs walk away.

But then his view would be far less appealing.

Another megawatt smile warmed his insides and made him think of childhood trips to Coney Island.

‘No. I wondered if you could take a picture for me.’ She pointed at the view of the London Eye in the distance. ‘On your phone...and perhaps...send it to me?’ Her voice wavered and she curled some escaped strands of hair at her nape around her index finger.

His expression must have been comical. Had he woken up in some parallel universe or was her friendliness some sort of ancient British ritual? Did he care if it meant a few more seconds surreptitiously eyeing her glorious body and fantasising about her naked under him?

Ash shifted, discreetly readjusting himself in his pants as he allowed his gaze to properly take in every inch of porcelain beauty. Up close, she was stunning. Flawless creamy skin, enormous sky-blue eyes and a charming dusting of copper freckles across her slightly upturned nose. And on first impressions—the embodiment of a sunny disposition.

And if she wanted a photo, she was clearly a tourist. Perhaps this was her last day in London?

Another point to his libido.

As if matching his interest, she flicked her stare over him from head to toe, skimming over his creased tee and well-worn jeans and flooding his body with heat to rival the summer sun. Was she flirting?

‘Sure,’ he said.

Why not? He could surely oblige her with a photo and perhaps anything else she might want. He lifted one eyebrow as her eyes returned to his face. Bright spots of red appeared on her high cheekbones as she straightened the charming little head tilt she’d employed while checking him out. Yes, perhaps she was exactly what he needed... A little help with his current hard-on predicament. She seemed to share his physical interest. Perhaps that would cure his mind-numbing restlessness and get his usual focus back on track.

The tension snapped with her tinkling laughter. Ash grinned back. At least she owned her flagrant sexual curiosity in him—how refreshing. He reassessed her age—perhaps she wasn’t as sweet as she looked. She flicked her ponytail, sunny smile back in place.

He shifted on the bench, fishing his phone from his back pocket. The angle of the sun meant her dress was practically see-through from his position. Should he tell her? Or just enjoy her shapely silhouette? Imagine those long legs wrapped around his waist...

No.

His mind zapped to ancient history come back to haunt him. His recent discovery of the lengths his ex had gone to in order to deceive him, and the depth of that lie, only confirmed his stand on the opposite sex. He was done with women, unless they, like him, wanted one thing only and understood the rules.

The weathered wooden rungs of the bench creaked as she sat next to him. ‘You’re American, aren’t you?’

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.

Ash, perhaps interpreting her silence as a change of heart, stepped back half a pace, ending the delicious contact between them and leaving Essie more bereft than the dark turn of her thoughts had done.

‘I’m happy to walk you home...or put you in a cab.’ He shrugged as if it was no big deal but his stare darkened as he looked down at her, waiting. A stare of longing, one that matched the well of sizzling heat rising up inside her.

Don’t spoil what promises to be the best night of your life with your hang-ups.

Essie moved closer, her fingers finding the belt loop of his jeans. She tugged, bringing his chest into contact with hers, scraping her nipples to exquisite, nerve-tingling awareness.

No way would she back out now.

‘Are you sure?’

Yes, yes, yes...

At her silent nod, he took her hand, laced his fingers through hers and led her inside the glass and chrome rotating door of the swanky hotel.

Essie hurried after him, his longer strides swiftly guiding her across the elegant foyer that she was too turned on to appreciate. Her last thought—how nice it must be to know someone who owned such a well-appointed and convenient establishment—fled the minute the lift door closed and Ash pinned her against one wall with the stealth and predatory instincts of a jungle cat.

Essie surrendered to the reckless impulses, so foreign but urgently addictive. She climbed him, her own instincts set free as her hands tugged his hair and her mouth found his while her legs encircled his thighs and she clung to him for dear life.

Every taut inch of him was hard. She knew, under his slouchy clothes, he’d be sleek and toned and bulging in all the right places. They broke apart long enough to hurry from the lift to his room, although she was so turned on that Essie was certain she’d floated.

He took a key card from his pocket, swiped it through the reader and stood back so she could enter first. Essie turned to welcome him as he followed her inside, her pent-up libido and the fizz of adrenaline in her blood making her embarrassingly eager. She gave him no time to activate the lights or even wait until the door had fully closed before she leapt at him, the air leaving her in a whoosh as he caught her around the waist and hauled her up to his equally insatiable mouth.

The chemistry between them practically melted her body to his as if they’d been welded together.

The kissing, unlike anything she’d known, was so voracious she whimpered out her pleasure. With dizzying speed, Ash deposited her on the bed, whipped off her underwear and produced a condom.

Essie panted while he tore at his fly and covered himself, a look of desperate concentration on his face, barely visible in the gloom. This was wild, audacious and thrilling. But then Ash’s mouth was back on hers, his fingers stroking her nipple to a peak through her clothing while he pushed slowly inside her, and she lost herself to what she was certain would turn out to be the single best sexual experience of her life to date.

She wasn’t wrong. Ash pulled his mouth from hers, yanked his T-shirt over his head and reared back. With her hips gripped in his large hands and her stare locked with the white-hot one he bore down on her, Ash pounded into her again and again.

He was a god—ripped torso, a smattering of dark hair trailing down to his magnificent manhood, which she couldn’t see, but which was currently rendering her a speechless bag of raging female hormones. When he scooped her hips with one arm, not losing his rhythm, and slipped his free hand between them and located her clit, her world fractured and a broken cry left her throat as she came, shortly followed by Ash.

Yep—best sex ever.

Go, Essie.

CHAPTER TWO

ESSIE EXITED THE Piccadilly Circus Tube station into glaring sunlight and joined the mass of people heading towards the start of their work week. Stifling a yawn with the back of her hand, she dragged her sunglasses from the top of her head and scoped out another coffee fix. Of course, if she’d had more than three hours’ sleep last night, she wouldn’t need another dose of caffeine. But she always worked on her blog first thing in the morning when the words flowed freely and the ideas were fresh, and this morning, the morning after the best sex of her life, had been no different.

Ash had kept her up into the early hours with his impressive stamina. After a second round of high calibre, sheet-clawing sex, another life-redefining orgasm, she’d sneaked out of his hotel room, like a sexually enlightened Cinderella, in the early hours while Prince Charming had slept.

She sniggered, scuffing the toe of her Converse on the tiled floor. Yes, it hadn’t been her proudest moment—leaving without so much as a ‘nice to meet you, thanks for the orgasms’—but that had been the unspoken deal, right? The casual sex secret code. One of the pros. No awkward swapping of numbers, no obsessively checking her phone for his call and no stalking him on social media to confirm his single status.

Of course, in practical terms, she was no expert. But she’d been right—what had occurred with Ash last night far surpassed the commonplace.

Good thing he was leaving the country soon. Sex that good should come with a health warning.

Hazard! You are ten times more likely to develop feelings for this man. Avoid sexual contact at all costs. Danger! Disappointment ahead.

And she’d had enough of that to last a lifetime.

Essie accepted her coffee from the barista, wincing as she set off at a quicker pace into Soho—starting her new job for her brother on a few hours of sleep was not her wisest move.

She sipped her latte and checked her phone for directions, cursing at the time displayed as she hurried along unfamiliar streets to meet Ben at the basement-style club and cocktail bar he’d recently purchased and had just completed renovating.

Of course, she wouldn’t have needed the map if she’d scouted the route to her new job yesterday as she’d planned. But the sun had been shining and she’d disembarked the Tube a few stations early to indulge in a pleasant walk in the park. Meeting a sexy stranger hadn’t been part of the plan. But she couldn’t tell Ben why she’d got...sidetracked.

Essie quickened her pace, holding her coffee out in front of her. Of all the days to be late. And for Ben, too. Her older half-brother, seven years her senior, had taken a chance, offering her a job at his new club. Yes, she’d done some bar work throughout uni, but she’d never held a managerial position. All the same, she had assured him she was capable—she had a PhD, for goodness’ sake, well almost, the conferment ceremony only a few weeks away—and she was determined to make the best of the chance to work for her brother.

This was more than a job. Working with him would hopefully lead to a closer relationship than the cordial but unemotional one they currently shared. Not that she blamed Ben for the distance—she had been equally hesitant. Their father had kept her existence a secret from his only son, too. They both had some making up for lost time to do.

That was why Essie had grasped at his request to help out, when his current manager had quit unexpectedly, with both eager hands. If she had a career plan, bar work would have no place in it, but the job comprised predominantly night shifts, which protected her dedicated blog-writing time during the day. And until she decided if she was cut out for a stuffy academic position, it provided a perfect stopgap. And the pay Ben had offered was great.

Essie rounded the corner, dodging a steady stream of smartly dressed office workers and frantic stallholders setting up their fresh produce and delicious-smelling street food for Soho’s famous, three-hundred-year-old Berwick Street Market.

She stepped off the kerb to dodge a fruit and veg vendor carrying a precarious tower of produce-laden boxes six high, narrowly avoiding a delivery van that screeched to a halt. The coffee sloshed inside the takeaway cup with a violent lurch. A spout of scalding liquid jettisoned from the sip hole in the plastic lid and sprayed the front of Essie’s favourite dress, deliberately chosen for her first day at work.

She cursed while a trail of coffee dripped down her cleavage and soaked into her bra. Her eyes stung as she dabbed at the brown stain with her fingers and stepped back onto the pavement, pushing her way back into the hustle of the commuter crowds.

She breathed through her disappointment over the dress, her face forcing a bright smile. Ben wouldn’t care how she dressed. Only that she turned up, offered him as much help as she could and became someone he could rely on. And if she hurried, perhaps she could beat Ben and his business partner there and she could clean up before making a good impression.

This part of Soho housed an array of trendy bars, eclectic restaurants and small, elegant hotels. The innocuous, black-painted street frontage of The Yard—sandwiched between a designer menswear store and an Italian deli—meant Essie almost walked straight past. If it hadn’t been for a van parked on half of the pavement and the sign writer blocking the other half with his ladder while he worked on the shiny new nameplate, she might have missed her destination completely.

Essie followed the harassed sign writer’s directions to the narrow alleyway between the deli and the club that led to the rear entrance of The Yard. Yanking open the ancient, squeaky door, she entered the cool gloom of the darkened interior.

‘Ben?’

She made her way along a maze of dimly lit corridors, following the sounds of activity, her insides a flurry of twisting energy, one she couldn’t blame on the barely tasted coffee.

The bar area swarmed with electricians rigging reams and reams of neon lights into every available nook and cranny. The sharp chemical tang of new paint filled the air and a very harassed-looking Ben paced near the front entrance door with his mobile phone glued to the side of his head. When he saw Essie, he visibly sagged and quickly ended his call.

‘I am so glad to see you.’ He gripped her elbows and kissed her cheek, a gesture that felt far from natural. She forced her breathing to deepen so she didn’t pass out from excitement.

Baby steps.

Although they’d known of each other’s existence for some years, their sibling relationship held a new and fragile quality. Recalling the first time Ben had made contact still held the power to suffocate her with emotions; the date, time and what she’d been wearing when his call had come in engraved on her memory as if it were yesterday.

Twelve months ago, he’d relocated full-time to London, which had taken their contact from the occasional awkward video call to an actual face-to-face meeting. From that moment Essie had been secretly and cautiously smitten, because all they’d really shared to date was a genetic bond with their devious and unscrupulous father, a string of hesitant emails and a few quick, stilted coffee dates. If they were going to have a lasting relationship in the future, using this opportunity to get to know each other better was crucial.

Essie shrugged off her doubts by rummaging in her backpack for her notebook and a pen. She was here to lighten Ben’s burden. To show him who she was. To build on their sibling status, having been denied that opportunity all their lives by their father.

She bit down hard on her lip—she wouldn’t spoil her first day by thinking of Frank Newbold. She flipped open the notebook, pen poised, a picture, she hoped, of cool, unfrazzled competence. The coffee stain notwithstanding.

‘Tell me what you need. You look stressed.’ And so much like their father, a man whose face she could no longer bear to look at.

Ben scrubbed his fingers through his already messy hair.

‘The shit’s hit the fan with one of my New York clubs...’ He winced.

As well as renovating The Yard in Soho, Ben owned and managed a string of clubs in New York, where he’d grown up.

‘You don’t need to hear my work woes.’ His wince turned into a hesitant smile. ‘But I am going to have to leave you to things here—I have to fly to the States tonight and sort shit out.’

Essie rolled her shoulders back. That he would trust her with his shiny new cocktail bar and nightclub gave her shivers that bubbled up at the back of her throat, threatening to close off her windpipe.

‘Of course.’ She swallowed, eager for another of his grateful smiles. ‘That’s why I’m here.’ She could pull a pint from her years of working the uni bar, and the rest she’d learn on the job while her own career path loitered in an uncertain slump. Her motivations were more about personal bridge-building than flexing her managerial muscles in the hospitality industry. But looking at the furrows in Ben’s brow and the dark circles around his tired eyes, she knew she’d walk a path of hot coals to help, even if it took her away from developing her relationship blog full-time, one of the ideas she’d considered now that she’d finished her PhD.

A small frown settled between his brows. ‘Are you sure you can spare the time? Shouldn’t you be job-hunting or schmoozing professors?’

Essie snorted a nervous laugh. Now that she’d finished her PhD, an academic position held far less appeal than it should. She’d considered a university teaching post but was way too intimidated to believe she had anything useful to teach others. She’d love to focus full-time on promoting her blog to wider audiences, but part of her secretly baulked at dedicating all her energy to making it a success—the ‘lost little girl’ part of her who missed her dad and couldn’t understand why he spent so much time away. After all, what did she know about healthy human relationships? Everyone would see through her, know she was a fraud.

‘I’ll be fine until you can replace me with someone better qualified.’ She had plenty of time to build her own career, whatever that looked like. She only had one brother. And, for now, he needed her.

He cracked a wide smile. ‘Great.’

Essie flicked through her notebook to hide the attack of rapid blinking. She’d be the best bloody bar manager he’d ever seen. He wouldn’t be able to resist falling deeply in sibling love with her.

‘So, to recap on our previous conversation...’ She tapped the pen on the page, tempted to push it behind her ear to inspire greater confidence. Perhaps she should have bought a clipboard. ‘My predecessor has already hired waitstaff, bulk ordered the beverages and organised a cleaning crew...’

Ben nodded. ‘All you have to do is be around to supervise things here.’ He squeezed her arm. ‘You are awesome.’

Warm treacle flooded her veins but she shrugged off his praise with a small shake of her head. She wished she’d recorded the moment so she could play it back to herself in the privacy of her flat later or every time her bones rattled with insecurities.

‘The decorators have finished downstairs in the basement, and the interior designer will be here in—’ he checked his Rolex ‘—thirty minutes. Can you make sure they install the leather seats in the VIP area and remind them we decided on the black privacy curtains for the booths instead of the white?’

Essie nodded, scribbling a quick note as they walked. Ben ushered her out of the path of a man in paint-speckled overalls hefting a ladder on one shoulder and offered a tight, apologetic smile.

‘Oh, and can you remind the electricians before they leave to install the string lights upstairs on the roof garden?’ He sighed. ‘Sorry. It’s a lot.’

Essie shook her head. ‘Not at all. I have a list.’ She brandished her notebook with a reassuring grin.

A small nod. ‘Have you...had any contact from...Frank?’ Ben shot Essie a cautious look, tinged with the usual flash of guilt. He felt somehow responsible for their father’s actions, but they’d both been victims of the lies.

She shook her head. The last thing she wanted to discuss was their father and the endless sob story he’d made of her young life. How he’d decimated her childhood adoration of him, a daughter-father rite of passage, through cowardly evasion and cruel deceit. Essie had learned early on, by the amount of time he’d spent in London, that she’d ranked pretty low on her father’s list of priorities. But to discover, on her fifteenth birthday, that her whole life, her very existence, had been a lie, that she hadn’t mattered enough, that she had a half-brother...

She swallowed back the familiar burn in her throat and shoved her father from her mind. Today was the start of something new, something positive—she wouldn’t let him tarnish it the way he’d managed to tarnish every other significant moment in her life. Birthdays, school awards ceremonies, her first prom night—he’d been conspicuously absent.

Ben led the way to a door beside the bar. ‘Come and meet my buddy.’

Her mouth twitched with a small, indulgent smile. Despite growing up in Manhattan, his mother’s hometown, he’d lived in London for a year. His accent and his choice of slang wavered wildly between the two, something else about her big brother Essie found endlessly endearing.

How could this amazing man be related to Frank? Not that she was the best judge of character. She’d idolised their father growing up, but he’d used his frequent business travel to successfully navigate his deceptions and conduct two separate lives on two separate continents; conceal two separate families.

Essie tossed her coffee cup in a black bag and ducked through the door Ben held open for her.

‘Although he’s supposed to be a silent partner, he’s up to speed with everything so, between the two of you, you should have most things covered. I’ll be back in a few days—plenty of time for us to put the finishing touches to the launch party.’

‘I promise, your club is in good hands.’

They’d chosen the perfect trendy and glamorous location—this part of London was always buzzing with young, beautiful people. And now she’d seen the club’s interior, which was tasteful, chic and oozing sophistication, that she could participate in her brother’s venture filled her with pride and renewed hope. And something less tangible...a small bud, blooming open, affording a glimpse of the full beauty to come.

Belonging.

Something she’d craved for as long as she could remember.

As the door from the bar closed behind them the noise levels dropped as if they’d entered a vacuum. Ben grinned at her impressed expression.

‘State-of-the-art soundproofing. Costs a bloody fortune but worth it.’ He took a left turn, pointing out the salient landmarks as he strode ahead.

‘Kitchen here and staff break room. Staff toilets on the right.’ Another left turn. ‘You can use this office.’ He paused outside a room where the furniture had been sited but still wore its protective Bubble Wrap clothing. He flashed his handsome, lopsided smile and Essie nodded, eyeing the sparse space.

They’d arrived at the last room. Ben rapped lightly on the door.

‘Come in,’ a voice said.

If she hadn’t been so dazzled by the warmth and camaraderie of her brother’s welcome and the affectionate bonding moment of him sharing his shiny new club with her, she might have clued on sooner. But she followed him into the room, blind to everything but Ben and blissfully oblivious to the impending catastrophic confrontation.

And came face-to-face with Ash.

The smile she held on her face morphed into a frozen grimace. Her cheeks twitched with the effort of keeping it there, like a painted-on clown smirk.

She scoured her gaze over his height and breadth, seeking confirmation. But, no, it was definitely him.

The verification came, a breath-stealing blow to the solar plexus.

‘Essie, this is Ash Jacob, my oldest friend and now business partner. Ash, my little sister, Essie Newbold.’

Essie wanted to run a lap of honour at hearing Ben’s description of her, but her stiff skeleton could barely manage a small chin tilt in Ash’s general direction as her neck muscles seized like a rusty gate.

Confident, commanding Ash stood, smoothing down his graphite tie as he rounded the sleek, modern desk and strode into her personal space with his hand outstretched in greeting as if he had not a care in the world. Saliva pooled in her mouth, her throat too tight to allow it passage. Her mind ping-ponged inside her skull, playing catch-up.

His gorgeous face, now clean-shaven to reveal a chiselled jaw and sinful creases that bracketed his full mouth, was relaxed, a small, polite smile on his lips as if he welcomed a total stranger, not the woman he’d come inside last night with a yell she heard every time she closed her eyes.

The memory of his now absent stubble scraping across her nipples gave her an acute pang of longing to see the relaxed, playful Ash of last night. Tourist Ash. Not this tie-wearing, professional version with distant, accusatory eyes and a tense jaw. But for the embers flickering in his navy stare, she’d almost have believed she’d concocted last night’s torrid one-night stand. But her hips and thighs still bore the ghostly imprints of his fingertips as he’d held her tight and drilled into her with fierce determination.

‘Nice to meet you.’ The rich, dark rumble of his voice scraped her eardrums. Her coffee soured in her stomach. How could he maintain such a poker face? Why didn’t he suffer the same jaw-dropping disbelief currently rendering her speechless? And why, oh, why out of all the men in the universe had she chosen her half-brother’s best friend and business partner for her first one-night stand?

Ash’s warm hand enclosed hers, reminding her of last night’s touches. Touches that should have been more intimate but paled against this simple handshake, because this time all pretence was stripped away.

Ash Jacob was The Yard’s co-investor.

Ben’s silent business partner.

Ben’s billionaire friend from uni. A man she’d wrongly assumed was a tourist and picked up in St James’s Park. A man she’d had sex with, twice, whose bed she’d only left mere hours ago. A man to whom she’d confessed her pathetic lack of sexual experience, and thought she’d never see again.

Molten heat engulfed Essie’s throat. She swallowed it down with a sour chaser of you’ve-only-got-yourself-to-blame. But her stomach rebelled the dose of self-inflicted medicine.

Pulling herself up, she levelled her best cold stare on his sinful good looks and returned his handshake with an overly firm one of her own, ignoring the delicious glide of his callused palm.

Social pleasantries complete, she yanked her hand from his as if he were a live wire, connected to the mains.

He’d lied to her.

Deceived her.

Pried into her sordid hang-ups about her crappy father figure.

Why had she told him such personal information? Why hadn’t she asked more about him? She really was a one-night-stand rookie. Her burning eyes darted away, but not before his image branded her retinas.

She’d wanted to experience the casual sex hype, desperate to lend an air of real experience and authority to the relationship advice she touted on her blog. All because, despite her qualifications, despite years of academic research, despite actually having had a long-term relationship, she feared herself an imposter.

Of course, the fact she’d been starved of earth-shattering orgasms during that relationship and that Ash was...easy on the eye had helped...

She snatched another scan of his sublime body. Unlike the relaxed, slightly crumpled hottie she’d met yesterday, today Ash wore a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows and sharply tailored suit trousers that complemented the silver-grey tie and highlighted the intense blue of his eyes.

Gorgeous. Mouth-watering. A duplicitous scumbag...

As hot as he’d looked dressed down in jeans and a T-shirt, he wore this sharp, professional outfit like a second skin, as he wore the power that oozed from him. As he lived and breathed the air of command and authority that immaculate tailoring afforded. Her breath caught. She could have slapped her own forehead. Another piece of the puzzle slotted home—Ben’s new business partner was a top New York attorney...like a character from that TV show, only a hundred times hotter and a thousand times more untouchable.

But she had touched.

The seconds stretched.

Awkward seconds. Seconds absent of the expected social niceties. To compensate, Essie blurted the first inane thing to pop into her head.

‘So you’re Ben’s business partner?’ Duh...

Ash nodded. Slow. Easy. His stare glittering. As if he recognised the turmoil rendering her tongue-tied. And not one hint of regret or embarrassment. Unlike her, who was practically molten with shame.

‘Guilty as charged.’ His voice carried a bite that had been missing from the deep, hypnotic rumble of the easy-going sightseer. As if he was used to being in control?

And lawyer humour... Really?

‘Ben has been talking about you all morning,’ he said. ‘Of course, he mentioned a while ago he’d recently united with his half-sister, but I’d failed to pay attention to your very pretty name.’ His eyes flicked down the front of her dress. To the coffee stain...

Perfect.

Essie fought the temptation to fold her arms across her chest and keep on folding herself into a tiny origami Essie. Had Ash told Ben about last night? About how she’d thrown herself at him? How she’d blurted out her inexperience and then eagerly climbed his ripped body? Had he laughed at her? And why was he pissed? She’d been the one deceived, duped. Dazzled by his confident charm and his promise of a string-free night to remember. It wasn’t as if she’d stalked him here for a repeat performance...

And how much of her sad little tale, her pathetic past, did he know? Had Ben told him all about her sorry past? Had Ash linked the woman confessing her daddy issues before fleeing his bed with Ben’s sister?

As if he’d heard her thoughts, he said, ‘Imagine my surprise when I heard Ben’s sister was to be our new bar manager.’

The trembles turned into jolts. Surely Ben would have said something if he knew. She tensed her muscles to hold herself still. It wouldn’t do to show a man like Ash, the real Ash, any weakness. Last night, she’d have run a mile from this powerful, controlled man. She should run now. Leave with what was left of her self-esteem intact before Ben clued on and her embarrassment became full-blown.

But leaving her brother in the lurch...? When he needed her help more than ever? Not an option. Not if they were to have a chance at a deep and lasting sibling relationship.

Ben snorted, flicking Ash a friendly but distracted grin.

‘Leave it, Jacob. Essie’s been a lifesaver, stepping in at the last minute.’ Ben rounded the desk and flopped down into the chair Ash had vacated, leaving the two of them alone on the other side of the impressive block of wood.

Essie levelled her stare on Ash. She narrowed her eyes but kept her voice free of the sarcasm fighting to break free. ‘Tell me, have you been in London long? Had a chance to do a little sightseeing perhaps?’

For Ben’s sake, she kept the acid from her tone, but Ash shrugged, seemingly indifferent, and Ben looked too engrossed in the screen of his phone to have even heard the vague barb.

Ash moved to an informal seating area in one corner of the office, which was decked out like something from an exclusive gentlemen’s club. He held out his arm to offer her a seat and then, when she declined, sank down into the leather, all the while assessing her with his narrowed stare.

‘I have managed a tour of the more...exciting highlights the city has to offer.’ He quirked a brow, his mouth twisted. He reclined, one arm stretched out along the back of the sofa, thighs spread in that confident, manly way that screamed, Look at my junk! Oh, wait, you’ve already experienced it.

Heat slammed through her, pulsing between her legs with every lurid memory of him inside her last night: his hips slamming into her; his gruff voice commanding her pleasure; his uncompromising control brooking no arguments, even though she’d been one hundred per cent complicit.

Her cheeks warmed. She’d fully embraced the wham-bam, thank you, ma’am. She dragged her gaze from his crotch, pressing her lips together so she couldn’t lick them. This morning, one night had been enough.

But now, with him looking at her as if he wanted a repeat performance, her body hummed with need, in traitorous, clit-throbbing agreement.

One night hadn’t been enough.

Not of this man, who she suspected would be twice the lover of relaxed, tourist Ash. Was that even possible? No. She didn’t want to know.

‘So you have managerial experience? Hospitality experience?’ Ash flicked his eyes over her from head to toe as if they were alone, his tone grating and transforming her buzz of arousal to one of irritation. It was the way he asked, as if he already knew the answer and found her...lacking.

Another lawyer trait? Or pure, unadulterated arsehole?

Essie changed her mind. Selecting the chair opposite him, she faced him, forcing her body into as relaxed a demeanour as he displayed. She was, after all, an expert at body language.

‘I’m a graduate.’ She lifted her chin. ‘I’ve just completed a PhD and I have lots of hospitality experience.’ So she didn’t have a Harvard law degree, but she wasn’t an imbecile. She could work a till and wipe down tables. ‘Would you like to see my CV?’ She pursed her lips in a tight, sickly smile.

‘What’s with the third degree?’ Ben joined them, taking the second armchair. He shot Ash a curious glare and then turned to Essie. ‘Forgive my friend. He’s not long arrived from New York. He’s not used to your English customs and manners yet.’

Ben turned back to a smiling, completely unfazed Ash.

‘Look, it sucks balls that I have to leave today, but I expect you to look out for my sister, Jacob. Employ a dash of that charm that gets you endlessly laid.’ Ben’s grin dropped. A frown lodged between his brows. ‘But keep your hands off my sister.’

A titter of hysterical laughter clogged Essie’s throat while her cheeks flamed. She’d already sampled his friend’s goods. She lifted her chin, her stare honed on Ash. She might not be able to control her flush response, but she could certainly control her misguided libido.

‘I can manage anything your friend can dish out, Ben. Don’t worry.’

Both men looked at her as if inspecting her for the first time. Their faces were unreadable and likely concealed very different thoughts. Essie examined her fingernails and tried to keep her feet still.

Although certain she lacked the sophistication of the New York babes Ash probably usually bedded, Essie wasn’t a pushover. And this job was about her and Ben. Not her and Ash. So she’d let some personal baggage escape last night, been indiscreet about her track record—that ended right here, right now. Arrogant Ash had seen all he was going to see of unguarded, easy-going Essie.

She returned Ash’s stare, the standoff a game of wills.

‘Good,’ said Ben. ‘Because Ash here has a bit of a reputation with the ladies...if you know what I mean.’ He winked at Essie, who tried to catalogue the sparse contents of her fridge to stop another telltale blush giving her away.

‘Don’t worry.’ Ash’s lip curled. ‘Little sisters aren’t my type.’

Essie concealed her indrawn gasp with a nervous chuckle. Was he daring her? Goading her to out them to a clueless Ben? White-hot fire replaced her blood—she’d been his type less than twelve hours ago when he hadn’t even bothered to fully strip either of them before he’d lowered her to the bed and pushed his delicious dick inside her.

No.

Not delicious. Wrong. Forbidden. And probably as devious as the rest of him.

She cringed, her fatigue-weakened body veering towards kissing the smirk from Ash Jacob’s handsome face one minute and coming clean to Ben the next.

Day one on the job, and already locking horns with the co-owner, who now knew more about her than most people...as well as sneaking round behind her brother’s back?

Well, from now on she’d be the consummate professional and just get the job done. She couldn’t risk disappointing Ben or she’d be back to square one.

Alone.

Rejected.

No relationship with her father to speak of, and no relationship with Ben.

Her whole life, she’d felt somehow responsible for the choices her father had made, as if she were the reason he’d stayed away. And now she was responsible for the mess she’d made of this, too.

But she refused to play into Ash’s sexy hands. Her sister status meant more to her than point scoring over Ash. She could ignore him at work, pretend she’d never met him, try to forget how he’d expertly shunted her into not one, but the two best orgasms of her life. She could pretend just looking at him radiating the kind of self-assurance born of supreme confidence wasn’t a real fucking turn-on...

Ben’s phone chirruped a text alert and he pulled it from his pocket with a sigh.

‘My car’s here. I have to go.’ He stood, and Essie and Ash followed. He stooped to kiss Essie’s cheek again and turned to shake hands and shoulder bump with Ash.

‘Play nice.’ Ben levelled an index finger at his friend, who shrugged, his expression all laid-back charm and cocksure nonchalance.

Ben turned back to Essie.

‘And if you need me, email.’

Essie nodded, more than half tempted to fling herself at her brother’s Oxford-clad feet, wrap her arms around his knees and beg him to stay. To mediate between her and Ash. To stop Essie from orchestrating a rerun of last night’s recklessness. To see that underneath the stained dress and the bad decisions, she was a worthy sister.

But instead she stood and watched him leave while her stomach flopped to her coffee-speckled shoes.

Get a grip. You’re a grown-ass woman. Soon to be Dr Essie Newbold, psychologist and relationship guru. Not some insecure sad sack ruled by her hormones.

She straightened her spine and prepared to follow Ben’s lead and leave the room that shrank the minute she and Ash were alone, compressing the available oxygen.

‘Well, you failed to mention this last night...’

She yanked her stare back to Ash.

Every minute hair on her body stood to attention. Ben seemed to have taken the sun with him, too, because the room’s temperature plummeted as Essie and Ash faced off.

‘Me?’ Was he for real? ‘What about you?’ Playing the charming tourist and allowing her to believe he’d be leaving town in a few days. Laughing at her London anecdotes and listening intently when she’d offered top tips for surviving the capital, when all the time he probably knew the city better than her. If she’d known last night that he owned a sizeable chunk of St James’s, she might have put two and two together and kept her knees and her mouth shut.

And now she and Mr Moneybags had to survive an intolerable working relationship, where every time they crossed paths she’d blush beet red at her folly.

Her phone vibrated in her bag, a reminder it was time to publish the blog post she’d drafted that morning. Oh, the irony. She’d waxed lyrical about casual sex, clutching her shiny new members’ badge to the one-night-stand club. Now the pieces of that newfound air of authority lay scattered around her two left feet.

Perhaps she could quickly pen an alternative piece: How to work with people you want to...jump.

No.

Not jump. Ignore.

Ash stepped close, his big manly body producing enough heat to scorch her bare arms, lobster red. Flicks of blue flame danced in his eyes.

‘I didn’t conceal anything. I just didn’t mention anything personal.’

The unspoken hovered in the air... Unlike you.

Essie wanted to curl in on herself, but she held her head high. Being eager to take off her casual sex training wheels was nothing to be ashamed of.

‘If you made wrong assumptions, that’s your problem,’ he bit out. ‘And what was with the “My phone died. Please take a photo for me...” Why were you playing the tourist? You live here.’

She’d wanted the photo for a future blog post, the wheel symbolic of the spectrum of human emotions and the sun catching the Eye a reflection of hope—a new day. But she couldn’t tell him that, couldn’t tell him about the blog. Not when her reckless, mind-blowing one night with him was the focus of today’s post. When she published it later, this new element of fucked-upness, would give the subject matter even more credence—a cautionary tale of how people concealed what they really were to get what they wanted. To get laid.

The perils of casual sex...

‘You’re the one who lied. Ash the tourist? From what Ben told me, you own half of London.’ Typical. She’d inherited her bad taste in men from her mother...

She bit the inside of her cheek, scalding heat flooding her body. Her mum was a good person who’d raised Essie virtually single-handedly. No, she only had herself to blame for her foolhardy behaviour last night and its humiliating consequences this morning.

Where were all the honest, dependable, upfront men? And why was she a magnet for the opposite type? The ones who evaded the truth, like Ash. The ones who claimed they wanted a relationship but took more than they gave, like her ex. The ones who made promises and then broke them and threw money at the situation so they avoided dealing with real life, like her unreliable, phoney father...

Ash’s stare raked over her features. ‘So?’ He lifted his chin, looking down his nose with a lazy smirk on his face. ‘You didn’t seem to care who I was last night. In fact, all you seemed concerned about was marking your one-night-stand card—or was that part of the act, too?’ He inched into her personal space, invading until the breadth of his chest eclipsed her field of vision.

Essie placed the flat of her hand between his well-developed pecs, ignoring the burn of his body heat and the clean male scent wafting up from his expensive shirt.

‘I’m not the only one who made wrong assumptions. And I rocked your world last night, counsellor.’ Her fingers wanted to curl, to dig, to tug. But she forced them to stay flat. Time to put some boundaries in place. No matter how fantastic their brief, steamy interlude, the after shame currently making her hot and twitchy rendered the high worthless. Another important post–casual sex lesson she could impart to her readers.

His mouth kicked up on one side, and he snorted a soft gust of air.

‘Funny, I thought I’d rocked your world?’

Her internal muscles clenched at the memories of his spectacular manhood. She laughed, stepping away from toe-tingling temptation and heading for the door with a shake of her head. There was no chance of damaging this man’s ego, but she didn’t trust her voice to emerge without the breathiness that made her light-headed.

‘No?’ His hurled question stopped her in her tracks. ‘We could rectify that situation, right now.’ He flicked his stare to the uncluttered slab of a desk, his sinful mouth twisted, but his eyes hot.

Challenging?

Essie imagined herself spread there with Ash, determined to prove something, between her thighs. Thighs that loved the idea if the tremble between them was any indication. She instinctively knew that sex with hot lawyer Ash would be twice as intense as sex with hot tourist Ash. No mean feat.

Tempting.

Lying made sense, serving a dual purpose of bringing him down a peg or two and fortifying her own wobbly defences.

‘There won’t be anything more between us. I’m here for Ben, my brother. And, as you’ll remember from last night, I don’t trust your type.’

His cocky, lopsided smirk lifted her shoulders until they threatened to dislocate.

‘You’re right, there won’t be.’ He closed the distance between them, his dismissive stare dipping down the length of her body. ‘Ben is my friend, this is my business and I don’t trust anyone.’

‘Good. So we agree on one thing.’ That didn’t mean she couldn’t toy with him as he toyed with her. Make him crave a repeat performance. One he’d never get to experience. It was childish and vengeful and filled her with white-hot shame. But she longed to cut the arrogant jerk down to size. To claw back some of the dignity her poor choice and shabby vetting had decimated.

He nodded. ‘It seems so. I made it clear yesterday—one shot is all you get from me.’

Her back teeth ached as she ground them together. ‘What a gent you are. Ladies must be lined up around the block.’ She forced his spicy scent from her nose with a short snort.

He raised his dark brows. ‘I’ve never had any complaints. And you didn’t walk away unsatisfied.’

She wanted to deny his prowess. To tell him he’d been a lousy lay, but that was one lie too far. Instead she stepped closer, fighting the urge to rub her body against his like a cat. ‘As you’re so...experienced in the casual sex department, I’m sure you know this.’ She looked up at him from beneath her lashes. ‘There’s a world of difference between mindless fucking and the ultimate connection found during a real, honest human interaction.’

She dropped her head back with a prolonged sigh, feigning a look of utter ecstasy while she ran her fingertips slowly down the length of her exposed throat. She released a breathy moan, her hand coming to rest at the top of her cleavage.

And then she snapped her head up and dropped her arm to her side. Her expression returned to one of mild scorn while power blazed through her nervous system at the sight of lust glittering in his eyes and the tent in the front of his trousers.

‘If you’ve never experienced the latter—’ a shrug ‘—I feel sorry for you.’ She smiled her brightest beam. ‘Have a good day.’

She turned on her heel and left his office with her burning back ramrod-straight and her belly quivering in time to the soundtrack of When Harry Met Sally

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