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 little head tilt she’d employed while checking him out. Yes, perhaps she was exactly what he needed... A little help with his current hard-on predicament. She seemed to share his physical interest. Perhaps that would cure his mind-numbing restlessness and get his usual focus back on track.
The tension snapped with her tinkling laughter. Ash grinned back. At least she owned her flagrant sexual curiosity in him—how refreshing. He reassessed her age—perhaps she wasn’t as sweet as she looked. She flicked her ponytail, sunny smile back in place.
He shifted on the bench, fishing his phone from his back pocket. The angle of the sun meant her dress was practically see-through from his position. Should he tell her? Or just enjoy her shapely silhouette? Imagine those long legs wrapped around his waist...
No.
His mind zapped to ancient history come back to haunt him. His recent discovery of the lengths his ex had gone to in order to deceive him, and the depth of that lie, only confirmed his stand on the opposite sex. He was done with women, unless they, like him, wanted one thing only and understood the rules.
The weathered wooden rungs of the bench creaked as she sat next to him. ‘You’re American, aren’t you?’
He nodded and then looked away from her open, earnest face. At least this woman couldn’t be interested in the prestige and power of his family name or his considerable personal fortune, dressed the way he was. She couldn’t know his family owned half of Manhattan and a sizeable chunk of London. She couldn’t guess he’d come to London to distance himself from his ‘real estate tycoon’ reputation—as well as from the ruthless deception by one family member in particular. Not unless she read the society pages of the New York Times.
He tasted bile. How could his father do that to him? To his own son? Making a mockery of the years of professional loyalty Ash had given the family business? Fuck—did he have ‘trusting schmuck’ stamped across his forehead?
The sexy stranger didn’t seem aware of his inner turmoil. She turned her body to face him so her bare knees bumped his denim-clad thigh, eyes alight. ‘London is an amazing city, isn’t it? Have you seen Buckingham Palace? It’s just over there.’ She pointed over her shoulder, warming to her change of subject and speaking with dizzying speed in her excitement about the tourist attractions the city had to offer.
‘And do you know about the Seven Noses of Soho? I’m scouting them out today. Fun fact...’ She pointed towards the small lake in the park. ‘Did you know the pelicans were a gift from a Russian ambassador to King Charles the second in 1664?’
She talked so quickly, her charming accent distorting the English until she might as well have been speaking Mandarin. Noses? Pelicans? Perhaps the impotence coiled inside him was steadily infecting and destroying his brain cells. Perhaps he was more jet-lagged than he’d assumed. Perhaps testosterone had fried his usual laser-sharp mind.
‘So, you wanted a picture?’ He unlocked his phone and leaned forward, preparing to stand. Do a good deed for the beautiful English rose so he could get on with trying to cobble his shit back together. He could no longer pretend that his sole motivation for coming to London was for a new business opportunity. Other factors had made him flee across the Atlantic—his guilt at forcing his mother to face her sham of a marriage, and the shameful publicity that had followed his bust-up with his father. Belonging to a high-profile family had its distinct downsides.
But he’d left all that behind.
Focus on the here and now.
London, the rich culture and vibrancy of the city, provided abundant distractions, though none quite as appealing as the distraction warming the sliver of space between her body and his and momentarily taking his mind from his troubles.
‘How long have you been here?’ Another head tilt, her tongue peeking out to swipe her lower lip.
A silent groan rattled his skull.
So not fair.
‘A day or two.’ How could he ignore such delicious temptation right in front of him? Surely he’d read her signals correctly. The perfect diversion sat before him looking at him as if he were a tasty snack—what could be more temporary than two travellers making a connection and enjoying one lost night in London?
No need to confess his real identity—one of New York’s top corporate attorneys, a real estate mogul and heir to the Jacob fortune. Not that he wanted to publicise any association with his bastard father right now. Hal Jacob’s ruthless streak had long made Ash wince. But even he hadn’t seen the train wreck approaching, hadn’t anticipated the far-reaching, closer-to-home consequences.
He scrubbed his hand over his face, forcing his dark thoughts to take a sharp left turn, and focussed on the enticing, quirky and sexy woman in front of him. She smelled fantastic. Just the thing to settle the out-of-control spiralling of his thoughts,
Yes, she was a little greener than most of the women who passed briefly through his life, but just as striking. Practically the polar opposite of the sophisticated women he usually
