by Abby Green
It wasn’t usual for Zach to be taken by surprise by anyone or anything. It had happened once and never again. Even though it had only been a couple of minutes in time, four years ago, he’d never forgotten her—not her face, or how she’d felt pressed against him. Her soft mouth on his jaw... Her scent clean and fresh...
So different from the women he’d found himself surrounded by as his success had grown. As he’d become a man who was desired and sought after. As he’d become a target.
Ashling Doyle had reminded him that night that he was always going to be a target. She clearly had no idea of the damage her actions had done.
But she would.
CHAPTER TWO
ASHLING’S HEART WAS still pounding after the effort it had taken not to tumble down those marble stairs in the high heels and land in a heap at Zachary Temple’s feet, and more so from the dark, brooding appraisal he’d subjected her to.
At every step down the stairs she’d imagined that he would be remembering who she was, and her skin had prickled all over with little needles of heat that she’d put down to self-consciousness, not awareness.
But he hadn’t said anything. And, actually, when she thought about it now she realised it was really delusional of her to fear that he would remember her. Why would he, when it had been so long ago and he was habitually surrounded by the most beautiful women in the world?
How on earth would Ashling have made any kind of impression, except perhaps as an annoying fly that had had to be swatted aside?
Ashling was not his type. He’d looked at the flower she’d pinned to the dress as if it was a live thing. She’d seen his type. Tall, sleek, soignée... Cold. Oozing class and sophistication. They wouldn’t be pinning flowers to their dresses to liven them up a bit.
The women a man like Temple pursued would have the right breeding and the intellect to match. Like him, they would have been born into this world—a world that didn’t accept people from the margins. She should know.
His type of woman would have had a privileged and conventional path to success. Her CV wouldn’t have an education littered with gaps and holes. Not to mention a list of myriad jobs such as Ashling had had over the years, none of which could be considered conventional.
But then, Ashling had never been destined to be conventional. Her single mother had loved Ashling fiercely and had taught her how to be independent and believe in herself. She’d believed in the school of life ethos—and Ashling had certainly seen a lot of life, going from living in a palatial house in Belgravia to living on a commune in the west of Ireland.
But convention and things like a solid base had not been her mother’s priorities. Angela Doyle was a dreamy romantic who had taken a long time to get over the hurt and pain of rejection by Ashling’s father.
But right now, sitting in a car next to one of London’s giants of industry, was not the time for Ashling to be dwelling on her lack of credentials or thinking of painful memories. She just had to get through this evening and not cause a national incident. Or make him remember her and that night.
She sneaked a look at Temple, sitting on the other side of the car. She’d seen him in a tuxedo before, but the impact this time was not diminished. If anything, four years seemed to have enhanced his physicality. Her gut tightened at the sheer raw masculinity of the man. There was nothing soft about him. Not his expression, his bone structure, or his body. Just that intriguing tendency of his hair to curl.
No wonder she’d had to cling to the banister the whole way down those stairs. The man needed to come with a health warning. Proceed with caution. May cause severe dizziness!
He looked at her then, as if aware of her regard, and Ashling could feel the heat climb up her chest. In a bid to try and deflect his attention from her helpless reaction, she asked, ‘What is the event this evening?’
‘It’s an awards ceremony for young entrepreneurs.’
‘Oh, cool.’
He arched a brow. ‘Cool?’
As if Ashling needed reminding that she was so not his type. And glad of it.
Liar.
‘I mean,’ she said, aiming to sound knowledgeable, ‘that should be interesting...seeing the next generation of talent...or competition?’
A ghost of a smile flickered at Temple’s mouth so briefly that Ashling knew she must have imagined it.
He said, ‘Competition for me? I don’t think so.’
She might have thought he was joking if he hadn’t sounded so utterly matter-of-fact. It went beyond arrogance to total certainty. And she knew he didn’t joke. He didn’t have time. Cassie had told her about his work ethic. This was a man who had his whole life mapped out.
Normally that kind of rigidity would disgust her, but she found she was more intrigued than anything.
‘What exactly do you want me to do?’ she asked.
He glanced at her. ‘Listen...observe. Take notes.’ Then he asked, ‘You said you’re a yoga instructor?’
She nodded.
‘Just a yoga instructor?’ he commented idly, qualifying it with, ‘I can’t imagine teaching yoga alone is enough to keep the wolf from the door.’
Ashling shivered slightly, but put it down to the air-conditioning in the car and not the sudden image she had of a slightly more wolfish Zachary Temple appearing at her door. Her imagination was far too vivid for its own good.
Conscious of her colourful CV, Ashling felt slightly defensive as she answered. ‘No, it’s not my only job, although I do consider it my main one. But, I also waitress in a local café. And I do some styling work for different clients.’ They were friends, but Cassie had told her that referring to them as clients made it sound more important. She went on, ‘I also care for an old lady who lives in our building for a few hours a week—do her shopping...things like that.’
‘Anything else?’
Ashling looked at Temple. She sensed she was amusing him. It made her prickly. ‘Yes, as it happens. I did a course in cordon bleu cookery along the way, but I’m sure the minutiae of my CV really isn’t that interesting.’
Something stretched between them—a tension that made Ashling nervous, because it felt charged with something she couldn’t understand. And then it was broken when Temple looked over her shoulder.
‘We’re here.’
Ashling turned her head to see that the car was pulling up outside one of London’s most iconic museums. Paparazzi lined a red carpet and A-list stars mingled with politicians and household names from the business world. One she recognised was from a well-known TV show, in which budding entrepreneurs were pitted against each other.
Well, this was one experience she’d never had...
She tried to quell her nerves as the driver came around to open her door. Temple was already waiting for her. He put out a hand to help her and she looked up at him for a moment. She was suddenly very reluctant to touch him, afraid of her reaction, but she couldn’t ignore him.
She was right to be afraid. As soon as her hand touched his, electricity scorched up her arm. The palm of his hand was rough, not smooth. Not the soft hand of a man who sat at a desk all day. But then, she already knew there was nothing soft about him.
For a moment he just looked at her, almost as if he hadn’t seen her before, but then he let her hand drop. He said, ‘Stay close to me.’
Ashling had no intention of letting him out of her sight. As the reality of the situation sank in, she grew more terrified. The paparazzi were screaming out for people to turn and smile for them. She heard Temple’s name being called but he ignored them, cutting a swathe through the crowd of preening people as if they were minions and not some of the biggest names in the country.
They had almost run the gauntlet of the red carpet when someone jostled Ashling from behind and she pitched forward. Even though Temple was ahead of her, he turned at that second and caught her as she collided wi
th his body.
It was like running into a steel wall. The shock of contact drove the breath from her lungs.
He held her arms, looking down at her. ‘Okay?’
She managed to nod, even as a wave of unbridled heat coursed up from her core and out to every erogenous zone. Exactly the way it had felt four years ago. An immediate rush of sensation, hot and overwhelming. No man had ever had the same effect on her—not before or since. In fact, she’d believed in the intervening years that she’d imagined it.
But it hadn’t been imagination.
It had been very real. Powerful.
Her hands were splayed across Temple’s chest, under his jacket. She wanted to press herself closer, but she exerted enough pressure to straighten herself, feeling hot and flustered. She felt a tugging neediness between her legs...an ache. Her breasts were bare under the silk of the dress because she hadn’t had a suitable bra, and they felt tight, her nipples pricking into hard points against the sensuous material.
She took her hands down, avoided his eyes. ‘Sorry about that. I... I lost my balance.’
For a moment Temple didn’t move, and the air hung suspended between them as people passed by. She felt an icy finger touch her back. Did he recognise her?
But then he moved, manoeuvring her so she was in front of him.
Ashling told herself she was being ridiculous.
He put a hand lightly to her back, propelling her forward and into the lavishly decorated venue, where hundreds of people were already chatting, networking and sipping sparkling vintage champagne.
Ashling sucked in a shaky breath.
* * *
She was playing with him.
Zach felt a mixture of anger, consternation and very unwelcome arousal as he kept a hand lightly on Ashling’s back as they walked into the function room.
That little stunt just now had been designed to let him know how her lithe curves felt pressed against him. Exactly the way she’d momentarily robbed him of his logical faculties for a dangerous moment four years ago. Giving her the chance to do her damage and get away.
The fact that she still had an effect on him was galling in the extreme. So was the fact that he could be caught by someone so full of guile.
As for the myriad occupations that she’d listed earlier... No doubt they’d been plucked out of thin air to disguise the fact that she only really had one job: con woman.
But he knew who she was now, and he wasn’t going to be caught again. She wouldn’t slip through his fingers this time.
* * *
Ashling sat down with a sigh of relief after what had felt like hours of trailing in the wake of Temple and his Midas Touch. He’d met with hundreds of sycophants, all vying for his attention.
The novelty of being on the other side of the red rope, so to speak, had worn off fast. The man’s energy levels were indefatigable, and it had taken all her wits just to keep up and try to take notes on her phone.
There’d also been a steady stream of stunning women. All tall, statuesque, and exuding a sexual confidence that Ashling found both intimidating and fascinating. None of them had even spared her a glance. That was how little of a threat she was.
Ashling slid off her shoes under the table now and stretched her feet out. She stifled a yawn. Her busy day was catching up with her. She’d been up since five that morning and had packed in more than was usual, even for her. And that had been before the trauma of seeing Temple again and worrying that he’d recognise her...
‘Are we boring you?’
Ashling looked to her right, where Temple was taking up far too much space. She smiled sheepishly. ‘Sorry, it’s been a long day.’
His dark gaze moved to her mouth and for a moment she couldn’t breathe, remembering pressing her mouth to that hard jaw. The scent of him. Earthy and spicy all at once.
She blinked and Temple looked away, his jaw clenching. Ashling cursed herself again for being so weak. Ugh. What was wrong with her? She was disgusted with herself for finding him so mesmerisingly attractive when he inhabited a world she had no desire to explore.
Her father had been a successful financier—albeit nowhere near the league of someone like Temple. He had rejected Ashling and her mother because they hadn’t fitted into his corporate world. They’d cluttered it up. Made it untidy. And so he’d jettisoned them in favour of a far more acceptable wife and family.
What Ashling had learned about Temple from Cassie had only reinforced the impression she’d got of him that night four years ago. That he had nothing but disdain for anything or anyone who put a wrinkle in the perfect surface of his life. The way he’d looked at her that night—with such horror. She’d never forget it.
It still hurt.
She shoved that memory down, rejecting the fact that it still had the power to affect her.
‘Mr Temple? We need you backstage now, on stand-by to present the first award.’
A woman in a suit had appeared, breaking Ashling’s circling thoughts.
Temple got up, buttoning up his jacket. He slanted a look to Ashling. ‘Don’t go anywhere now, will you?’
There was a distinct edge to his tone that made her nervous, but when she looked at him his expression was bland. She was imagining things. She shook her head and watched as he walked away with such innately athletic grace that every head and set of eyes was pulled in his direction.
Temple was up on the dais now, and people were clapping. At that moment Ashling had the fleeting thought of doing exactly what he’d just asked her not to. Get up and leave. Escape. Consign him to history, where he’d safely been until this evening.
But at that moment, as if hearing her thoughts, Temple’s gaze stopped on Ashling. His focus was so intense that she saw people turning to look at her, wondering who he was staring at.
The whole way through his speech Temple barely took his eyes off her. There was absolutely no chance of her going anywhere. He’d as good as branded her.
* * *
‘Really, you can just drop me at a tube station. I can come by tomorrow to pick up my things.’ Ashling was still jittery after Temple’s intense focus during his speech. She wanted to get out of his disturbing orbit.
‘It’s after midnight. You’re not taking the tube alone at this hour.’
Ashling refrained from telling Temple that she’d been taking late-night tubes on her own for some time now. She was street-smart. His tone brooked no argument and they were already back in the leafy exclusive streets of Mayfair.
He’d undone his bow-tie and the top button of his shirt and it was hard for Ashling not to look at him and notice how the stubble along his jaw and the loose bow-tie gave him a decadently sexy air. It added to the brooding energy that was almost palpable.
The car pulled to a smooth stop outside the house, and before Ashling could step out Temple was at her door, opening it and holding out his hand. She steeled herself, but it was no good. As soon as they touched, skin on skin, electricity pulsed up her arm and into her blood. She took her hand away as soon as she was standing.
He led her into the house, where all was dimly lit and hushed. Ashling suddenly felt self-conscious. Very aware of how he made her feel and the fact that he must be dying for her to go. As much as she was dying to leave! she assured herself.
‘I’ll just run up and change and get my things.’
Temple was pulling off his tie completely now, and undoing another button with long fingers. ‘Take your time. The car will be waiting to take you home when you’re ready.’
Ashling slipped off her shoes and hurried up the stairs, the marble cool under her bare feet. When she got to the luxurious suite she looked in dismay at the minor explosion she’d created when getting ready earlier.
She wasn’t the tidiest person on the planet. And she wasn’t used to wearing much make-up. So she gave in to an impulse to cle
an her face in the sumptuous bathroom. And then she saw the massive shower...and remembered that the shower in the flat she shared with Cassie was currently on the blink. A plumber was due to come tomorrow.
The lure of this massive state-of-the-art shower and the chance to wash off the grime and humidity of the day was too tempting. Assuring herself it would only take five minutes, Ashling stripped off and groaned softly as she stepped under a gloriously hot, powerful cascade of water.
* * *
Where the hell was she?
Zach put down his empty tumbler and looked at his watch. She’d been upstairs for thirty minutes now. It hadn’t taken her that long to get changed earlier.
Frustration rising at himself for playing this game, letting her feign innocence and a lack of recognition, rose like fire inside him. She was probably upstairs laughing at him.
The thought of that propelled him out of the room, up the stairs and to the door of the guest suite to seek her out and—
Zach stopped on the threshold of the room.
Ashling was emerging from the en suite bathroom in a wave of steam. She wore nothing but a short towelling robe. The hem rested high on her thighs, showing off more of her slim shapely legs than he’d seen earlier. It was belted around her slim waist and the front gaped open slightly, giving a glimpse of the curve of a breast. Pale and plump.
Immediately Zach had an image in his head of her naked body in the shower, water sluicing over slender limbs, curves and pert breasts. Firm buttocks.
Desire was swift and hot, eclipsing the anger that had propelled him up here. He was rendered momentarily insensible. He couldn’t remember the last time a woman had precipitated such intense need.
She hadn’t seen him yet. She was rubbing at her damp hair with a smaller towel.