One Night Only / No Strings

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.

No serious scientist could rely solely on academic theory. She could finally verify her years of extensive research with some cold, hard, scientific data.

Surely he must be able to hear the blood whooshing through her head?

Because in practical terms, what did she really know about relationships, especially the functional kind?

Her face fell at the momentary wobble. Her one serious boyfriend during uni had left her practically swearing off the opposite sex for good on the grounds she clearly couldn’t spot a decent relationship candidate if he was stark naked in front of her wearing a pick me, I’m a safer than houses bet hat.

A trait she’d inherited from her mother perhaps... The woman had, after all, procreated with Essie’s lying, cheating, deserting father and spent many years playing second fiddle to his actual wife, his real family.

Not that Essie had known all that back then. She’d simply been a girl who desperately missed her beloved father while he’d worked overseas for long stretches of time. Clearly she and her mother shared a desperate-for-love vibe that usually sent men running.

But Ash wasn’t running.

And she wasn’t looking for a relationship. Just sex. She’d gleaned from Ash’s subtext that, like her, he was only interested in a one-night thing. She shoved the buzzkill thoughts from her mind, focussing on the specimen of manly perfection beside her. Exotic Ash. A gentleman. Funny, intelligent and interested in what she had to say.

So different from her ex, and she’d wasted two years in that flawed relationship.

Her throat tightened.

Perhaps she was ready for a change. It was, after all, the eve of a brand-new chapter of her life—her new job working for her until-recently estranged half-brother began tomorrow. Or perhaps it was just charming, sophisticated, sexy-as-sin Ash with his crinkle-eyed smile, his quick wit and his tales of New York that earned him a place at the top of Essie’s bucket list.

Nothing at all to do with his muscular physique and his dark good looks, which were enough to attract smiles and stares everywhere they’d gone today. And she instinctively knew, as if it were stamped on her overworked ovaries, that Ash would be phenomenal between the sheets. High-calibre screaming orgasms—another experience sadly lacking from her rather pathetic repertoire.

But she could still back out of this. Thank Ash for his company and bid his sexy American butt farewell. Her insides twisted while her indecision ping-ponged inside her skull, releasing an uncharacteristic verbal catharsis.

‘I’ve never done this before.’ She nibbled her lip, ignored the heat almost suffocating her and raised her eyes to Ash’s.

Now he’d think her some sort of ingénue when really she’d simply tolerated mediocre for far too long.

He turned to face her, drawing her closer with the arm banded around her waist while his glittering blue stare danced over her features. ‘Okay...’

No judgment. Only the heat she’d seen in his eyes most of the afternoon.

The sizzle and spark over lunch at the funky deli had turned into flirting around Piccadilly Circus and Trafalgar Square, where Essie had provided a ‘how to’ tutorial on travelling the Tube. Flirting had turned to inhibition-lowering drinking at a typical Victorian Soho pub, where Ash had insisted they sample pints of tepid real ale, which was strong enough to make Essie both giggly and bold. Which was probably how they’d come to their current location—on the pavement outside his hotel, with his arms around her and her lips tingling to kiss him.

Still she wavered, caught between lust and caution.

She wanted to slap herself. Her doubts, her desperation to get it right where her parents had got it so wrong, hadn’t helped her avoid heartache. She’d just had one bad experience...

Ash didn’t have to be the perfect man—he could be perfect for now, this one night. Then she’d never see him again. And she could try out her sexually sophisticated legs.

Ash smiled, his blue eyes sparkling with promise and his yummy mouth stretching in a sexy, lopsided way.

Full lips so close.

Warm breath laced with hops.

Shrugging off the last reservation, Essie stood on tiptoes and kissed him, right there in the street where people walked around them. For a second he seemed frozen, his stubble chafing her chin and his lips slightly parted as she feathered the lightest of kisses on his beautiful mouth. And then his hand found the small of her back, pressing her close as he took control, angling his head and orchestrating the slide and thrust of lips and tongues, a thrilling concerto that left her head light and her legs weak.

Wow. The easy-going, considerate gentleman she’d spent the day with had a demanding side. She wanted more. The street snog was so good, her stomach clenched like the final seconds of a free fall, and her heart ricocheted against her ribs.

Ash groaned and pulled back from her kiss, his erection a hard length against her belly. He looked down as if trying to dissect her inner secrets from her irises. ‘Not that I’m bothered...’ he pushed back a stray wisp of hair from her face ‘...but I’m intrigued. Why not?’

Essie captured her lip with her teeth, her insecurities rising like bile. What did she want this sexy tourist to know about her poor track record with the opposite sex? Despite her psychology degree and her PhD in human relationships, her own love life, and most of her non-romantic personal relationships, relied heavily on the theory she pored over for her studies and for her beloved blog, one she’d started as an undergraduate as a way to purge her own feelings of abandonment and constant rejection at the hands of her father.

Ash wanted her; the evidence was crystal clear. Why burst the bubble? Yes, she normally avoided picking up hunky strangers in parks. But once he’d cracked his first genuine smile, Ash had relaxed into a fun, smart and entertaining guy. She hadn’t confessed she lived in South East London and was soon to graduate from her PhD. She’d merely gone along with his wrong assumption—that she, like him, was a tourist. It added to the mystique, the risqué recklessness currently pounding through her blood and fanning her libido to a blaze.

But they’d never see each other again after tonight. Who better to take off her training wheels with than a sexy stranger, a temporary tourist, soon to be on a plane to a whole other continent?

While Ash fingered the end of her ponytail, waiting, Essie shrugged. ‘My male role model growing up was an unreliable, lying shit. It kind of put me off men.’ Oversimplified, but true. She’d spent years trying to fit her subpar relationship with her ex into a perfect mould, desperate to have the opposite of her parents’ dysfunctional union and determined to flex her psychology muscles and prove she could practise what she preached. But when she’d finally conceded that the emotionally abusive relationship she’d pinned all her hopes on was over, she’d given up on her own happily-ever-after and shelved finding love, preferring instead to focus on helping others with their relationships through her blog.

‘I’m a man.’

Wasn’t he just? She nodded, stopping short of rolling her eyes back at the solid hard bulk of him pressed against her. ‘You are.’

She knew enough about human interactions to know there was more to Ash than the charming backpacker, despite appearances. For a start, he was older than the typical traveller, she guessed early thirties. Although casually dressed in slightly rumpled clothing, he carried himself with that air of command, confidence and authority that was such a turn-on—she practically had drool on her chin. That he was bothering to explore the reasons behind her hesitancy instead of ramming his tongue down her throat or hurrying her inside faster than he could say ‘God Save the Queen’ was another astounding point in his favour.

But the less she knew about him, the easier it would be to walk away. When she left in the morning, she’d feel satisfied no boundaries had been crossed, no misunderstandings had been created and no feelings had had time to develop.

Mustering every ounce of confidence and female allure, she gripped his biceps and pressed her body closer. ‘Are we on the same page?’ Her limbs twitched while she waited for his confirmation. What if she’d read him all wrong? What if, like her ex, Ash thought her too clingy? Surely he could appreciate the merits of this—they’d never see each other again.

Ash dipped his head, pressing his mouth to hers once more. ‘Totally.’ The word buzzed over her tingling lips and then the tip of his tongue dipped inside. With a surge of lust Essie embraced the kiss, scooping her arms around his neck with renewed enthusiasm.

Please let her be right about his sexual talents.

When she pulled back, breathless, she registered her surroundings. They’d come to a stop outside a rather upmarket hotel in St James’s. She looked up at Ash, her eyes round.

‘Is this where you’re staying?’ She’d guessed that he was more than he’d seemed in the park, but wealthy...?

He shrugged, a playful twitch on his lips.

Yes, Ash had offered to pay for her sandwich at lunch, but after she’d insisted on paying for herself, he’d accepted they’d be going Dutch for the rest of the day. He hadn’t flashed money around—a definite turn-off for Essie, who had what her flatmate called money issues.

He released his grip on her waist and Essie missed his touch instantly. ‘I know the owner. I’m only here tonight.’ He placed his index finger under her chin and tilted her face up to his. ‘Changed your mind? It’s okay if you have.’

So considerate.

Her body was still fully on board with spending the night with this ruggedly handsome stranger. And did it matter if he had rich, hotel-owning friends? She wouldn’t know him long enough to confess her monetary hang-ups, ones that originated with her absent father, who used affluent bribes and constant gifts as a substitute for investing quality time in his only daughter’s life.

A shudder snaked down her spine.

One of the reasons she’d taken a job working for her half-brother, which began tomorrow, was to start earning some money. Finally, after five years of full-time study, she’d actually be able to support herself rather than take more student loans. Because she’d rather be in debt for the rest of her life than take one penny from her scheming father. She’d never once cashed one of the regular cheques he sent towards her tuition fees. It felt like hush money, and by accepting it she would be condoning what he’d done, to her, to her mother, to his wife and to Ben. She’d rather live on a park bench.

Ash, perhaps interpreting her silence as a change of heart, stepped back half a pace, ending the delicious contact between them and leaving Essie more bereft than the dark turn of her thoughts had done.

‘I’m happy to walk you home...or put you in a cab.’ He shrugged as if it was no big deal but his stare darkened as he looked down at her, waiting. A stare of longing, one that matched the well of sizzling heat rising up inside her.

Don’t spoil what promises to be the best night of your life with your hang-ups.

Essie moved closer, her fingers finding the belt loop of his jeans. She tugged, bringing his chest into contact with hers, scraping her nipples to exquisite, nerve-tingling awareness.

No way would she back out now.

‘Are you sure?’

Yes, yes, yes...

At her silent nod, he took her hand, laced his fingers through hers and led her inside the glass and chrome rotating door of the swanky hotel.

Essie hurried after him, his longer strides swiftly guiding her across the elegant foyer that she was too turned on to appreciate. Her last thought—how nice it must be to know someone who owned such a well-appointed and convenient establishment—fled the minute the lift door closed and Ash pinned her against one wall with the stealth and predatory instincts of a jungle cat.

Essie surrendered to the reckless impulses, so foreign but urgently addictive. She climbed him, her own instincts set free as her hands tugged his hair and her mouth found his while her legs encircled his thighs and she clung to him for dear life.

Every taut inch of him was hard. She knew, under his slouchy clothes, he’d be sleek and toned and bulging in all the right places. They broke apart long enough to hurry from the lift to his room, although she was so turned on that Essie was certain she’d floated.

He took a key card from his pocket, swiped it through the reader and stood back so she could enter first. Essie turned to welcome him as he followed her inside, her pent-up libido and the fizz of adrenaline in her blood making her embarrassingly eager. She gave him no time to activate the lights or even wait until the door had fully closed before she leapt at him, the air leaving her in a whoosh as he caught her around the waist and hauled her up to his equally insatiable mouth.

The chemistry between them practically melted her body to his as if they’d been welded together.

The kissing, unlike anything she’d known, was so voracious she whimpered out her pleasure. With dizzying speed, Ash deposited her on the bed, whipped off her underwear and produced a condom.

Essie panted while he tore at his fly and covered himself, a look of desperate concentration on his face, barely visible in the gloom. This was wild, audacious and thrilling. But then Ash’s mouth was back on hers, his fingers stroking her nipple to a peak through her clothing while he pushed slowly inside her, and she lost herself to what she was certain would turn out to be the single best sexual experience of her life to date.

She wasn’t wrong. Ash pulled his mouth from hers, yanked his T-shirt over his head and reared back. With her hips gripped in his large hands and her stare locked with the white-hot one he bore down on her, Ash pounded into her again and again.

He was a god—ripped torso, a smattering of dark hair trailing down to his magnificent manhood, which she couldn’t see, but which was currently rendering her a speechless bag of raging female hormones. When he scooped her hips with one arm, not losing his rhythm, and slipped his free hand between them and located her clit, her world fractured and a broken cry left her throat as she came, shortly followed by Ash.

Yep—best sex ever.

Go, Essie.

CHAPTER TWO

ESSIE EXITED THE Piccadilly Circus Tube station into glaring sunlight and joined the mass of people heading towards the start of their work week. Stifling a yawn with the back of her hand, she dragged her sunglasses from the top of her head and scoped out another coffee fix. Of course, if she’d had more than three hours’ sleep last night, she wouldn’t need another dose of caffeine. But she always worked on her blog first thing in the morning when the words flowed freely and the ideas were fresh, and this morning, the morning after the best sex of her life, had been no different.

Ash had kept her up into the early hours with his impressive stamina. After a second round of high calibre, sheet-clawing sex, another life-redefining orgasm, she’d sneaked out of his hotel room, like a sexually enlightened Cinderella, in the early hours while Prince Charming had slept.

She sniggered, scuffing the toe of her Converse on the tiled floor. Yes, it hadn’t been her proudest moment—leaving without so much as a ‘nice to meet you, thanks for the orgasms’—but that had been the unspoken deal, right? The casual sex secret code. One of the pros. No awkward swapping of numbers, no obsessively checking her phone for his call and no stalking him on social media to confirm his single status.

Of course, in practical terms, she was no expert. But she’d been right—what had occurred with Ash last night far surpassed the commonplace.

Good thing he was leaving the country soon. Sex that good should come with a health warning.

Hazard! You are ten times more likely to develop feelings for this man. Avoid sexual contact at all costs. Danger! Disappointment ahead.

And she’d had enough of that to last a lifetime.

Essie accepted her coffee from the barista, wincing as she set off at a quicker pace into Soho—starting her new job for her brother on a few hours of sleep was not her wisest move.

She sipped her latte and checked her phone for directions, cursing at the time displayed as she hurried along unfamiliar streets to meet Ben at the basement-style club and cocktail bar he’d recently purchased and had just completed renovating.

Of course, she wouldn’t have needed the map if she’d scouted the route to her new job yesterday as she’d planned. But the sun had been shining and she’d disembarked the Tube a few stations early to indulge in a pleasant walk in the park. Meeting a sexy stranger hadn’t been part of the plan. But she couldn’t tell Ben why she’d got...sidetracked.

Essie quickened her pace, holding her coffee out in front of her. Of all the days to be late. And for Ben, too. Her older half-brother, seven years her senior, had taken a chance, offering her a job at his new club. Yes, she’d done some bar work throughout uni, but she’d never held a managerial position. All the same, she had assured him she was capable—she had a PhD, for goodness’ sake, well almost, the conferment ceremony only a few weeks away—and she was determined to make the best of the chance to work for her brother.

This was more than a job. Working with him would hopefully lead to a closer relationship than the cordial but unemotional one they currently shared. Not that she blamed Ben for the distance—she had been equally hesitant. Their father had kept her existence a secret from his only son, too. They both had some making up for lost time to do.

That was why Essie had grasped at his request to help out, when his current manager had quit unexpectedly, with both eager hands. If she had a career plan, bar work would have no place in it, but the job comprised predominantly night shifts, which protected her dedicated blog-writing time during the day. And until she decided if she was cut out for a stuffy academic position, it provided a perfect stopgap. And the pay Ben had offered was great.

Essie rounded the corner, dodging a steady stream of smartly dressed office workers and frantic stallholders setting up their fresh produce and delicious-smelling street food for Soho’s famous, three-hundred-year-old Berwick Street Market.

She stepped off the kerb to dodge a fruit and veg vendor carrying a precarious tower of produce-laden boxes six high, narrowly avoiding a delivery van that screeched to a halt. The coffee sloshed inside the takeaway cup with a violent lurch. A spout of scalding liquid jettisoned from the sip hole in the plastic lid and sprayed the front of Essie’s favourite dress, deliberately chosen for her first day at work.

She cursed while a trail of coffee dripped down her cleavage and soaked into her bra. Her eyes stung as she dabbed at the brown stain with her fingers and stepped back onto the pavement, pushing her way back into the hustle of the commuter crowds.

She breathed through her disappointment over the dress, her face forcing a bright smile. Ben wouldn’t care how she dressed. Only that she turned up, offered him as much help as she could and became someone he could rely on. And if she hurried, perhaps she could beat Ben and his business partner there and she could clean up before making a good impression.

This part of Soho housed an array of trendy bars, eclectic restaurants and small, elegant hotels. The innocuous, black-painted street frontage of The Yard—sandwiched between a designer menswear store and an Italian deli—meant Essie almost walked straight past. If it hadn’t been for a van parked on half of the pavement and the sign writer blocking the other half with his ladder while he worked on the shiny new nameplate, she might have missed her destination completely.

Essie followed the harassed sign writer’s directions to the narrow alleyway between the deli and the club that led to the rear entrance of The Yard. Yanking open the ancient, squeaky door, she entered the cool gloom of the darkened interior.

‘Ben?’

She made her way along a maze of dimly lit corridors, following the sounds of activity, her insides a flurry of twisting energy, one she couldn’t blame on the barely tasted coffee.