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
