And I insist on separate rooms.’ She moved to the door, halting at his sexy drawl.
‘Oh, and, Essie. Don’t forget your passport.’ With a wink that made a strangled gasp catch in her dry throat, he closed the door behind her.
* * *
The car probably cost more than her rented flat in South London—soft leather seats, sleek, shiny bodywork and chauffer driven. It even had a privacy screen. Not that they’d need that. The minute Ash held open the door for her and ushered her inside, he pulled out his phone and began tapping away.
Essie normally enjoyed silence—you could learn a lot about someone by people-watching. Their tells, their habits, their unconscious body language. But all she’d learned about Ash, apart from that the man never looked anything less than seriously fuckable, was that she wanted to know more.
Ben had told her Ash was from New York royalty, his family dating back to a wave of nineteenth-century immigrants. He’d worked for Jacob Holdings, his family-owned real estate business, since leaving college. He’d been to Harvard, and his net worth made her light-headed. But why had he moved to London? Who had broken his heart? And why couldn’t he be less attractive so she wasn’t incapacitated by the urge to jump him?
‘Forgive me.’ He looked up from his phone, his deep voice interrupting her train of thought. ‘The time zones are messing with my schedule. I had some New York deadlines to meet.’ He pocketed the device and gave her his full, panty-melting attention.
Essie shivered, hot then cold, sliding her own phone into her pocket. She almost preferred being ignored.
The device buzzed immediately, halting whatever Ash had been about to say.
‘That goes off a lot. Do you have a bet on? Tracking the stock market?’ Playful glints sparked in his eyes, but she couldn’t enjoy the banter for the slosh of stomach acid burning inside her. Her fans loved Illegally Hot and wanted more of him. She knew the feeling.
If only they could see him, edible in his crisp suit, his hair dishevelled and a scruffy smattering of facial hair reminding her how it felt to be kissed by that beautiful mouth.
‘Something like that.’ She shrugged, her cheeks hot. She should never have started the Illegally Hot posts. She changed the subject before she confessed.
‘So, this club we’re scouting—is there a dress code?’ She only owned one little black dress, one she had asked Sarah to pack into her overnight bag. She’d seen plenty of photos of him with hot dates—gorgeous, sophisticated women: models, actresses, heiresses. Compared to the women he usually associated with, she’d definitely be the country mouse.
Except this wasn’t a date. It didn’t matter what she wore. She should have brought a bin bag, just so her libido stayed in check.
Ash turned and slid his gaze along the length of her body until she squirmed and heat flooded her panties. ‘Whatever you wear will be fine.’ A shrug. ‘I know the owner.’
So it wasn’t a date. That didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy tormenting him while she suffered right alongside. Regardless of his impressive willpower, he looked at her as if she might as well be naked. His eyes wanted her even if the rest of him could resist.
‘You can change on board. We’ll be going straight to the club when we land.’
So they were still on the clock? Shame. Now she had him in a chatty mood, she’d like to unearth one or two juicy personal details to fill in the blanks. Like why he’d walked away from his New York life, his family business and what must be an extremely lucrative legal career. And why someone of his social standing, exceptional hotness and phenomenal bedroom skills was still single? No halitosis, in possession of a full head of luxuriant hair, and he wasn’t a pervert.
‘It’s not my area of expertise, but Josh seems competent enough—would you agree?’ He rubbed at his bottom lip, drawing her eyes there.
She’d probably agree to anything for the intense stare he settled on her and what it did to her pulse. How was she going to survive this trip when every nerve in her body vibrated, desperate to have him lose that control he wore like a second skin? Lose it with her.
‘He does. It’s not my area of expertise, either, although I can pull a pint.’ Her cheeks warmed. She’d pulled him, too. In a park. She stuttered on, changing the veer of her thoughts. ‘The DJ called to speak to Ben—know anything about techno house?’
Ash rubbed his jaw as if his scruff irritated him, and Essie’s fingers twitched. That stubble had been amazing scraping across her sensitive nipple last night. How would it feel on her inner thighs?
Oh, no...don’t go there.
Her experiences of oral sex were sadly unfulfilling. Her ex had claimed he didn’t care for it, although he loved it when she returned the favour. She cringed at her younger self. Of course her ex had lacked skills in the foreplay and stamina departments, too—probably why she was struggling to resist the phenomenal Ash. She knew instinctively he would excel at oral sex—she’d kissed him after all, felt his mouth at her breasts... She discreetly blew at the wisps of hair clinging to her heated forehead. Another dangerous temptation to add to the growing list.
He smiled, the genuine, lopsided version that had landed her in this mess in the first place. ‘No, not much. You?’
Essie shook her head. She loved to dance, but her clubbing days were few and far between. Long years of research-laden academic study had put paid to partying and wild nights out. And she hadn’t been interested in the hook-up side of clubbing after she’d had her fingers burned with her ex.
‘Perhaps we can leave that to Ben, on his return.’ He leaned back in the seat and looked out of the window at the passing city, the route to London City Airport taking them parallel to the river. ‘So, tell me about you and Ben. You didn’t grow up together?’ He turned a shrewd stare her way.
Great. So he wanted to make conversation and he’d chosen the one subject that made her skin raw and her scalp prickle. Her relationship with her brother was still so fragile, and brought all her insecurities to the surface like a rash.
Ben and Ash were friends. But Ash had barely heard of her... Was Ben ashamed of the connection with his illegitimate half-sister? Or perhaps she was so low down on his list of priorities... Been there, done that.
She shook her heavy head. ‘We share a father, but I grew up here and, as you know, Ben in New York.’
It shouldn’t matter that Ben hadn’t discussed her with his oldest friend enough for Ash to remember her name. Yes, Ben had been the one to reach out after he’d discovered the truth about Frank Newbold’s other life. But perhaps he now regretted the impulse. Did he consider her a cling-on? An inconvenience? Something else to be managed or swept under the carpet?
Could she really blame Ben for being ashamed to broadcast the existence of a sibling he knew little about, his father’s sordid secret? The shame she’d felt growing up with Frank’s constant absences and see-through excuses rose to the surface, boiling hot. Could she criticise Ben when her own father hadn’t found her lovable enough for him to stick around?
She choked down familiar fears. ‘What about you and Ben? He said you’ve been friends since grade school.’
Ash
