up to the week before the wedding, when I discovered she was cheating on me.’
Essie stared, mouth agape.
Who would cheat on Ash?
A splash of icy champagne spilled on her dress, soaking through the fabric. She looked down, busying herself with wiping at the spill with the hem of her dress, to both gather her own scattered thoughts and give Ash some time to recover from his shocking confession.
But what did she say to a temporary lover on discovering he had indeed had his heart broken, something that had tainted all his future relationships? She knew what psychologist Essie would say. She even had an idea how relationship blogger Essie would handle it. But the woman who’d spent the night in his bed and was already struggling with the boundaries she’d agreed to Essie? She was all over the place.
‘Have you...had anyone serious since then?’
He shook his head, confirming her theories. ‘Casual works best for me.’
While part of her was happy that she and Ash were on the same page in their personal reasons for avoiding relationships at this stage in their lives, his confirmation came with an unpleasant hollowness in her stomach.
He’d really meant what he’d said.
‘I’m sorry you were hurt. Your ex sounds a couple of sandwiches short of a picnic, if you ask me.’ Humour seemed the safest option to claw back the light-hearted, Parisian vibe they’d had earlier. But it didn’t banish the gnawing inside, or the restlessness of earlier. Or the urge to comfort Ash. But he’d hate that. She sat on her free hand.
Ash shrugged. ‘I’m well over it. As I said, it was years ago.’ He didn’t appear over it. In fact, a greenish hue tinged his skin. ‘I just think that whatever that emotion is—that drug-like high—it passes pretty quickly, and then what do you have?’
She had plenty of answers, but none she thought he’d want to hear. And perhaps he was right. What did she really know? Everything she’d learned about men came from her ex, a pathetic excuse for a man who’d needed to put her down to make himself feel like a man, and her waste-of-space father—a man who was only in her life thirty per cent of the time and never at the important moments. If she’d grown up with Ben, at least she’d have had a stable male role model, an older brother to fight her corner, vet her boyfriends and tell her she was worthy. But Frank had robbed her of that, too.
‘Love didn’t work out for you and the lazy, critical, controlling jerk-off...’ He toyed with a strand of her hair, his stare searching.
‘No.’ As far as romantic relationships went, she’d proved her judgment was seriously lacking. She’d accepted meagre scraps, just like her mother. ‘But that was my fault. People treat you the way you allow yourself to be treated, right?’ Yes, she knew the theory down to the last detail, but putting it into practice for yourself... That was another matter.
Ash nodded in agreement, his stare fixed on the horizon.
‘But, you’re right. I haven’t found it, yet. But I do know that as humans we’re destined to strive for a meaningful connection, an interaction with other humans. We can’t avoid it. It’s evolutionary. A survival tactic.’
‘Is that why your relationship with Ben is so important?’
Essie shrugged, feigning indifference while her insides shrivelled. ‘You don’t have to be a psychologist to see I have daddy issues. I grew up thinking I was an only child. I loved my father, idolised him as a little girl, but his betrayal ruined our relationship.’ She shrugged, playing down the impact of her rolling stomach. ‘I feel cheated—Ben’s a great guy, as you know.’
Ash nodded.
And Ash? Another great guy who’d been hurt in the past, who she’d objectified on her blog in order to feel validated. Well, that ended today. No more Illegally Hot. And no more crazy ideas about Ash being anything more than a temporary fling.
Several beats passed.
‘Hungry?’ said Ash.
Essie nodded, despite her swirling stomach.
‘Let’s go to Montmartre for lunch. They have a street market today.’
And just like that they successfully hurdled the invisible barrier—with good, old-fashioned denial.
THE FOLLOWING SATURDAY night Ash emerged from The Yard’s offices to find the bar awash with smart, glamorous opening-night customers. Cocktails and good times flowed. Essie and Josh had organised a happy hour to bring in office workers, and the online social media buzz she’d created had ensured it was standing room only. Their brand-new cocktail menu was inscribed in elegant script on the oversized contemporary chalkboard behind the bar. Every glass sparkled. The bar’s state-of-the-art lighting created pockets of ambience, certain nooks and crannies of the chic space becoming intimate, dimly lit corners.
But instead of the satisfaction he’d anticipated, his body was strung taut, every muscle twitchy. Ash scanned the bar for Essie. He knew she wore the same slinky black dress she’d had on at La Voute a week ago, because just before they’d opened The Yard’s door for the first time, she’d strode into his office with that slightly feral gleam in her eyes, locked the door behind her and perched her delectable derrière on his desk.
When she’d slowly bared her thighs, revealing that she’d removed her underwear, he’d been powerless to resist what had followed—him fucking her on his desk, a new experience she’d requested with a cheeky, ‘For luck...?’
The restlessness dissipated as he recalled the past week of fantastic sex. They’d spent practically every spare minute screwing—starting with the flight back from Paris to London, where she’d ridden him in one of the wide leather seats at thirty-thousand feet, successfully earning herself a mile-high experience, and continuing at work, at his apartment and anywhere else they could get away with. The intense, couldn’t-keep-their-hands-off-each-other phase was lasting well beyond the arbitrary time limit he’d set. Any day now, he expected the bubble to burst, the novelty to wear off, the fun to end and his life to return to normality.
But the desire was far from abating and Ash found himself in new territory.
Perhaps the out-of-body feelings rattling him were a symptom of having allowed the insatiable, enthusiastic Essie too much time in the driving seat? Time to wrestle back some of the control, dictate the...fun, suggest the next experience. His mind whirred with endless pornographic possibilities. Yes, that was just the right tactic to steer things back on track.
He spotted her at the far end of the bar and discreetly adjusted himself. She still carried the radiant glow her earlier orgasm had delivered to her translucent skin. She’d retamed her hair, twisting it into some messy topknot that left only a few wisps tickling her elegant neck. Just knowing that the halter dress she wore prevented her wearing a bra, and that her perfect tits were bare under the scrap of silk, flooded his groin with fresh heat. Heat that should have dissipated after their quick but thoroughly satisfying desk session. But no. It was as if the more he had, the more he knew about her, the more he wanted.
A very dangerous combination.
Ash
