One Night Only / No Strings. JC Harroway
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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 invited into his bed, her bubbly personality was as intoxicating as a breath of fresh and fragrant summer air. The flicker of interest in his groin built, stirring his limbs with urgent energy.
Ash covertly checked her ring finger—bare.
But in his experience, women who looked like her—peaches and cream complexion, whimsical ponytail—wanted more than he was willing to offer. Wanted a relationship. And he never went there, no matter how appealing the inducement.
Not since his ex-fiancée...
Ash stood in an attempt to banish the jitters in his legs. He’d take her damn snap and put an end to this weird Transatlantic lesson in charming, but eccentric, cultural differences. Remove himself far from temptation.
He stepped into the centre of the path and raised his phone to the distant iconic view of one of London’s most popular tourist attractions. With a click he’d completed his obligation, his intentions still wavering between polite dismissal and revealing some of his cards in case he’d been wrong about her and she shared his philosophies on casual sex.
‘Have you taken the ride?’ She appeared at his side, her eyes focussed on the giant wheel, its half-glass pods glinting in the sun.
‘Not yet.’ He held out his phone for her inspection, his mind flitting to a different kind of ride as she leaned close to stare at the screen and the tips of her silky hair glided over his wrist.
Fuck! No amount of English fresh air was going to shift this...urge. And, away from the negotiation table, Ash was never more in control than in the bedroom.
Yes, a little summer loving would both banish his restlessness and put his head straight. Hopefully, the control he demanded in the bedroom would re-infect the rest of him and shunt him back onto an even keel in time for the first day of his new business venture tomorrow.
The captivating stranger smiled, and his heart rate accelerated again.
‘Thanks so much. You’re a lifesaver.’ She rattled off her number and he typed in the digits, sending the photo via text.
‘My name’s Essie, by the way.’ She held out her hand—delicate; smooth-skinned; short nails painted purple.
He shook it, the brief slide of palm-to-palm grating in its formality after the mild flirtatious banter bouncing between them.
‘Ash.’
She grinned as if he’d confessed his name began with HRH and he’d come to invite her back to the palace for afternoon tea.
‘So, Ash the American tourist...’ She had her photo, but she wasn’t leaving. In fact, she was twirling that hair again, her eyes glinting with an unmistakable interest—one matched in him. No, his instincts were spot on.
‘So, Essie, English fun facts expert...’
Another laugh that shot straight to his balls. ‘Wanna grab lunch?’ she said. ‘I don’t know this part of London well, but there’s a cute deli not far from here and I have tons more facts about the city...’ Her pretty blue eyes gleamed.
Heat soared in his chest. She was coming on to him in a subtle, fetching way he found way more enticing than the overt advances of his usual hook-ups. Absolutely, he’d be up for a no-strings one-time with this beautiful stranger. And as a tourist, he needn’t spin his usual spiel about having a good time, keeping things casual, hooking up and other euphemisms that let the women he bedded know exactly where they stood. Where he stood.
She’d leave London to go back to whatever charming part of the UK she came from and, as far as she’d know, he’d go back to America.
He held out his arm, indicating she take the path ahead of them before tucking both his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. She smiled, swung her hair over her shoulder and set off at his side. For a few beats they walked in silence, the warm summer air heavy with possibility and an insistent flicker of sexual chemistry.
Something stirred in his gut—that delicious coil of excitement that the anonymity of meeting a stranger in a foreign place brought. Today he could be anyone. There were endless possibilities to reinvent himself and shake off the recently acquired shackles that held him down as if his feet were entombed in concrete.
Not Ash the duped, who’d not only been cheated on but also lied to by the two people in his life who should have had his back. Yeah, fuck that guy. He was Ash the American tourist, killing time with the interesting, beautiful breath of fresh air that was Essie.
‘So...’ he flashed his first genuine smile her way, enjoying the telling pink flush of her cheeks ‘...tell me about these noses.’
* * *
Essie Newbold laughed and bumped shoulders with the sexy American she’d spent the afternoon and evening with. Well, she would have bumped shoulders with him if he weren’t so tall—instead, her shoulder bumped his arm. But the effect was the same.
Contact.
Those delicious little trembles of static electricity zinged to all her highly attuned erogenous zones as they’d been doing all day, every time their arms had brushed as they’d hunted the Seven Noses of Soho or when they were squeezed together, chest to chest, on the standing-room-only Tube. She’d never been more grateful for the crowding of London’s underground.
Instead of allowing the momentum of her flirty little shoulder bump to ping her away from him, Ash scooped his arm around her waist and grinned down at her.
Her head swam.
She was really going to do this—sleep with the dreamy man she’d met in the park this morning? Her first