Playing Dirty

by Lauren Hawkeye

  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 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 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 one-night stand.

  Essie slipped her hand into the back pocket of his jeans, her fingers pressing into his tightly toned backside. Where had her uncharacteristic bravery come from? The desire for something more than the dribs and drabs she’d tolerated from her no-good ex?

  Her ex’s idea of foreplay had been a mandatory squeeze of the boob. And to her shame, she’d accepted such lazy, shoddy attention.

  All the more reason to explore a one-night stand with the drool-worthy, confident American. She’d gain some much-needed experience in the one-night-stand stakes, and hopefully score herself the kind of orgasm that only existed in her world as a mythical will-o’-the-wisp, and afterwards they’d move on having both had a good time. Unless Ash was a serial killer, it was a win-win situation. She absorbed the foreign, heady thrill of his big warm body next to hers. Not that it was cold—her shivers originated purely from anticipation.

  The best kind of shivers.

  She sucked in a stuttering breath—she’d never felt more reckless. And, if she was honest, she also felt a little embarrassed. There was no law that stated that, before her twenty-fifth birthday, she should have experienced at least one night of no-strings sex, but, as she touted herself as something of a relationship expert, didn’t she owe it to the readers of her relationship psychology blog to experience what all the fuss was about?

  Ash’s hand looped around her shoulder. She reached up and clasped his fingers. They grinned at each other, Essie’s belly jolting in time with her excitable pulse.