Highly Unsuitable: Mr and Mischief / The Darkest of Secrets / The Undoing of de Luca

‘I’m sure she will, if you have anything to do with it,’ he said, and Emily wondered if she was the only one who heard the faintest thread of mocking laughter in his voice. He turned back to Helen, smiling again as he wished her well, and then went to head towards his executive office. After saying her own goodbyes to both receptionists, Emily fell into step with Jason, matching his long stride, and he slid her a sideways glance. ‘You seem to be taking quite an interest in Miss Smith.’

‘I take an interest in all the people I hire,’ Emily replied briskly. ‘It’s my job.’

‘Of course,’ Jason agreed. ‘And an admirable dedication to your job is the only reason, I suppose?’

He was laughing at her, she knew, but somehow she didn’t really mind. She’d reached the door of her office, and she turned to face him, surprised and a bit breathless by how close he stood to her. She could smell the citrusy scent of his aftershave again, and underlying it was a fainter, muskier scent that she knew had to be just Jason and the thought made her stomach flip over in a way she was starting to get used to, it had been happening so often in the few days since Jason had returned. Despite its now familiarity, it still felt strange, unnerving, because this was Jason and save the thirty humiliating seconds when she’d asked him to kiss her, she’d never reacted this way to him before. She could only imagine how horrified he would be if he knew. ‘Of course,’ she said innocently. ‘What else would it be?’

‘As long as you aren’t planning to meddle,’ he said. Although he kept his tone light, Emily heard the warning in his words.

‘Meddle or matchmake?’

‘They’re one and the same.’

‘Only in your opinion.’ She placed a hand on his chest, her palm flattening against the crisp fabric of his shirt, her fingers instinctively seeking the heat of him underneath the cloth. She felt his heart thudding steadily under her palm. She’d meant it to be a light, even impersonal touch, no more than a playful poke in the sternum, yet as if driven by a deeper, baser need, she found it couldn’t be that; her hand acted of its own accord, fingers stretching, seeking, while every thought flew from her head.

‘You don’t need to worry about Helen—or me,’ she finally said, fishing for the words that seemed to have pooled deep in her consciousness. She looked up to meet his gaze, saw the gold flecks in his eyes. They weren’t brown at all. They weren’t boring either. She swallowed. ‘You don’t need to keep an eye on me, Jason. I’m all grown up now.’

‘As I’m coming to realise,’ Jason said, his voice so low Emily felt it vibrate through her. His chest tensed under her hand. They remained silent, unmoving, and Emily felt as if everything had slowed down, distilled into this one moment, which was crazy because it wasn’t a moment at all. They were just talking. And she was touching his chest.

‘Well.’ She cleared her throat and somehow managed to remove her hand from his chest; it flopped to her side like a dead thing, useless, awkward, and she suddenly didn’t know what to do with it. She was acting ridiculously, Emily thought. Almost as bad as when she’d asked him—

Her mind skittered away from that memory. Seven years ago. Old hat, ancient history. Yet it felt close now—far too close—so even now she was half-inclined to tilt her head up and—‘I should get to work,’ she said, a little too loudly, and she made her mouth curve into something close to a smile as she turned from him and opened her office door.

Jason watched her go, not moving. It wasn’t until she was at her desk that Emily heard him walk down the hall, his steps quick and assured as always, as if he hadn’t a care in the world.

She collapsed into her chair. What was wrong with her? Why was she acting so strangely around Jason—Jason, who had always been so predictable, so safe, so ordinary?

Even as she asked herself the question, Emily knew the answer. She was acting so oddly around Jason—feeling so odd—because no matter how she tried to convince herself otherwise, some vestige of girlish longing from that dance long ago remained inside of her, needing only to see Jason properly again to unfurl and blossom once more.

Some part of her still wanted Jason. Wanted him to kiss her, even. Wanted him the way a woman wanted a man, if only to prove to the girl she’d once been that she was desirable. Desired … by Jason.

Which was ridiculous, because the last person she should be thinking of that way was Jason Kingsley. He’d surely be appalled if he knew the nature of her thoughts. She was appalled, because of all people to be even the littlest bit attracted to—well, Jason Kingsley was low down on her list. Sometimes she wondered if he even liked her all, beyond the most basic affection. He’d certainly always been quick to point out her faults. And as for his faults … well, boring was the least of them. Stodgy and stern and horribly practical.

She had no business feeling oddly about him at all. So she wouldn’t. It was, Emily decided, a simple matter of mind over body. Whatever latent, leftover feeling she might have secretly nurtured for Jason would be stamped out by self-control right now.

She had more important things to do, better things to think about—

‘Emily?’

Emily jerked her head up from where she’d been blindly gazing at a mindless doodle on a spare bit of stationery. It looked suspiciously like a J. She crossed it out viciously and then smiled at the woman who stood in her doorway, her skirt six inches shorter than Emily’s, her nails curved talons, ruthlessly manicured. Gillian Bateson, the Head of Public Relations.

‘Gillian, hello. Good to see you. Can I help with something?’

‘I don’t suppose Stephanie told you about the charity fund-raiser?’ Gillian said in that rather lofty tone that Emily had never liked.

‘I’m afraid not,’ she replied equably enough. She knew the basics: every year Jason hosted an exclusive fund-raiser for a water-based charity, usually in one of London’s best hotels. It was an intimate, expensive event that Gillian organised, apparently with help from HR.

‘It’s a very big do,’ Gillian said, seating herself down across from Emily. ‘Last year we raised three million pounds for wells in the Sudan.’

‘That must have made for a lot of wells,’ Emily said politely. She just managed to keep the mischief from her voice. Gillian had always been rather full of her own importance.

‘It’s a very important event,’ Gillian confirmed, rolling her eyes dramatically. ‘Of course, I’m in charge of it since it’s essentially PR, but Stephanie always wanted to know what was going on—I suppose I’ll have to fill you in, as well?’ She made it sound as if that would be a terribly tiresome thing to do, and Emily smiled in understanding.

‘If you’d be so kind, Gillian.’ She had to remind herself that Gillian had been divorced three times and had lost custody of her only daughter. All the nail varnish and hairspray surely hid a deep heartache. Or so she tried to believe.

‘Well …’ Yet another eye roll. If she kept at it, Emily thought wryly, she’d have her eyes permanently aimed at the back of her head. ‘We’re raising money for a desalination plant in Namibia. The fund-raiser is meant to have a black and white theme, and since Jason’s flat is decorated in black and white we’re going to have it there—’

‘The fund-raiser is at Jason’s flat?’ Emily could not keep the surprise from her voice as she digested this information, unsure how she felt about it. Or Gillian calling him by his first name in that intimate way.

Gillian arched her ruthlessly plucked eyebrows, a smug smile curving that over-lipsticked mouth. ‘You have been there?’

Actually, she hadn’t. And no doubt Gillian knew it. She’d been there, obviously. Emily did not want to ask herself why. She smiled, shaking her head regretfully. ‘No, I’m afraid I haven’t had the honour, but I’m sure it’s stunning. And Mr Kingsley is certainly generous to lend the use of his flat for the fund-raiser.’

‘Yes, he is, isn’t he?’ Gillian swung one foot, her spiked heel dangling. ‘I don’t know why he hasn’t married,’ she mused.

‘I’m sure he hasn’t found someone sensible enough for him,’ Emily said, her voice sharpening for the first time, and Gillian gave her a knowing glance.

‘You think he needs someone sensible? He’s hardly gone for the sensible types before.’

Emily shifted in her seat, uncomfortable with the nature of the conversation, or the sharp stab of something that felt almost like jealousy at the thought of Jason going for anyone.

Still, Emily was forced to acknowledge that Gillian was right. Jason had never taken out sensible types, but then he’d never been seen with the same woman twice. All they’d been were dates, just as he’d said. Arm candy. So just what kind of woman would he want to be the mother of his all-important heir? What woman would fall in line with his no-love qualification? Plenty of women, Emily supposed, including sweetly biddable Helen Smith or worldly Gillian Bateson.

And why, oh, why, was she thinking like this?

‘In any case,’ Gillian said with another cat-like smile, ‘I’m sure he’s getting ready to settle down. He’s quite a catch.’

‘I suppose.’ What awful expressions, Emily thought. A catch, like you had to run after somebody and wrestle them to the ground before convincing him to marry you. And settling down was even worse. It sounded so … disappointing. She could just imagine what kind of woman Jason would choose: someone coolly composed and perhaps just a little bit horsey; someone who would arrange flowers and place settings with contemptuous ease and give him an heir and a spare right off the bat. She’d have no sense of humour at all. A woman like that would be perfect for Jason. She would be so very sensible and stodgy, just as he was.

Except he hadn’t seemed so stodgy last night.

‘Well, that’s probably all you need to know,’ Gillian said, unfolding herself from the chair. ‘The head of every department gets an invite, but that’s all.’ So that was why she’d never been to one of Jason’s fund-raisers before, Emily thought a bit sourly. Gillian strode towards the door. ‘I’ll take care of all the arrangements. You can just show up.’ Emily had a feeling Gillian was keeping her out of the loop on purpose, especially since the fund-raiser would be at Jason’s flat. No doubt Gillian had her eye on him as husband number four.

And that unpleasant feeling still spiking through her was not jealousy. Emily gave Gillian her sunniest smile. ‘Thank you so much, Gillian, that’s lovely.’ She breathed a sigh of relief when Gillian finally stalked out of the room, leaving behind a waft of cloying perfume.

Emily let out a tiny sigh. Why was she irritated by Jason’s offer to host the party? Or was it simply the possessive way Gillian had talked about Jason—as well as the thought of him finding a wife?

None of it had anything to do with her, and it shouldn’t affect her mood at all. It wouldn’t, because she wouldn’t let it. Determinedly, Emily turned back to her desk and she spent the rest of the morning taking telephone calls and sending emails, purposefully busy, before she headed down to the reception area to meet Helen for lunch as promised.

‘How are things going?’ she asked cheerfully as she approached the circular marble desk that was the focal point of the building’s lobby. Jane was busy on a call, but Helen sat there looking pale and a bit woebegone. ‘Got the hang of it?’ Emily asked, smiling, and Helen darted an anxious look at Jane.

‘I disconnected three calls,’ she confessed in a whisper. ‘And I got the lists wrong—’

‘The lists?’

‘The ones about who likes their calls and who doesn’t,’ Helen explained. She sounded frantic. ‘I mixed it all up, and gave the calls to people who don’t want them and not to those who do—’

‘Oh, well, no one was too bothered, were they?’ Emily said, quick to reassure Helen. ‘I told you, we’re quite a friendly bunch here.’

‘Mr Hatley came down right to the desk,’ Helen said in a low voice. ‘Shouted at me that he didn’t want the bloody calls.’ She blinked up at Emily, who felt her heart give a little twist at Helen’s obvious misery.

‘I should have warned you about John,’ she said. ‘He’s an old bear, but his bark is much worse than his bite. Or growl, I suppose. Come on.’ She reached for Helen’s coat, which hung on a nearby hook, and handed it to her. ‘There’s a pasta place around the corner that does a wonderful lasagne. Let’s forget our troubles for a bit.’

Helen rose gratefully from her seat and Emily waved to Jane, who gave her a rather despairing shake of her head and a pointed look at Helen before Emily sailed through the building’s front doors. It appeared it was going to take more than a morning for Helen to figure out the phones, but she’d get there in the end. Emily would make sure of it.

In any case, everything looked better from a cosy table in a restaurant, as they tucked into huge bowls of pasta and crusty garlic bread.

‘How are you finding London?’ Emily asked as she twirled some linguine around her fork. ‘Is Richard showing you around a bit?’

‘A bit,’ Helen allowed. She sounded cautious, perhaps even unhappy. Emily could hardly pretend to be surprised.

‘He’s busy, I suppose?’ she said in sympathy; she could just imagine Richard getting on with his flood retention basins and hydraulic mechanisms and who knew what else, leaving Helen quite on her own.

‘I didn’t realise he worked quite as much as he did,’ Helen admitted. ‘And I don’t understand a word of it—’

‘Neither do I,’ Emily confessed cheerfully. ‘And I’ve worked here for five years.’ She was interested in people, not mathematical formulas or desalination plants, for that matter. ‘Surely he’s been around sometimes, though?’ she asked, and Helen gave a little shrug.

‘Occasionally,’ she said softly. She hesitated, then confessed in an anxious rush, ‘I suppose it’s bound to be different than you think, isn’t it? We’ve been friends for so long, you know, and of course things will be bumpy at first—’

Bumpy? Emily felt a swell of self-righteous indignation. Surely Helen deserved a bit better than bumpy, a little more than sitting at home waiting for Richard to ring. ‘Tell you what,’ she said suddenly, an idea lighting her mind and firing her heart, ‘I’ve an invitation to a party tonight—it’s a launch for a new clothing designer, I think.’ Actually, she wasn’t sure what it was for; she received dozens of invitations every week, so that Emily mixed them up in her mind. Yet any of them would be a good opportunity to dance and laugh, and that was just what Helen needed. ‘Why don’t you come with me?’

Helen’s face slackened in shock. ‘Me? You want to go with

me?’

Richard had already done a number on her, Emily thought sourly. ‘Of course. It’ll be fun.’

‘I don’t have proper clothes—’

‘You can borrow something of mine.’ Emily eyed Helen assessingly, acknowledging that she was probably a size or two smaller than Emily was. Well, she had a few things she didn’t fit into any more, alas. And the idea of a makeover energised her. ‘We’ll have a real girly evening getting all done up,’ she said, ‘and then have a night on the town! Richard won’t know what’s happened to you.’

Slowly, shyly, Helen brightened. ‘That does sound lovely,’ she began, ‘but—’

‘No buts. It will be fun.’ And successful, as Jason liked to say. Quickly, she pushed him out of her mind. He didn’t need to know about this.

By eight o’clock that night Emily was shepherding Helen into the foyer of one of London’s grandest hotels. Helen was looking around in awe, clearly overwhelmed by the sheer luxury of the venue, with its glittering chandeliers and marble floor, the ballroom bustling with a thousand guests, all of them well-connected and wealthy.

Helen had transformed into a swan quite wonderfully, Emily thought in satisfaction. The black cocktail dress was unfortunately two years out of date as it was one of the only things of hers that had fitted Helen, but its lines were simple and classic and made the most of the younger woman’s slight frame. Emily had piled her luxuriant dark hair on top of her head, and emphasised Helen’s huge grey eyes with dark shadow and eyeliner. And she’d given her a manicure. She looked gorgeous.

Buoyed by her own efforts, Emily worked her way through the crowd, plucking two flutes of champagne from a circulating tray as she introduced Helen to the numerous acquaintances she’d cultivated over the years. No matter that Helen mumbled her greetings as she ducked her head; she’d get the hang of it soon, and she was pretty enough that it hardly mattered what she said.

‘How have I missed you two gorgeous ladies?’ A smooth voice interrupted Emily’s latest introduction and she turned to see Philip Ellsworth standing just a little too close, his gaze taking in Helen even as he smiled at Emily. Philip was charming, wealthy and definitely had an eye for the ladies. Emily watched Helen blush under Philip’s appreciative stare. Well, her confidence could use a little bolstering.

‘So charmed to meet you,’ Philip said after Emily had made the necessary introductions. ‘I can’t believe I haven’t come across you before. I’m sure I would have remembered.’

‘Helen is new to London,’ Emily interjected. Philip was still gazing at Helen with obvious admiration, and it compelled her to say, ‘The music is just starting up. Philip, I’m sure Helen would love to dance.’ All right, it was a little obvious, but he clearly enjoyed her company, and why shouldn’t Helen have a dance? ‘You do like to dance, don’t you, Helen?’

‘Yes,’ Helen admitted in a shy whisper.

‘In that case, I’ll have to oblige,’ Philip said with a charming and very white smile. He must use artificial whitener, Emily thought with a tiny flicker of distaste. Yet there could be no denying he was incredibly handsome and suave. And just the thing to cheer Helen up a bit. ‘I’m always at Emily’s command,’ he added, throwing Emily a sleek and even sly look. She firmly ignored it.

‘Go on, then,’ she said, and watched in satisfaction as Philip led Helen to the dance floor with obvious expertise. And Helen wasn’t too bad a dancer herself. Who knew what could happen there, Emily mused. Philip was in his thirties. Perhaps he was looking to marry, as well. Settle down. She smiled wryly at her own choice of words. No doubt Jason would accuse her of matchmaking again, but she could hardly be blamed if Helen and Philip made a go of it—

Emily laughed aloud. Those unfortunate phrases really had got stuck in her head. Her gaze returned to Philip and Helen. He was holding her quite close, and she was looking up at him with a rather dazed smile. Emily could not suppress the sharp stab of triumph at seeing Helen out and enjoying herself, flourishing under the approval and attraction of a handsome man. Take that, Richard Marsden.

She lifted her champagne flute, only to pause with it halfway to her lips as her body tensed of its own accord, a shiver of awareness rippling over her. She felt as if she were being watched, and before her brain had processed this her body already knew.

Her gaze swivelled to the entrance of the ballroom and she felt as if an electric current had just pinned her in place. Jason Kingsley stood there, and he was looking right at her.

CHAPTER FIVE

EMILY took a hasty sip of her champagne, then promptly choked, causing an ageing socialite to give her a frosty frown. Such behaviour was hardly decorous.

Emily smiled weakly and watched as Jason made his way towards her, threading through the well-heeled crowd with an arrogant assurance, seemingly indifferent to the people mingling around him. He was a head taller than most of them, and they looked no more than a swarm of insects buzzing about him, an annoyance he dealt with easily as he made his way towards her. Emily swallowed, her chest still burning from when she’d choked. Jason didn’t look angry precisely, but he didn’t look happy either. Nervously, her gaze flicked to Helen and Philip, now swaying to the music. She had a feeling he wouldn’t be happy about that.

Jason surveyed Emily and tried not to scowl. She wore a tiny slip of a silver spangled dress that glittered like water on the scales of a fish, her hair falling down her back in golden waves. She looked, he thought, like an X-rated mermaid.

‘What a surprise to see you here,’ she said, tilting her head and giving him a flirty smile, her cat’s eyes slanted at the corners, alight with mischief.

Jason held on to his temper, but just. He’d arrived a few minutes ago with Margaret Denton, a girl he’d gone to Cambridge with and who was now a solicitor, very elegant, understated and perfect wife material. And then he’d seen Emily … and Helen. He’d watched as Emily pushed Helen towards Philip Ellsworth, who was the biggest waste of space Jason had ever encountered and was steadily partying his way through his daddy’s trust fund. Jason’s annoyance had increased as Philip took Helen to the dance floor and Emily practically preened with satisfaction. She was matchmaking. Again. And this time she—or at least Helen—was quite out of her element. He’d left Margaret with a cluster of mutual acquaintances and headed towards Emily, drawn to her with a force he could neither stem nor stop.

He smiled at her now, coolly. ‘I do attend social events, Emily,’ he said, keeping his voice mild, ‘although perhaps not as many as you do.’ He nodded towards Helen and Ellsworth. ‘Now I am surprised to see her here.’

‘I invited her,’ Emily informed him with a hint of defiance beneath her blithe tone. ‘I thought she could use a night out—’

‘Don’t you think this might be a bit much?’ Jason surveyed the crowd with a jaundiced eye. Most of the guests were shallow, petty, vain and insipid. And they’d devour Helen Smith in one bite.

‘It’s just a good time,’ Emily said with a defensive shrug. ‘And it’s better than Helen waiting for Richard Marsden to ring.’

‘You’ve really got it in for him, haven’t you?’ Jason said. He took a flute of champagne from a tray and downed half of it in one sip. He’d never seen a dress quite as revealing as Emily’s. Her legs looked endless, ending in silver skyscraper heels. She’d painted her toenails silver to match. He yanked his gaze upwards, but there was no hope to be found there. Admittedly, the dress wasn’t particularly low cut, but the silver material moulded itself to Emily’s breasts, outlining every luscious curve. He settled his scowl on Emily’s face, for he was indeed scowling now. She seemed to have that effect on him.

‘I don’t have it in for anyone,’ Emily told him, sounding defensive. ‘But I don’t see any harm in inviting Helen out—’

‘And are you going to pretend you didn’t just push her towards Ellsworth?’

Emily flushed, and Jason couldn’t help but notice how the heightened colour brightened her eyes. Her chest heaved, drawing his attention downwards again. His scowl deepened. ‘All I did was ask him to dance with her—’

‘Usually, it’s the man who does the asking.’

‘This is the twenty-first century, in case that had escaped your notice—’

‘You’re matchmaking again, Emily,’ Jason cut her off softly. ‘And this time I’d really rather you wouldn’t.’

‘Why? You’re matchmaking as much as I am, clearing the way so she can be with someone like Richard.’

Jason stilled, every muscle tensed. He didn’t like her scoffing tone. Or her implication. ‘Someone like Richard?’ he repeated, his voice lowering dangerously. He felt dangerous.

‘Yes,’ Emily replied with some heat, ‘someone earnest and dull who can’t be bothered to romance the woman he allegedly loves—’

‘You’ve witnessed this? Talked to Richard, perhaps?’

Emily’s flush deepened. ‘It’s fairly obvious from talking to Helen,’ she finally said. She bit her lip, taking its fullness between her teeth, and Jason’s fingers clenched around his flute of champagne.