The Dare Collection: June 2018. Lauren Hawkeye

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