The Dare Collection: June 2018. Lauren Hawkeye

problem shared, problem halved thing is true, you know.’ She lifted her head and levelled warm, compassionate eyes on him. ‘I won’t judge you. I won’t even comment. I’ll just listen.’ She settled her head back on his chest, but not before she brushed her lips over his skin with a small sigh.

      Seconds stretched while he balanced on the edge, wishing he could be as brave and open as she was.

      He could deny he had anything to confess.

      He could huff and puff his way out of it.

      He could even feign sleep.

      But he wouldn’t insult her intelligence.

      With a sigh that lifted and then dropped her head, he drew his fingers back through her hair. The silky slide of the strands carried a hypnotic cadence he craved. Or perhaps it was just Essie.

      ‘I think she’s rushing into marriage.’

       Coward.

      True to her word, Essie remained quiet. Only her heartbeat, steady but fast enough, beating against his, indicated she was still awake.

      ‘I’ve made no secret how I feel about it.’

      She nodded, the slide of her skin and hair over his chest a soothing kind of torture, because it drew him out, a security blanket, lulling him to deeper confessions, ones at his very centre.

      ‘You’re probably thinking I have a right to feel the way I do. I told you about my fiancée, my parents splitting recently, my insider knowledge of the divorce courts from law school.’

      He was making a meal of this. Was it better to say the words outright, to rip off the bandage with a vicious tear, that would bleed him out quicker, but shorten the sting? Or keep them in and protect himself.

      ‘I discovered my father had cheated. More than the affair my mother knew about.’ Essie stopped breathing and her pulse thrummed against his skin. ‘I was the one who had to deliver that news. I didn’t want her to hear it from someone who didn’t care about her.’

      Her head lifted, tugging her hair from between his fingers, her face wreathed in understanding.

      ‘That must have been horrible for you.’ She sat up, crossing her legs and drawing the duvet into her lap to cover her nakedness. ‘How did you find out?’

      Ash nodded, the urge to flee the room and the shameful scrutiny strong. If he’d detected one hint of pity in her expression he’d already have hit the shower, but Essie’s brow pinched in confusion.

      ‘From the horse’s mouth—my father told me. We’d...had a disagreement. He didn’t like the way I’d dared to call him out on his bullshit so he lashed out, like he derived pleasure from inflicting the knowledge on me. The coward knew I’d tell her.’

      He linked his hands behind his head as he shrugged it off.

      ‘Some people are cowards. I understand your fears for Harley.’

      ‘I just worry that she’ll be hurt. As it is, she’s marrying without her father present and our mother...’ He sucked in a breath, and rose to sit on the side of the bed. ‘She didn’t know about that particular affair until I informed her.’

      He swallowed bile. ‘It turned out to be the last straw for her.’ He stood and made his way to the door of the en-suite. ‘So, you understand my trepidation about this...happy occasion?’

      Essie’s teeth worried at her lip, her eyes scraping him raw.

       Tell her. Tell her everything.

      He backed away. She had the sense to give him space.

      He stepped under the steamy blast of the shower, welcoming the pound of the water as a replacement for the waves of self-directed emotion. He was a coward, too. Holding back, convincing himself he was happy. That he was justified in his mistrust.

      And he still carried the full burden of guilt and self-loathing, not the half measure Essie had promised.

      She joined him, as he’d known she would. She’d kept her promise, but offered silent comfort, just by her presence. Her touch, tentative at first, as if she was uncertain of her reception, grew bolder. She reached for the body wash and tipped a measure into her palm before sliding soap-slicked palms over his chest, abdomen and shoulders. When she moved behind him to soap his back, she pressed her mouth between his shoulder blades.

      ‘I’m sorry that happened to you. Do you want me to go home?’

      He turned to face her, scooping his arm around her waist and hauling her up so his mouth covered hers. ‘No.’

      Within seconds their lazy kisses grew torrid. Her slippery skin slid against his as she writhed and moaned in his arms, her hands clutching at him. Her fingers twisted in his wet hair and she angled his head and twisted her mouth away. ‘I want you.’

      He’d recovered sufficiently to be fully on board. Slamming off the water, he scooped Essie up and lifted her from the shower. In two strides, he’d deposited her on the bed, still sopping wet, and fell to his knees between her spread thighs.

      His mouth covered her, a hint of soap and whole lot of delicious Essie. He worked her higher, her moans and gasps telling him when the time was right. With a curse, he tore his mouth from her and quickly covered himself with a condom.

      When he pushed inside her, she gripped his face, her blue stare burning into him in unspoken unity.

      They climaxed together, eyes locked, cries mingling and the blurred and broken lines of fun scattered all around them.

      * * *

      Getting out of London, especially for the romance of an impromptu wedding at one of the UK’s most lavish private estates, complete with a boutique winery and hotel, carried a surreal quality akin to flying to Paris, just to go clubbing. Essie, giggly with excitement, relaxed back into the leather upholstery of Ash’s Mercedes, and tried not to drool at the confident, manly way he handled the luxury car.

      It was the same confident, manly way he handled everything, especially when commanding her pleasure with skilled, devastating proficiency.

      Ash was quiet, a fact she wanted to attribute to him driving on unfamiliar roads, but she couldn’t deceive herself after his late-night revelations. What should have been a joyous family occasion had huge potential to become a trigger. Hers wasn’t the only dysfunctional family in the world.

      Essie shifted in the seat, restless.

      That Ash had opened up to her on Saturday night enclosed her in a warm cocoon. She longed to reassure him about today. That his own pain at being left by his fiancée would pass. That his mother surely didn’t blame him for stepping up. That his sister had her own life to live with a man who wasn’t Hal Jacob.

      Perhaps he regretted opening up to her. Many men struggled to talk about their feelings. She’d bide her time. He had enough going on with his family drama.

      She’d spent all of Sunday, after a late start, where she’d crawled home from Ash’s apartment to catch up on mundane life things like laundry and bill-paying and checking on her flatmate. Of course, she also had to catch up on her latest blog post, entitled Love is in the air—is it catching? It was wedding season, after all. She glanced over at Ash, prickles of guilt dousing her high.

      Her blog continued to attract new followers and the ads she’d incorporated on her website, featuring well-respected books on relationships, had high click-through rates. People couldn’t get enough of Illegally Hot, if the comments were any indication. But she hadn’t mentioned him in the last few posts. His pain was real—not entertainment fodder.

      In the beginning, writing about her overwhelming attraction to Ash and his extreme bedroom skills had helped control the impact he’d had on her life. Helped her to rationalise that she was simply, for the first time, party to a healthy, equal-terms relationship based on spectacular sex. But now... She shuddered. Every social