One night only, p.9
One Night Only, page 9
Drastic circumstances called for drastic measures.
Damn, what was a girl to do?
CHAPTER FIVE
‘YOU HAVE GOT to be kidding me...’ Essie spun on him the minute they boarded the cute little Learjet he’d hired to take them to Paris. Her baby blues flashed and she popped out one hip as she glared in slack-jawed astonishment.
‘What do you mean?’ He was used to impressing women with his wealth. He’d never experienced whatever snit had worked its way beneath her creamy skin.
She scanned the sumptuous interior, which was starkly white, from the plush carpeting to the soft leather seating.
‘All this?’ She spread her arms wide to encompass the luxury, her nose wrinkled as if he’d offered her a ride to Paris inside a dumpster. ‘Ever heard of global warming? Carbon footprints? Scheduled flights? The Eurostar?’
Was she for real?
He swept past her, loosening his tie and shrugging off his jacket to drape it over one of the wide white leather seats that offended her so much.
‘I’ll plant a damn forest. Sit down.’ Damn, she riled him up. Bubbly and playful one minute, vulnerable and hesitant the next and then hissing and wild when he overstepped some line he couldn’t see. His cock stirred for the hundredth time that day. This torture had to end. One way or another.
After she’d left his apartment last night, his balls had been so blue he’d returned to his en-suite, switched the water to arctic and banged one out. Then he’d put out some feelers among his fellow legal professionals in the UK to see if anyone was looking to take on a new partner. As soon as Ben returned, he’d distance himself from the day-to-day running of The Yard. His commitment was always supposed to have been financial, with a spot of legal work thrown in pro bono.
When he’d walked into the bar this morning to see her smiling at Josh, he’d been so desperate to quench his constant need for her, his testosterone-addled mind had considered selling his stake in The Yard just to rid himself of her sunny smile and tinkling laugh, both of which he’d grown to crave as much as burying himself inside her again. What was it about her? And where could he get a shot to render himself immune?
But the more he discovered, unearthing the conundrum that was Essie Newbold as an archaeologist scraped away a layer of ancient dirt, the more he wanted to know. Who was this woman who intrigued him so much?
He had some answers—no wonder working for Ben, despite being overqualified, was so important to her. The need to connect with her brother shone from the vulnerable look in her eyes when she talked about him. And she wasn’t secure in their relationship, a fact confirmed by the brittle tetchiness at Ash’s clumsy comments.
What the hell had Frank Newbold done to her? Was that what she’d meant when she’d said she was an expert at rejection?
Well, they had an hour—plenty of time to fill in a few more blanks. He waited until she’d settled in the chair opposite his before he selected two glasses from the bar and an ice-cold bottle of white wine and then sat opposite. A small table separated them but it might as well have been a spider’s web for all the protection it afforded. And he needed as many obstacles as he could get—the struggle to keep his hands off her grew more urgent every second he spent in her exasperating, but highly addictive, company.
He poured them both a glass while the two-man crew readied the plane for take-off. If he didn’t occupy his hands and his mouth somehow, he was going to splay her open and drop to his knees on the plush carpet and taste something other than her sassy mouth.
Carbon footprints...
The car journey alone had been an exercise in extreme gratification avoidance—he deserved a damned medal. He’d never had to work so hard to keep his hands to himself and his dick in his pants. And the novelty had grown pretty thin. An hour’s travel time to Paris... An hour of looking but not touching. Fuck, he was more of a mess now than when he’d left New York with his bags packed full of betrayal and indignation and paps nipping at his heels. But the conversation helped—he wanted to know what made her tick almost as much as he wanted to kiss her again and then lay her over this table at thirty thousand feet.
Fuck.
When Ben had suggested Essie accompany him to Paris, he’d baulked at the idea. But Ben’s proposal had made sense. After all, she was their temporary manager. This was the best way to iron out prospective teething problems before the doors opened. They’d only have one shot at making a first impression on the city.
Professionally, everything he touched became a success—The Yard would be no different. He wouldn’t allow the failure that dominated his personal life to taint his work. And returning to Jacob Holdings with his tail between his legs after the public row between him and his father in their open-plan office area...not an option. The man was lucky Ash hadn’t laid him out.
Ash took a slug of wine, wishing it were Scotch. He needed a distraction from the destructive thoughts and the dangerous urge to lose himself between Essie’s magnificent thighs.
‘What is your area of expertise?’ He picked up the earlier conversational thread. He imagined her doctorate wouldn’t be in bar work.
His question startled her—good. If he was to be off balance in her company... ‘You said it’s not bar work’ He licked the wine from his lip and her eyes flared.
Yes.
Those pools of intelligence drew him in—she wanted him, too.
‘I have a psychology degree and I’ve just completed a PhD.’
He frowned. Psychology? Well, that made sense. She was smart. She cared about people. And she could probably spot his bullshit a mile away. His collar tightened a fraction.
And then a fraction more. ‘Why did you move from New York?’ She jutted her chin in his direction.
Bingo.
He wasn’t touching that one. Another millimetre tighter... New York was full of ghosts, full of reminders of his blindness and his failures and his guilt. And full of gossip on the state of his family and his past love life.
While she waited for his answer, Essie took a sip of wine. Her lips caressed the rim of the glass and she hummed her appreciation—blessedly distracting sound that shot straight to his aching balls.
At his prolonged silence she placed the glass on the table and narrowed her eyes. ‘So it’s okay to pry about my cheating father, my messed-up family, but you can’t answer a simple question? Interesting.’ She flicked her eyebrows up, her blue stare way too perceptive.
Fuck, the last thing he needed was her probing his head. He threw her a bone. ‘Would it appease you to know I have a cheating father, too?’ She stared, open-mouthed. ‘That my sister, Harley, grew up knowing our father had cheated on our mother with an old family friend but only recently confided in the rest of us?’
Ash had been defending Harley and his mother when he’d confronted Hal at the office that day. But all the arrogant Hal Jacob had heard was criticism—something the megalomaniac couldn’t tolerate.
Essie’s eyes widened as she waited for more. But sharing his sob story wouldn’t change the outcome. She wasn’t the only one with a crappy father figure.
Discovering his father had cheated on his mother and made Harley complicit in keeping the secret had turned his stomach. But it had been the blows to come that had nailed the coffin lid shut for good on his relationship with a man he’d worked for his whole adult life. A man who was supposed to love him.
Essie leaned forward, placing her hand flat on the table between them as if offering the support of her touch, something he wanted but didn’t dare accept. ‘Does your mother know? Is that why you don’t trust people?’
Ash forced himself to take a slow swallow of wine. Her questions left him raw, reeling, the truth too shameful to speak aloud.
Half the truth. ‘She knows.’ Ash had been the one to tell her of Hal’s final revelation, thrown at his son in a fit of extreme spite during that fateful argument—that Ash’s fiancée’s 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 face after her personal confession. She looked as sick as he felt.
‘Look.’ She braced her hands on the table so her delectable chest filled his vision, a distraction he indulged in for a dizzying split second.
‘I understand you have...issues. Who doesn’t? But, this—’ she waved her hand between them, as if the constant crackle of sexual tension were a living breathing, visible thing ‘—isn’t going away. I’m not letting my brother down because you can’t separate sex from business.’
He sputtered, almost choking on his wine. Could she separate the two? A small smile tugged his mouth. It had been a very long time since anyone had surprised him as much as she had. Damn. Another magnificent point in her favour. And bringing talk back to the reason they couldn’t stop looking at each other with lusty eyes—genius. Why hadn’t he thought of that?
‘So, I think we should find a way to work this from our systems.’ Reaching for her wine, she took another slug. ‘Now, please show me where I can change into something more appropriate for clubbing.’
Change...? No way.
He swept his eyes over her perfectly adequate, flesh-covering outfit. If she emerged in another of those flirty dresses that showcased her phenomenal body...
Doomed.
Again, her long legs featured in an X-rated fantasy—naked, draped over his shoulders, the heels of her shoes digging into his back... If he were to break his one-time rule to quench the insatiable fire, it would just be sex, until the flames dwindled.
With a resigned sigh, he directed her towards the restroom at the rear of the plane. He couldn’t argue with her logic, though. Where their intense, combustive attraction was concerned, they were all out of options.
* * *
‘Jacob, good to see you, man.’ His old friend Lucas slapped him on the back with a shoulder bump and slid his delighted smile over Ash’s shoulder to take in Essie. Ash had been right to fear her change of outfit.
She’d emerged from the plane’s bathroom wearing a wisp of black silk that hugged her breasts and hips like a second skin and completely bared her back. A pair of skyscraper heels completed the visual suffering. She’d even scooped her swathe of golden hair up into some sort of relaxed up-do so the gorgeous translucent skin of her neck, shoulders and back paraded for his greedy eyes.
She’d sat opposite him for the remainder of the flight engrossed in her ever-present phone while he’d indulged in his lurid imaginings.
Further conversation was off the table, not because he wasn’t curious to know more about her past—which not only held her in its grip, but seemed to have guided her choice of career—but because he feared she’d turn the spotlight on him. Pick apart his freshly opened wound with her insightful, analytical psychologist’s mind.
He’d tried to get some work done, but the words on his screen had blurred in and out of focus. His mind had reeled from her scent and every time she’d shifted in her seat and he’d caught a glimpse of another sliver of skin, he’d had to dig his short nails into the leather of the arm rests to stop himself from peeling her out of the dress that had become an implement of torture.
