affair with one of his co-workers had been a ruse, one big cover-up, to hide the fact that the man she’d been screwing was him, his own father.
‘It’s okay.’ She levelled sombre eyes on him, full of compassion. ‘I understand. When someone betrays our trust, we just want to protect ourselves.’
Yes, Ash had battled betrayal. His fiancée had chosen the father over the son. Perhaps she’d hoped Hal would leave his wife. But his father’s involvement had shown Ash’s whole life to be one big lie. He swallowed the razor blades stuck in his throat.
‘Are your parents still together?’ Essie’s gentle probing continued.
He should change the subject. She’d winkled out the truth as easily as if she’d stripped him naked. But he surprised himself by answering honestly, albeit a truncated version of the final shit storm that had had him walking away from his New York life.
‘No.’ He couldn’t add his part. He hadn’t thought the consequences through yet. The public row had been photographed by some Jacob Holdings employee, who’d passed the photos to the gossip rags. Ash had needed to ensure his mother wasn’t the last to know.
He fought the urge to shrink down into the leather. His mother hadn’t known about the second affair with Ash’s fiancée.
He looked away. Intelligent, compassionate Essie saw too much. And the inside of his soul, the hot pool of guilt simmering there, wasn’t pretty.
He grabbed a lifeline, any lifeline would do. ‘Tell me about your PhD.’
Essie stared him down. She saw through his pathetic deflection technique—had probably learned about the tactic on day one of her psychology degree.
So his personal life had spiralled out of control. He focussed on the chemistry dogging his every interaction with this woman, present even in this quiet, albeit stilted conversation that dragged him too close to the edge of a cliff, but also offered deeper insights into the woman occupying all his thoughts and fantasies.
Was he seriously considering another tumble?
Another shot at distraction with the fascinating Essie?
She released a small sigh through those plump, rosy lips of hers, letting him off the hook. Lips he’d like to see wrapped around his... He discreetly adjusted himself under the table. The abrupt change of tack helped restore his equilibrium.
‘I have a PhD in Human Relationships. Just finished it actually.’
Another choking sensation, as if his collar had now shrunk two sizes.
He gaped. Fucking perfect. The one woman who had threatened his one-night rule since he’d created it was some sort of...happily-ever-after guru. Totally understandable after her short-changed parenting from Frank. But Ash wasn’t a happily-ever-after guy.
She didn’t seem to notice the meltdown passing through his body.
She twirled the stem of her glass while she continued. ‘My study looked at the social interactions in modern families in the Western model and compared them to those in other cultures—cultures with multi-generational family bonds, where people live in close proximity to extended family.’
Well, that sounded better—more science, less agony aunt. Ash released some air past his strangulated throat.
‘So you’re a...’ he could barely utter the words ‘...relationship expert?’ Next thing she’d be telling him she wrote one of those advice columns. What the actual fuck had he gotten himself into? And why was he more intrigued than ever? Even this revelation wasn’t enough to dampen his need for her, a torture that surely rivalled anything on offer at the London Dungeon.
Instead of the glare he’d expected, she tossed her head back while she laughed a dirty laugh. His body reacted with futile predictability. He’d had first-hand knowledge of the silky soft taste of that neck—the way she moaned louder when he tongued that spot just below her ear.
Her hand clutched her chest. ‘Oh...your face.’ She grinned and took another sip of wine.
At least her mocking him had snapped all that confessional tension. Thank fuck.
‘Don’t worry. I’m not trying to trap you into marriage, counsellor.’
‘What do you mean?’ Was he that transparent? Could she see the sweat beading on his top lip? Hear his balls screaming while they ran for the hills? See how close he was to spiralling out of control?
‘You have that deer-in-the-headlights look.’ Her lip curled. ‘Trust me—I know that look well. My father, Ben’s father, perfected something similar every time I asked him if he’d make it to my school plays or my birthday parties. Every Christmas that look came out, as predictable as Christmas carols or the Queen’s speech.’
She blinked and stared at her wine glass. Ash wished he’d just gone down on her instead of starting a conversation—at least he might have put a smile on her beautiful face.
‘He had this look—a sideways glance, a shifty, non-committal murmur...and I knew my celebrations would be a single-parent affair. That I didn’t matter to him enough.’ Her glassy eyes took on a faraway look. If she cried, he’d be doomed.
But she sniffed and tilted her defiant chin up once more. ‘Sorry...it’s a bit early for wine.’
What the fuck...? So not only had Frank Newbold strung along two families, kept two women dangling, but he’d also done some serious damage to his daughter’s self-esteem. Smart, emotionally intelligent Essie had been constantly let down, left waiting and wondering, probably questioning her worth. Ash sobered. ‘I...I’m sorry.’
He’d met her father many times. He hadn’t seemed like the piece of work she described, but then, he’d kept his mistress and his daughter a secret from everyone for more than fifteen years.
No wonder Ben hadn’t said much on the topic—how did his friend feel about the revelations?
But what did Ash know about fathers? He was clearly an appalling judge of character where his own was concerned. He hadn’t been able to see what was happening right under his nose, with the two people who should have loved him most.
So Essie was as messed up as him. Beautiful, intelligent, funny and caring—but probably none of those things in her own eyes.
With a slug of wine, she seemed to compose herself. ‘Sorry. You probably got more than you bargained for with that question.’
True. But just meeting her had been a not unwelcome tornado, ripping through his already weather-beaten soul. He wanted to pry further; to offer her words of consolation; to tell her she did matter. That she was all those things and much, much more. Tell her that he understood what it was like to have a shitty, selfish parent. But that would involve opening up his own pain for inspection.
Nope. Not an option.
His hand twitched, seconds from reaching for hers. But if he touched her now, he wouldn’t stop until he’d slaked every need burning inside him.
Show some control, man.
She stood, all amusement leached from her pale
