Читать книгу One Night Only - JC Harroway - Страница 10

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