One Night Only, page 15
She nodded, her eyes glassy as she stared at their entwined fingers in her lap. And then she shook it off, her expression brightening as she watched the twin sandwich on display. ‘Fun fact—did you know that simply holding hands with the person you love can alleviate pain and fear and reduce stress? It’s the oxytocin the brain releases.’
He nodded, his throat so damned tight he had to loosen his collar. ‘I’ll tell the happy couple.’
She stood, glancing over at the dance floor. ‘I think they know.’ She smiled down at him, the saddest smile he’d ever seen, before she turned to leave.
He halted her retreat. ‘Don’t worry about Ben.’
She shook her head. ‘Don’t worry about your mum.’
She left him floundering at the centre of the monumental mess he’d made.
* * *
Ash tapped gently on the door to Essie’s hotel room, his eyes scanning the corridor. He had no explanation for why he stood at her door at one a.m., for any of the wedding party who might spot him. He just knew a team of wild horses couldn’t keep him away.
If this was to be their last night before he confronted Ben tomorrow, he just had to kiss her one last time. Hold her once more. See the rapture on her face as they shared one last intimacy. Somehow, between the fun facts and the fun sex, she’d worked her way under his skin. All of her—her beauty, her vulnerabilities, her thirst for new experiences.
The door flew open and there she stood, dressed in a baggy, oversized T-shirt that hung from one shoulder, her long, pale legs leading to the views of nirvana he knew were underneath. He had no right to touch her—he never had—but he wanted her anyway. With the same ferocity of need he’d experienced since the day they’d met.
How had he ever imagined himself immune to her? He was a fool and it was too late for a vaccine.
‘Invite me in.’ He tried to temper the gruffness from his voice, but he craved her so badly he could hardly draw breath. Perhaps it was the promise of one last time. But however he looked at it, he couldn’t stay away. And he suspected it was simply Essie herself that drove his uncontrollable need. A need he’d have to quash soon.
Unless you keep her.
Fuck. She wasn’t a possession. And she deserved way more than a commitment-phobic, cynical asshole like him. She deserved her happily-ever-after—the whole cake, not just the crumbs. Her scientific love. And he was the last man qualified to give her that.
But he could give her the only thing he’d ever given her.
A fun time. A new experience.
Why did it sound so empty? Hollow? Pathetic?
She held the door open and he stepped inside. As soon as she’d shut it behind him, she turned to face him. ‘I need to talk to—’
Ash pressed his fingers over her soft lips. ‘I know what you need. What we both need.’ He’d made his decision to talk to Ben. The mess he’d made of his personal life was old news and he’d be damned if he spent what little remaining time he had left with her trawling through his issues.
He might not be the man for her long term, but he could show her how rare and precious she was, and what she did to him and, hopefully, when they parted, she would feel her own worth and have nothing to regret.
She nodded, her breathtaking face lifted to his as he dragged her close with one arm banded around her waist and slanted his mouth over hers. Her soft lips parted under his with a sigh. As always, she embraced what they shared, never once pressing him for labels, or more than he could offer.
Did anyone deserve a woman as amazing as Essie?
Ash bunched the hem of her shirt in his fists and lifted it over her head, breaking from their kiss for the split second it took to dispense with the garment and slide his stare over her magnificent nakedness. He scooped his arms around her waist, hoisting her from her feet and stumbling backwards towards the bed so she sprawled over him, covering him from chest to thigh in a tumble of naked limbs and a cloud of Essie-scented hair.
Ash filled his lungs and his hands with her, memorising every nuance of this unique woman. With every passing beat, her kisses grew more desperate, the breathy moans in her throat more frantic and her fingers more insistent. And her ardour matched his.
Ash rolled them so she lay under him, her writhing body urging him on. She tugged at his shirt and he helped her, yanking it up from behind his head and tossing it aside.
Skin to warm skin.
Ash gripped one of her thighs, pushing her open to slot his hips in between. He captured one pink-tipped nipple, laving and lapping until she bucked in his arms and tugged at his hair, the wild, demanding side of her never far from the surface. His kisses followed the bumps of her ribs, the dip of her navel and the hollows beneath her hip bones.
He slid to the floor, tugging her ass to the edge of the bed until he was satisfied with her position. He spread her open, his gaze devouring every perfect pink inch of her.
Just one more taste.
He pressed a kiss to each thigh and then he leaned in to touch the tip of his tongue to her clit.
She sucked in a gasp, her hands fisting the bedspread. ‘Ash...’
He pulled back, a rock the size of the Isle of Wight lodged in his chest. ‘Say it again. Say my name.’ Some base part of him needed to hear her call out for him, to know that he wasn’t alone with his unrest. To know that she saw him and only him.
She nodded and he dived once more for the slick haven between her thighs. ‘Ash...’ She resumed her chant, his name over and over again, while he licked and flicked and suckled.
Every time she spoke his name, his fingers clung to her thighs with a fraction more force, as if he wanted to stamp his presence all over her from head to toe, leaving no doubt. He pushed the crazy idea aside, focussing on the catches in her throat as he forced her higher and higher.
She wasn’t his.
‘Yes...Ash...I’m close.’ Her thighs juddered against his face and he ceased his efforts. He wanted to be inside her when she came, her muscles gripping him like a fist as she wailed his name for the last time.
She cried out, but when he tore into his fly, shoving his pants down with impatient jerks and pulling a condom from the pocket, she helped him, pushing at the denim and sliding her hands up and down the backs of his thighs.
Ash gripped the foil between his teeth and then covered himself. He shucked the jeans with a kick. Gripping her hips, he tilted her ass from the bed and plunged inside her with one thrust. Her body welcomed him, warm and tight and as close to perfect as he’d ever experienced.
He held himself still, allowing her to grow accustomed to him inside her and allowing him time to breathe around the block of concrete where his lungs should be. Ash held her stare while their chests heaved in unison, the patter of her heartbeat strong and rapid against his chest.
‘Ash...’ She sighed, her fingers dancing over his back, his shoulders and across his chest. He gipped one wandering hand, his fingers interlocking with hers while he pressed it to the mattress, and then followed suit with the other hand.
Her touching him with tender fingertips, while looking at him the way she was...it was too much. Too close to something he’d forsaken for good. Too raw a reminder that, one day, some other lucky bastard would be gifted this woman’s love.
He rocked into her, his thrusts growing in speed and power as if he was chasing down his demons. Every time he slammed home a tiny gasp left her throat. It was a sound he’d remember his whole life. Her wide eyes clung to him as if begging. Only, he was the one who should be on his knees. Worshipping.
Her breasts jiggled, desperate for his tongue, but he’d reached the point of no return, reached his limit. He released one of her hands to scoop her thigh higher until it curved over his hip. Holding it there, he sank lower, the last inch into her tight heat.
‘Yes...Ash...that’s—’ She never finished the sentence. Her orgasm struck, her head stretched back as she gasped a prolonged wail and clamped down on him so hard, he almost closed his eyes in ecstasy. But then he’d have missed her riding out her climax with her beautiful stare on him, her swollen mouth slack as her moans petered into pants.
His head swam as oxygen deprivation sucked him under.
‘Ash.’ She cupped his face, pressing her mouth to his.
He collapsed forward as fire raced along his spine and down the length of his cock. He buried his face in her neck as he ground his hips through the last of the spasms. He wasn’t gentle. His facial hair would mark her, but he needed a minute to flounder in private from the purging flood of emotions he daredn’t name. A minute to swallow the incredible high she’d often told him existed. He crushed her beneath him while he reeled, spent, panting and completely mind-fucked.
Essie ran her fingers through his hair, her soft lips pressing kisses to his temples, his ear, the side of his neck. The see-sawing of his chest dwindled away until he struggled to suck even one molecule of air past his tight throat. His scalp prickled and the sheen of sweat on his skin turned icy cold.
He shifted, gently withdrew from her languid embrace and shuffled to the en-suite to dispose of the condom. He couldn’t bring himself to look in the mirror while he washed his hands. He knew what he’d see. A stupid fuck who’d broken his number one rule in life and was now paying the ultimate price. The only thing he’d had to avoid and he’d gone and done it anyway.
His best friend’s sister. A wonderful woman he couldn’t have and didn’t deserve. A woman professionally obsessed with relationships and romantic love—two things he sucked at and had spent years forsaking. A woman who deserved a man to love her one hundred and ten per cent. To be all in. To worship her and leave her in no doubt that she was his number one priority.
No way could fucked-up Ash be that man.
Keeping his gaze averted, he returned to the bedroom to find Essie wrapped in a white sheet, her face peaceful in sleep.
Indulging in one last, ill-advised move, he slipped into the bed beside her and fell asleep with her perfectly slotted into his arms.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
THE INSISTENT VIBRATION of a phone alert woke him. Ash opened his eyes to find the bed empty beside him and the sound of the shower from the en-suite bathroom. His body stirred fully awake at the idea of joining a wet Essie.
As he slid from the bed, Essie’s phone vibrated again. He flipped it over and placed it on the nightstand, pausing when the screen lit up to reveal the string of notifications, which had sent the device into an early-morning frenzy.
You have fifty-three comments
What the...?
Ash’s stomach pitched. Since his own brush with the gossip columns and the subsequent social media roasting around the story of one of New York’s most influential families crumbling in the most sordid way, he’d deleted his own accounts.
Was Essie victim to a similar backlash? No, why would she be a target? Unless it was something to do with him...
Perhaps the gossip rags had caught wind of Harley’s rushed, closed-door wedding. Perhaps they’d somehow acquired the limited guest list and sought a comment or a photo from Essie.
His scalp prickled even as he swiped his thumb over the screen.
It wasn’t locked.
Every nerve in his body fired as he snooped—as soon as he’d verified that the messy, dirty Jacob drama hadn’t spread to include Essie, he’d stop reading.
It took several beats for Ash to understand the content displayed on her phone. A blog.
Relationships and Other Science Experiments
So this was her little secret. Not quite an agony aunt. His mouth twitched at her sense of humour and her conversational writing style. He read on for a few lines, the latest post unsurprisingly one about the inexhaustible romance of weddings and the hidden tangle of complex relationships at play when extended families met, often for the first time in years.
One phrase, repeated in the comments at the bottom of the post, leapt from the screen and smacked him between the eyes. Illegally Hot.
Whatever it referred to, Essie’s fans wanted more.
He shouldn’t pry. No good ever came from snooping. But some unseen demon controlled his fingers, which scrolled the screen in search of earlier posts.
A familiar photo—the view of the London Eye taken from St James’s Park. The photo he’d taken for her the day they’d met.
With each line he read, wave after wave of heat flooded his body until his fists clenched and his jaw ached.
She’d written about their one-night stand. About their shock meeting the next day. About some arrogant asshole who’d rocked her world, but had the emotional intelligence of a rock.
He was paraphrasing, but one thing was glaringly obvious. He was Illegally Hot. And Essie had used him as tawdry inspiration fodder for her online musings. Exposing his hang-ups in a public forum...for humour...for entertainment... To humiliate him? To laugh behind his back?
No wonder the damned phone was never far from her hand. And every ping, every muted vibration represented someone new reading about or commenting on his sex life...
Ash tossed the phone on the nightstand, his stomach rigid as he sucked in a breath laced with razor blades. She’d put their relationship on the internet. For anyone to see? And kept it from him? All this time? While he’d agonised over the rights and wrongs of his attraction to her. All these weeks she’d made a fool of him...been laughing at him... Did everyone know? The Yard’s staff? Ben?
His gut ached as if he’d taken a knee to the balls. He needed to get out of here.
Essie appeared in that moment, her open smile sliding from her face as she took in his posture. He stood, silently tugging on his boxers and his shirt—he was exposed enough.
‘Illegally Hot? Did you come up with that all by yourself?’
Wrapped in a towel, her hair wet, she hovered, breathtaking but paralysed, on the threshold. His vision tunnelled as he clamped his jaw shut and turned away from her to find his jeans.
She gasped, paling. ‘Ash, I’m sorry, I—’
‘You’re fucking sorry? Is that all you have? Not quite your usual level of eloquence. Or is that reserved for your tacky sexploits?’
She moved towards him, a small anguished squeak leaving her throat. His outstretched hand stopped her dead in her tracks. If she touched him now, he might actually hurl, so tightly knotted were his intestines.
‘Is everything entertainment to you? People’s emotions? Their challenges? Their...pain.’ What a fool he’d been. Again. He’d told her about his fiancée, his parents, his guilt over his mother... Would he read all about it online soon? Another science experiment?
How had he, only hours ago, imagined himself developing feelings for her? He didn’t know her at all. Not this manipulative, deceptive version she’d hidden so successfully behind the bubbly, ingenuous, emotionally damaged exterior.
‘I never meant to hurt you.’
Fuck, that sentiment sucked. ‘So said every selfish person who ever acted in their own interest and only considered the consequences when they were found out.’ Ash yanked on his jeans and scooped his own phone and the key to his room from the desk.
‘Don’t go. I can explain.’
‘I don’t give a fuck about your explanation. You used me. Not for one second did you consider my feelings before you published that crap—’ he pointed at the nightstand and the offending device ‘—for anyone to read.’
‘Ash...’ She stepped closer, sucking the oxygen from the enclosed space until Ash’s lungs recoiled. ‘It was meant to be funny... I didn’t name you.’
He snorted, expecting to see plumes of fire coming from his nostrils. ‘Do you know why my family drama, my parents’ split, was such salacious gossip, the kind you find funny?’ He loomed over her, his chest working hard to oxygenate his blood before his head exploded. ‘The juicy little details? The irresistible intrusion into our personal lives...all in the name of fair-game entertainment for the masses?’
Essie had the good grace to pale almost white and stay silent, a tiny shake of her head her only answer.
‘The woman at the centre of the row between Hal and me, the final intolerable insult to my mother, the woman he confessed to fucking in front of my entire workplace, was my ex-fiancée.’
Her jaw dropped, and she swayed unsteadily on her feet, but it gave him no satisfaction.
Ash marched to the door, turning to cast one final look at the woman he’d almost trusted. Almost...
No.
‘Forgive me if I have no intention of becoming a public laughing stock again.’
The door slammed behind him with a whoosh of air, blocking Essie’s startled image from view.
* * *
Ash slapped his hand over the stop button on the treadmill in his apartment’s fully equipped gym and wiped sweat from his eyes with a towel. He’d arrived home from Oxfordshire three hours ago, but he hadn’t been able to quench the fire burning inside him any other way. Even now, after a solid hour of relentless pounding, when his noodle-like legs threatened to give out at any stage, the flames still licked at him—burning, taunting and mocking. Because he craved her still, when the taste of her betrayal should have turned his stomach for good.
Stupid fuck.
How could he have been so dumb? So taken in by her seeming ingenuousness and English-rose charm? When all the time she wielded a poisonous pen...or a noxious keyboard.
Of course he’d been right not to trust her. He’d been here before. Twice. Once with the lies his fiancée had told to keep her true affair with his father a secret, and once when Hal had finally tossed out the truth in a fit of malice for anyone at Jacob Holdings to hear.
