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

Was she? Was she really?

Staring blankly at her computer screen, Emily wasn’t sure she was any more. The thought was frightening. Depressing too. Because if she wasn’t happy, what on earth could she do about it?

Forcing the question—and its impossible answer—aside, she kept her head down and focused on work until a hesitant knock on her door at half past three. She looked up and stared straight at Richard Marsden.

‘Hello,’ he began, awkward and uncertain, and Emily simply stared, shock rendering her temporarily speechless. A creeping sense of discomfort immediately followed, for while she’d been telling Helen it was perfectly fine to forget Richard just hours ago, she hadn’t had to deal with the man face to face.

Now he stood here in an ill-fitting suit, round-shouldered and a little dull, yet, Emily acknowledged fairly, with a rather nice smile.

‘Sorry to bother you, but I’m looking for Helen Smith. Jane down at reception said you might know where she is.’

‘She’s at the dentist’s,’ Emily said, her voice faintly cool despite her intention to sound both friendly and professional.

‘Oh.’ Richard’s face fell, the corners of his mouth turning down almost comically. ‘I was hoping to catch her before I leave for Africa. I’d stop by her flat but my flight leaves at eight—’ He paused hopefully and Emily did not attempt to fill the silence. ‘Do you know if she’ll be back today?’

Emily hesitated. Clearly Helen had not told Jane that she intended to return by four. Of course, Helen’s appointment could run long—dentist appointments often did—and there was no saying for certain that she would be back in the office today. There was no saying for certain at all.

Emily looked at Richard Marsden’s slightly droopy eyes, his kind smile, and then quite suddenly pictured Jason saying coolly, You most certainly are not in the running. She remembered how easily he’d walked away from that kiss, and how shattered she’d felt in its aftermath.

Her own mouth hardened and she heard herself saying, ‘I’m afraid I don’t know, Richard. She told me she planned to take the entire afternoon off.’

Richard nodded slowly in acceptance, clearly defeated before he’d even begun. Emily felt a flicker of regret but also a stab of self-righteous scorn. If Richard wasn’t going to try harder than that—

‘Well, if you see her, will you tell her I stopped by? And that … that I’m thinking of her?’

Emily knew she would have no difficulty in delivering Richard’s paltry message. ‘Of course I will.’

‘Thank you,’ he said, and Emily, her throat suddenly tight, just nodded.

As he rounded the corner, she managed to call out, ‘Have a safe trip, Richard.’

Then, as he finally disappeared down the hallway, she let out a long, slow breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding.

It didn’t matter, she told herself. Helen would have said something to Richard anyway. She was planning on it—mostly. And, in any case, Richard was only going to be gone for a week or so … although, Emily thought, by the time he returned Philip and Helen could very well be an established couple. Philip was, among other things, a fast worker.

She turned back to her computer screen and the email she’d been in the middle of composing, but the words danced before her eyes. All she could really see was Richard’s defeated look, his disappointed smile, and she wondered if for once she’d interfered just a little too much.

CHAPTER SIX

EMILY pulled at the tight satin bodice of her bridesmaid’s dress and grimaced in the mirror. The hot pink colour made her look like a piece of bubblegum, and the skirt belled out around her knees so she was halfway to wearing a tutu. Stephanie, however, had been enamoured with what she thought was a fairy tale dress, and insisted Emily looked gorgeous in it. Emily silently disagreed with Stephanie’s assessment, but offered no resistance. This was Stephanie’s day, not hers.

The wedding was to be a small, intimate affair, the ceremony taking place in the church of the Hampshire village where Stephanie had grown up, and the reception a dinner at a local hotel afterwards. Emily had arrived last night just in time to make the rehearsal, and then fallen into bed, exhausted and a bit overwhelmed by the general pandemonium and near hysteria an imminent wedding caused. Seating plans. Bouquets. A last minute alteration to Stephanie’s dress. Emily’s head swam.

Since last night she’d only seen Stephanie and Tim and their families and attendants, and she hadn’t had time to ask Stephanie if Jason would be coming to the wedding.

No, that wasn’t really true, Emily acknowledged to herself as she fixed her hair into what she hoped was a neat chignon. She’d had plenty of time to talk to Stephanie over the last two weeks. She hadn’t wanted to ask about Jason because she didn’t even want to think about him, or that kiss, and she certainly wasn’t going to give her friend any reason to think there was something between her and Jason. Because there wasn’t. How could there be? The thought was beyond ludicrous.

All they’d shared was a single kiss—a kiss that had been part punishment and part proof, as Jason had said himself. As if that kiss proved anything about Richard Marsden. Or even Jason. All right, it proved Jason was a decent kisser, but that was hardly relevant to anything. Or anyone. Certainly not to her.

And yet Emily could not quite forget the feel of Jason’s lips on hers, how they’d been both hard and soft, warm and cool, and even more aggravatingly—and alarmingly—how she’d responded to that kiss, as if he’d lit a candle inside of her. Not just a candle, but a roaring fire. And it still hadn’t gone out.

A knock sounded at the door of the spare bedroom in Stephanie’s parents’ house, where Emily had been getting ready.

‘The car’s here,’ Joanne, Stephanie’s mother, called. ‘Are you all set, dear?’

‘Yes … just about.’ With a last rather despairing look at her tutu-like dress, Emily turned towards the door.

The ceremony was beautiful, just as Emily had known it would be. The church sanctuary was bedecked with ivy and white roses, and a hushed silence prevailed as Tim and Stephanie exchanged their vows, their voices ringing with heartfelt sincerity and love.

This was why people got married, Emily thought with an unfamiliar wrenching inside. She’d consider it herself if she ever met a man who would look at her the way Tim looked at Stephanie. Not with disapproval, or amusement, or—

She was thinking about Jason. Again. Emily forced the thoughts away and let her gaze wander around the church. There were a handful of people from work but, other than that, few she recognised. Then she heard a quiet creak as someone opened the door to the church and slipped into the last pew.

It took Emily a stunned second to process who it was.

Jason.

His gaze locked on hers and held it, refusing to look away, his eyes calm yet his jaw tense. He looked … determined was the only word for it, as if he had a goal in mind and he fully intended to achieve it. Perhaps that was the way he looked at a flooded river, or a swamped stream, or—

But, no. He was looking at her, and Emily could not look away. She couldn’t move. It was as if Jason’s gaze was actually trapping her, and her hands clenched around her posy of rosebuds, the dress cutting into her ribcage, her gaze locked on Jason’s. Her gaze, of its own accord, moved to his mouth, took in those firm, sculpted lips. How had she never before noticed what amazing lips he had? They’d been on hers. Hard on hers.

One kiss. Just one kiss, and yet she couldn’t forget it. She had a feeling she never would. She swallowed, her throat suddenly unbearably dry. Jason still gazed at her, steady, unyielding.

‘And by the power invested in me, I now pronounce you man and wife.’

Finally, Emily possessed the ability to tear her gaze from Jason’s and she clapped along with everyone else as Tim, beaming, took his wife in his arms. She watched as he kissed her, a kiss filled with passion and love and happiness. That kiss was a declaration, a celebration, a shout of joy to the world.

Jason hadn’t kissed her like that. No one had.

Swallowing again, Emily glanced back at Jason. He was chatting with the person in front of him, oblivious to her now. Emily wondered if she’d actually imagined the intensity of the moment before; surely Jason hadn’t been looking at her quite like that.

Like what? her mind mocked, for she didn’t even know.

Stephanie and Tim had broken their kiss and were now beaming at everyone around them. Emily felt another wrench of what could only be envy. She’d meant what she’d said to Jason; she was happy, and she certainly didn’t need anything. The search for the kind of love Stephanie and Tim shared was exhausting and uncertain, and she had no desire to embark on it only to end up frustrated and alone. Better to be happy and alone, surely.

Yet that didn’t keep her from wanting for a moment—just a moment—what Stephanie and Tim had. She wanted it desperately. She longed for someone to look at her the way Tim had looked at Stephanie, with love, his face softened with adoration. She wanted to be desired, treasured, adored. Wined and dined and romanced. Swept off her feet.

It wasn’t going to happen.

Determinedly, she shrugged the feeling aside. Surely it was no more than even the most hardened heart would feel at a wedding as lovely as this one. It would pass.

Smiling at her radiant friend, Emily followed them down the aisle. She made sure to keep her face averted as she passed the last pew.

Of course she couldn’t avoid Jason for ever. She tried to, and managed it through drinks and dinner. Her duty as bridesmaid kept her close to Stephanie’s side, straightening her veil, fetching her a glass of water, smiling until her cheeks ached for the requisite round of photographs.

Yet when the dancing started and Stephanie and Tim took the floor, Jason headed directly to her and she realised she’d been waiting—and even expecting—him to. Emily’s heart started a heavy thud of anticipation as she watched him stride across the ballroom, as purposeful and self-assured as always. His hair and eyes both glinted near-gold in the dim lighting and she could see the ripple of muscles under his immaculate suit, the easy shrug of his shoulders as he walked.

She wondered what he was going to say to her, if he would mention the kiss. Should she act unconcerned, indifferent, as if she’d already dismissed it as the nothing encounter it surely was—for him, at least? Yet that would be an act, and he would surely know it. He’d probably tease her about it, but at least then they would be on familiar footing.

Her palms grew slippery as she clutched her flute of champagne. She wished she’d reapplied her lipstick. She also wished she wasn’t wearing a poufy, too-tight bridesmaid dress in shocking pink satin.

‘Care to dance?’

The words shocked her, brought her back to the last wedding she’d attended with Jason, when he’d asked the same question and held his hand out in just the same way … and she’d been wearing pink satin then too. Some things never changed.

‘Fine,’ she said, realising that sounded a bit ungracious.

Jason, however, just smiled, although Emily saw his eyes didn’t respond. They still held that same hard determination, and Emily wondered at its source.

She placed her hand in his, let his fingers enfold hers as he led her onto the small parquet dance floor. His other hand rested on her waist, warm and large, his fingers splaying across her hip.

The band was playing a low, lazy tune, something you only needed to sway to. Emily kept her gaze focused in the region of Jason’s chin as they moved to the music. They were closer than six inches apart this time, and this was no boring waltz. She could feel the heat from his body, inhaled the tang of his aftershave. He was a good dancer, she realised with some surprise; he swayed well, his movements languorous, even sexy, his sure hands guiding her to his own lazy rhythm.

Emily could not look him in the face. She felt agonisingly aware of him, and also of the memory of dancing with him seven years ago. She’d been so affected and overwhelmed by him then. Clearly nothing had changed.

Jason touched her chin with his finger. ‘Can’t you look at me?’

Reluctantly, Emily forced her gaze upwards. ‘Of course.’ Yet when she took in the blaze of his eyes, the wry twisting of his lips, she wished she hadn’t risen to his challenge. She couldn’t look at him. She couldn’t tell what he felt. Or if he was thinking about their kiss the way she was … with every nerve and muscle of her body.

Involuntarily she’d stiffened, the memories and uncertainties causing her to stop their slow dance, and Jason gently nudged her hip with his hand, forcing her to move again. Sway. Her hip came into gentle contact with his and she felt a lightning shaft of awareness. Bone against bone. She angled her body away from his, which was difficult considering how close he was holding her.

‘Are you acting so skittish because I kissed you?’ he asked in that practical, matter-of-fact way that was so essentially Jason, and at this moment Emily did not know how to respond. All her witty retorts seemed to have evaporated. Banter was beyond her.

‘Ah, yes, that kiss,’ she finally said, her tone sounding cringingly false and even hearty. ‘How could I forget?’

‘It would be a poor reflection on me if you had forgotten,’ Jason observed.

She risked a glance upwards; he was gazing at her with a steady, intense assessment that was more unnerving than any glower or scowl. He looked like he was trying to understand her, and surely she didn’t want that. ‘You mean on your kissing abilities?’ she queried flippantly. Or at least as flippantly as she could.

‘Quite. However,’ Jason continued, pulling her closer again so their hips gently collided once more, sending a shaft of agonising awareness low through her pelvis, ‘I know you didn’t forget, and I’m in no doubt of my own abilities.’

Emily let out a little huffy laugh. ‘That’s a bit arrogant.’

‘Is it?’ Jason touched her chin with his thumb, angling her face upwards. His mouth was a whisper away from hers. ‘You wanted me to kiss you seven years ago, Em. Things haven’t changed that much, have they?’

‘Actually, they have,’ Emily retorted, her words sharpening. She did not want to be reminded of that night, not when Jason’s kiss—and her own humiliating response—was so fresh and raw in her mind. Her heart. Things had changed; she was different. ‘In any case, Jason, if you meant that kiss as some kind of proof, I’m sorry to say it failed.’

‘Proof?’ Jason repeated. He sounded genuinely puzzled. ‘Proof of what?’

‘That Richard’s not boring,’ Emily said impatiently. He’d told her so himself, so why was he looking at her as if she had just said something utterly nonsensical? ‘You said,’ she reminded him. ‘Remember?’

In one quick yet fluid motion, Jason guided her off the dance floor. Emily could barely keep up with him, tripping in her heels, his hand now encircling her wrist, as he led her from the crowded ballroom to a small secluded lounge off the lobby of the hotel. The sudden silence unnerved her, left her defenceless. All she could hear was the ragged tear of her own breathing, and all the words that hadn’t yet been said.

Jason stared at her for a long moment, spots of colour high on his cheekbones although his eyes were assessing and cool. ‘What?’ Emily demanded. ‘You told me yourself, Jason.’

‘I know I did,’ he said, his voice as calm and measured as always despite the colour still flaring in his face, ‘but only because you needed a reason.’ A faint smile flickered over his features. ‘As far as responses to a kiss go, “What was that for?” is fairly insulting.’

‘But logical,’ Emily returned. ‘Why else would you kiss me, Jason?’

Jason’s eyebrows rose. ‘Why else?’

‘You never wanted to before.’

He kept staring at her, his brow furrowed now as if he were figuring out a complicated maths problem … or her. Emily crossed her arms over her chest, the pink satin stretching alarmingly across her breasts. She was really beginning to regret this dress.

‘Is this about the time we danced at Isobel and Jack’s wedding? All those years ago? How I supposedly humiliated you?’

He sounded so disbelieving that Emily knew he didn’t know. Hadn’t seen how she’d bolted from the dance floor in tears. Although it amazed her that he hadn’t noticed; she’d felt so obvious and exposed. ‘It was a long time ago, I know,’ she said stiffly. ‘And of course it hardly matters now—’

‘Of course it does matter,’ Jason cut across her, ‘since we’re having this conversation.’

‘I just felt very rejected,’ Emily said, her words stilted and stiff, each one drawn from her with the utmost reluctance. She had wanted to banish this memory, had convinced herself she had. Yet seeing Jason again—having him mention it after so many years of silence—brought it all rushing back, made her realise afresh how painful that little episode had been. She couldn’t laugh about it now; maybe she never had been able to.

And now she felt as if she were giving Jason more ammunition to tease her, or at least give her one of those coolly mocking looks. She waited for one eyebrow to arch as he gave her some dry rejoinder. If you’re going to offer yourself on a plate, Em …

Instead, he said something else entirely. ‘Emily, I told you then how I wanted to kiss you.’

She stared at him, shocked, totally unprepared for this admission. ‘No, you didn’t—’

‘Yes, I did,’ Jason replied, his words sharp, as if he were angry about the truth of it. As if he hadn’t wanted to want to kiss her. Perhaps he hadn’t. ‘In fact, I remember exactly what I said. You asked if I’d like to kiss you, and I told you I would, rather.’

‘But I won’t,’ Emily finished woodenly.

Jason stared at her for another endless moment before the corner of his mouth quirked upwards. ‘And clearly you only paid attention to the second clause of that sentence.’

‘And clearly you aced grammar,’ Emily threw back at him. She didn’t want to talk about this any more; she didn’t want to remember. ‘Look, it really doesn’t matter. It was seven years ago.’ She let out a long breath that shuddered only slightly. ‘It was just a moment. A silly moment.’ Why had she ever asked him to kiss her? And why hadn’t she been able to forget when he finally had?

‘It wasn’t,’ Jason said quietly, ‘a silly moment for me.’

Emily froze. Forgot to breathe. She could not make sense of his words; they fell into the taut stillness between them and lay there, demanding she do something with them. Ask. ‘What are you talking about?’ she finally whispered.

‘I wanted to kiss you, Emily,’ Jason said. His voice was quiet and yet so very matter-of-fact. ‘I wanted to kiss you very badly, but I didn’t because you were seventeen years old and I doubted you’d ever been kissed before.’

Colour washed her cheekbones. ‘I hadn’t,’ she admitted, her voice still no more than a thread of sound.

‘I was twenty-nine. Older than you are now. And the realisation that I could want to kiss you, want you so much terrified and shamed me. You were too young.’

Emily stared at him as she tested the truth of his words. She remembered how he’d glared at her; he’d looked so angry. ‘But you … you pushed me away like you couldn’t stand the thought of me—or kissing me!’ she finally burst out, amazed that it could hurt even now. For years she’d convinced herself that silly little moment between them had been nothing more than that. Silly. Little. Yet now she knew she couldn’t pretend, not when Jason was being so honest. That silly little moment hadn’t been silly—or little—at all. Not for her, and perhaps not even for Jason.

‘I pushed you away,’ Jason said, his patience clearly starting to fray, ‘because I didn’t want to humiliate myself—or you! There couldn’t be anything between us then, not when you were no more than a teenager.’

Then. He made it sound as if it might be different now. As if something—what?—could happen between them now. The thought was so overwhelming, so alarming and exciting and yet somehow preposterous, that Emily could think of nothing to say. She didn’t even know how she felt, how to untangle this confusing rush of emotions—shock, fear, anxiety, excitement, hope—that raced dizzily through her and left her robbed of speech or even breath, so she could only stare at him, helpless, hopeful, waiting.

Jason watched several different emotions chase themselves across Emily’s features. He’d shocked her, he knew. He’d been honest—more honest than he’d intended—and now she didn’t know what to say. Think. Feel.

And neither did he. His mind and body had been in a ferment for too long. He couldn’t keep himself from Emily, despite every intention to do just that. Time and time again he’d sought her out, been drawn to her in a way he could not resist. The realisation was aggravating. Humbling too. He’d always prided himself on his sense of self-control, his iron resolve—both had crumbled to nothing when he’d finally given into desire and kissed Emily, felt her sweet, yielding response, her lips parting under his, her body curving against

him. He wanted Emily. He’d gone to Africa to escape her, escape the attraction he’d felt, and instead he’d endured days of remembering just how she’d felt and tasted, nights where he’d relived that one kiss in his mind. And imagined a few other things besides.

Even work hadn’t been enough of a distraction, and after a week of it he’d realised what he wanted. What he needed.

To get Emily out of his system. And the only way to do that, to move forward, was to have her. In his arms, in his bed.

Why not?

She’d told him she wasn’t interested in love. Not for herself at any rate. She wanted to have fun. She’d had several relationships already and was wise to the ways of the world. So why shouldn’t they indulge in what would be a very basic and pleasurable affair? She wasn’t seventeen any more. She wasn’t innocent any more.

He’d been afraid of hurting her back then, of course he had. But Emily had already shown him how unimpressed she was with him already—she thought he was boring, out of bed at least; Jason saw the positive side of that assessment now. It meant she wasn’t in love with him. She didn’t want to marry him.

But she wanted him. He knew that. And as long as he didn’t hurt or disappoint her—which he wouldn’t, since her heart wasn’t involved—why shouldn’t they enjoy themselves? It had suddenly seemed wonderfully simple. And easy.

Although from the way Emily was looking at him now, with so much dazed uncertainty, Jason knew it didn’t seem so simple to her. She hadn’t believed he desired her. The thought was laughable; it seemed so glaringly—and painfully—obvious to him. Clearly, Emily had her doubts.

He looked forward to removing them. And a few other things, as well.

‘What …’ she began, her voice scratchy. Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips. Jason’s gut clenched. ‘What are you saying?’

Jason let his gaze rest on her, his eyes heavy-lidded, his expression thoughtful. Suggestive. He saw Emily’s eyes widen, her pupils dilate. ‘Things have changed,’ he said finally, his voice no more than a steady, low thrum. He took a step closer to her, lifted his hand to touch her chin, his thumb grazing her jawbone. He felt her response shudder through her. ‘Haven’t they?’ Her lips parted, but no words came out. Jason smiled and lowered his head, his lips a breath away from hers. He could feel her tremble, sway towards him. ‘Not too much, though.’ He waited, his mouth hovering over hers, needing her response. Her acceptance. She needed to understand what he was saying. and what he wasn’t.

‘Jason …’

‘Emily?’

Emily jerked away from him as Stephanie’s sister-in-law Lucy, terrifyingly organised and brisk, popped her head in the little lounge. ‘There you are! Stephanie is about to throw her bouquet. You won’t want to miss it.’