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

Jason watched as Emily’s face flooded with colour. She turned away from him, her head clearly averted from his gaze. ‘Thank you, Lucy. I’ll be right there.’

Lucy disappeared and still Emily hesitated for a moment, her back to Jason, clearly waiting.

‘We’ll have to finish this … conversation … another time,’ he said. He took a breath and let it out slowly, needing to state the obvious. Wanting her to understand. ‘I want you, Emily. But I don’t want you to be hurt.’ He waited, willing her to agree, to say something at least, to indicate she understood. This is just a fling. Fun. What we both want.

She half-turned so her face was in profile, and he saw the smooth curve of her cheek, the downward sweep of her golden lashes. She looked uncertain and so very young. ‘I won’t get hurt,’ she said, her voice low.

Yet as she slipped from the room Jason wondered if she’d spoken to convince him … or herself.

CHAPTER SEVEN

EMILY did not see Jason for a week. It was a week of anxiety and also a little anger, of tensing and turning every time someone came to her door, of wondering why he’d made such a startling confession and then disappeared without a trace.

Was he teasing her? Had he changed his mind? Or was he serious, and he was giving her time to decide what she wanted?

Emily didn’t know which she preferred. Every option seemed alarming. Meanwhile, she found she was checking her mobile for messages or texts far too often. She scoured the internet’s social networking pages to see if he was on any, which of course he wasn’t. Jason was hardly the kind of man to update his online status. Annoyed with herself, she stayed away from her mobile and laptop except for work, determined not to think of him at all.

Unfortunately, that proved impossible. She kept going over her conversation with Jason again and again, marvelling at his words … and their meaning.

I want you, Emily. But I don’t want you to be hurt.

It amazed her to think that Jason desired her now, had been intimating that he wanted there to be something between them now.

But what? A kiss? A fling? Clearly, he wasn’t proposing marriage, and that was the last thing she wanted anyway. She wasn’t in love with Jason; she wasn’t in love with anyone. But she wanted him. And he wanted her.

It could be so very simple. She wouldn’t get hurt, just as she’d told him. So why was she still mired in doubt?

Perhaps, Emily reflected, it was because it seemed so impossible for Jason to want her physically. And even for her to want him. They had so much history, so many shared memories and moments that were at odds with what he was feeling now. What she was feeling.

If she were honest, the thought of Jason actually desiring her terrified and excited her in equal amounts. She’d never thought of him that way, never dared to … and yet another part of her sly mind whispered that in reality she’d always thought of him that way, or wanted to. That was why that dance—and almost-kiss—seven years ago had actually devastated her. even though she’d convinced herself for so long that it hadn’t. That it had been nothing.

And now? Emily didn’t know what the truth was, or could be. She was afraid to find out. Maybe Jason hadn’t meant that at all anyway. Perhaps he’d just been teasing her as usual, and she’d read far too much into a few throwaway remarks because her own need was suddenly so great. Maybe she was making everything up in her mind, and the next time she saw Jason he would be back to his familiar, mocking self, one eyebrow arched, a faint smile curving his mouth.

Oh, that mouth.

She really was a mess. An obsessed mess, she acknowledged as she kept checking her phone and surfing the Internet and looking for clues to the truth about Jason because he wasn’t there in person. Even if he had been she knew she did not yet possess the courage to confront him about any of it.

Meanwhile November drifted into December, and the charity fund-raiser at Jason’s flat loomed closer. Emily could barely hide her surprise when Gillian Bateson approached her again, for help with the organisation.

‘I thought you had it well in hand?’ she asked, surveying Gillian from across her desk. The older woman looked a little more subdued than usual. Her hair was not as immaculately styled and her nail varnish was chipped. Her smile seemed a bit fixed.

‘Oh, I do, of course I do. But I thought you might like a peek at Jason’s penthouse. It’s fab, you know—or actually you don’t—’

Emily gritted her teeth. ‘I’m sure it is, and I’ll see it at the party. I don’t really need a … a peek.’ Even if she was intensely curious about where Jason lived. Where Jason slept.

Gillian paused, her gaze sliding away from Emily’s. ‘Actually, I could use a little help,’ she said, the admission drawn from her with obvious reluctance. ‘It turns out my daughter is visiting that weekend, and I promised to take her out for a bit—’ She glanced back at Emily, her laugh a little wobbly. ‘You have no idea how demanding pre-teens are.’

‘I can imagine, considering I was one myself once.’ Emily smiled, surprised and gratified by this insight into Gillian’s life. She knew it was practically killing her to ask for help, but Emily was glad she had. And she was honest enough to admit to herself she did want a peek at Jason’s flat—badly. ‘I’d be happy to help, Gillian.’

After Gillian left her office Emily stared at her computer screen, restless yet needing to work. She had not been able to concentrate on anything. Her fingers drummed on her desktop and she glanced at her to-do list scribbled on a spare piece of paper. She was meant to follow up a shortlist of applications for an assistant in the legal department, arrange the details for an expatriate hire, and draft an email regarding intra-office communications. And that was just this morning. Sighing, she reached for her empty coffee mug.

She was just about to stagger to the coffee machine when her mobile rang. She glanced at the number; it was Philip.

‘Hello, sweetheart,’ he practically purred. ‘Heading out to any Christmas parties this weekend?’

Emily thought of the unanswered invitations scattered across her mantelpiece. ‘I don’t think so, Philip.’

‘I’ve got two tickets to a new art exhibit in Soho,’ Philip told her. ‘Very exclusive. You free?’

A ripple of unease made its way down Emily’s spine. Why was Philip inviting her? ‘I don’t think so, Philip. I’m quite busy this weekend.’ She let out a little gasp, as if she’d just thought of something wonderful. ‘I know. Why don’t you ask Helen? You’ve been seeing a lot of her lately, haven’t you?’

‘I don’t know whether I’d say a lot,’ Philip replied, his tone one of bored dismissal. Emily froze, her fingers clenched around her mobile. This was not how Philip was meant to talk about Helen. Yet despite the icy feeling of dread developing in the pit of her stomach, she could not give up so easily.

‘Well,’ she said brightly, ‘I’m sure she’d love to go to an art exhibit … and you two were certainly cosy when we all went out to the theatre.’ She let out a little suggestive laugh, waiting for Philip’s affirmation, but instead he just gave a rather dry chuckle.

‘Only because you dragged her along.’

Emily nearly dropped her phone. ‘But … but Philip!’ she said, her voice rising to something between a squeak and a shriek. ‘You were so … you sat next to her … you touched her hair.’ She sounded ridiculous, Emily thought distantly, but surely she couldn’t have been so terribly mistaken. So wrong.

‘You thought I was interested in Helen?‘ Philip asked, and then laughed. There was nothing funny about that laugh, nothing warm or generous. It was a laugh of scorn, of mockery. It made Emily’s insides shrivel. ‘Come on, Emily. She’s a lovely girl, of course, but.’ He sounded horribly patronising.

‘But?’ Emily prompted coldly.

‘Well, she’s not our sort, is she?’ Philip said, and Emily could tell he was trying to be reasonable. ‘I thought you were dragging her around as some sort of charity case, and I was nice enough to her because of that, but you couldn’t actually think.’ He laughed again, and Emily closed her eyes.

Oh, no. No, no, no. This was not how she’d imagined this conversation going at all. Philip was supposed to start gushing about Helen, and how lucky he was, and Emily had even envisioned a little teary-eyed gratitude towards the person who had pushed them together. Push being the operative word.

This was bad. This was very, very bad for Helen, and almost as bad for her because it meant she’d been horribly, humiliatingly wrong.

And Jason had been right.

Both realisations were equally painful. She opened her eyes and took a deep breath. ‘Then I think you’ve been a bit unfair to Helen,’ she said, her voice tight with both anger and guilt. ‘You’ve certainly spent enough time with her so she might think—’

‘You’re the one who seems to think something,’ Philip cut her off. ‘Not Helen.’

There was too much truth in that statement for Emily to object. She had encouraged Helen. If she’d given her a word of caution instead, who knew how much of this mess might have been averted. And, Emily was forced to acknowledge miserably, she’d encouraged Helen at least in part because it had been a way of proving something to Jason. Of showing him he was wrong.

Except it looked like he wasn’t.

‘Well, I’m afraid I’m not free this weekend, Philip,’ Emily said, her voice decidedly frosty. ‘Goodbye.’

She disconnected the call and then with a groan buried her head in her hands. Shame and regret roiled through her. She heard Helen asking her, Do you think he likes me? and her own assured—smug!—response: I’m sure of it.

And now … now she would have to tell Helen just how awful

Philip was. She surely could not let Helen go on wondering, hoping … yet how could she do it? How could she admit how wrong she’d been? Wrong on one occasion, at least.

She straightened in her chair. She might have been wrong about Philip, but she was still right about Richard. He was the same, just as she’d always known.

Predictable. Steady. Cautious. And far too sensible.

Just like—

Emily stopped that train of thought immediately. It wasn’t going anywhere good. And, really, she needed to focus on Helen, who deserved someone special, someone who would sweep her off her feet properly—

Already she began a mental flip through the eligible men she knew. Doug in accounting was divorced; Eric, a friend of a friend was reportedly single although there had been rumours of—

She forced herself to stop. It was too soon to set Helen up with someone else and, considering this current catastrophe, perhaps she should take a short break from matchmaking. Relationships could so clearly be disastrous.

At lunchtime Emily went reluctantly downstairs, knowing she would see Helen and somehow have to break the news.

Helen’s face lit up as Emily entered the lobby. Emily forced herself to smile back. ‘Are you free? I thought we could grab a bite.’

Helen nodded happily. ‘Oh, yes—’ Then she gave herself away by glancing towards the blank screen of her mobile; Emily had a sinking feeling she’d been waiting for Philip to ring.

‘Come on, then,’ she said in an attempt at brisk cheer, and hurried Helen out of the building.

In the end the only way to tell Helen was honestly, flatly, without any evasions. Emily kept it as brief as possible, not wanting Helen even to guess at Philip’s awful attitude of contempt.

‘I’m sorry, Helen,’ she said after she’d told her, in the kindest terms possible, about Philip’s decided lack of interest. ‘I know it’s my fault for encouraging you—I really thought he was a better man than he is. And—’ she swallowed, forcing herself to meet Helen’s bewildered, wide-eyed gaze ‘—and honestly I think you’re better off without him. I just wish I’d realised that a bit sooner.’

Helen glanced down at her untouched lunch. ‘You can hardly blame yourself,’ she said quietly. ‘I’m a grown woman, Emily, and I was the one who—’ She swallowed and sniffed, making Emily’s heart ache again with guilt and regret. ‘And I let myself be blinded by him. He was so charming, and when he.we.’ She stopped, sniffing again, and a wave of dread crashed over Emily.

‘Helen … did anything actually … happen between the two of you? ‘

Miserably, Helen nodded. ‘A few weeks ago, after the theatre, I.I invited him back afterwards. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to think I was … well …’ She stopped as tears began to silently leak out of the corners of her eyes. ‘You’re so together, Emily, and everyone likes you even if you don’t need anyone. But I was lonely and he seemed so nice—’

Emily reached across the table and clasped Helen’s hand tightly. She felt perilously close to tears herself. ‘This is all my fault,’ she said quietly, guilt lancing through her again, causing a physical pain. ‘All my fault.’ Damn Philip. He might have been quick to dismiss Helen to her that morning, but he’d obviously liked her enough to take her to bed. The thought made Emily’s insides burn with both shame and anger. The blame could not be laid solely at Philip’s feet. The man was a snake, but she’d convinced Helen he was kind and charming. She’d convinced herself, as well. The only person she hadn’t convinced was Jason. ‘I’m so sorry, Helen,’ she said uselessly, for the damage was already done. This was why she kept herself out of relationships. Perhaps she should start keeping other people out of them too.

Her matchmaking days, Emily thought grimly, were over.

The next few days passed in a blur of work and regret. Emily could not let go of the guilt that ate at her for pushing Helen towards Philip. She dreaded seeing Jason, knowing he’d been right all along and would undoubtedly let her know it too, yet he didn’t make an appearance.

‘He had to fly back to Africa again for a few days,’ Eloise told her when Emily broke down and asked for information. ‘But he’ll be back for the fund-raiser.’

The charity fund-raiser, next week at his flat. Emily would be going early to help decorate, and yet while this thought had filled her with a certain tense expectation just a few days ago, now it was accompanied by a different dread. She wasn’t really looking forward to admitting he’d been right, which, knowing Jason, she would be forced to do sooner or later. She certainly wasn’t looking forward to his response.

What did I tell you, Em? Sensible is what women need …

No, it isn’t, she thought crossly. It isn’t.

Still, curiosity and anticipation helped to staunch that deepening dread as she headed over to Jason’s flat in Chelsea Harbour that Friday afternoon. She’d invited Helen as her guest, hoping an evening out—without Philip in attendance—would help cheer her up. She tried not to think of what Jason might say about that; no doubt he would accuse her of meddling again.

The air was sharp with cold as she and Helen climbed into a cab and headed for the well-heeled neighbourhood just north of the Thames.

Gillian had given her a detailed list of instructions about the caterers, the decorators and the musicians. All Emily would have to do was supervise. And perhaps have a little peek round.

A tingle of excitement made its way up her spine as she and Helen left the cab for the sleek modern building that housed Jason’s penthouse. The high-speed lift had her racing to the top floor, and the doors swished silently open directly into Jason’s flat. His home.

Emily stepped gingerly onto a floor of highly polished ebony that seemed to stretch endlessly in several directions. The flat was as fabulous as Gillian had said, and also stark. And even soulless. If she’d been hoping to gain some clue into Jason’s inner workings—or even his heart—from where he lived, then she was surely disappointed. The flat revealed nothing. Perhaps, Emily thought wryly, that was indicative of his inner workings. Jason was not a man given to great emotion.

Emily stepped into a soaring reception room with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the river. Just as Gillian had said, everything was black or white. Or black and white. Emily took in several very expensive looking black leather sofas, a coffee table of white marble that looked like a piece of modern sculpture, a canvas hanging over the black marble fireplace that was nothing more than a rectangle of white with one messy splotch of black ink in the bottom right corner. It had probably sold for thousands of pounds, Emily thought wryly, and it looked like something her niece had made by accident.

She glanced in the dining room and took in the huge ebony table and matching chairs, a thick snowy-white carpet and several more modern canvases—one black-and-white prison stripes, another like the stripes of a zebra. It was amazing. It was awful.

It revealed nothing about Jason, not the Jason she knew, the man who had always been there to bail her out and scold her afterwards, who managed to smile with both disapproval and amusement, whose eyes turned the colour of honey—

The man who had kissed her. And who had wanted to kiss her, maybe more than once.

The buzzer sounded and Emily jumped nearly a foot in the air. The caterers must have arrived. She and Helen exchanged guilty looks—they’d both been snooping—and Emily went to let them in.

The next hour was spent organising all the staff, checking on a thousand tiny details and dealing with the dozens of texts from Gillian, who still clearly wanted to have a hand in the operations.

‘I thought you were at a film,’ Emily said when Gillian rang her for the third time.

‘I am,’ Gillian told her. ‘Some boy band thing. It’s dire. Did the caterers find white asparagus?’

‘Yes, and black truffles.’ Even the canapés were black and white. ‘Don’t worry, Gillian. Just enjoy your time with your daughter.’

Gillian let out a rather trembling sigh. ‘It’s just so odd,’ she confessed in a low voice. ‘We haven’t spent much time together at all.’

Emily’s heart twisted in more sympathy than she’d ever had for Gillian before. ‘Then go spend some,’ she said, ‘boy band film and all.’

Finally, by half past six, almost everything was set up. Emily glanced at the makeshift bar, the string quartet, the caterers, and let out a breathy sigh of relief. She hadn’t realised how much organisation a party like this actually took.

‘Everything looks wonderful,’ Helen said, and Emily gave her a grateful smile.

‘Gillian said we could use the guest suites to shower and change—shall we get cleaned up?’

Helen nodded and, after grabbing their bags they headed down the long corridor—stark white walls and ebony flooring—towards the bedroom wing. Gillian had told her the guest rooms were the first two doors and, after Helen had disappeared into the first room, an irrepressible curiosity made Emily tiptoe towards the third and last door. Jason’s bedroom.

Her heart began to thud as she gently pushed open the door and stepped into the room. Her feet sank into the plush white carpet and she gazed at the king-sized bed with its black satin sheets. Although the sheets were drawn across the wide bed with military precision, she pictured them pulled back and rumpled, with Jason lying there—naked.

Good heavens. Where had that thought come from? It had sprung into her mind so suddenly, so vividly, that her cheeks burned and she glanced around guiltily. Still, she could imagine it all too easily and yet not at all, because nothing about this bed or room or entire flat made her think of Jason. And of course she’d never seen him naked. And most likely never would—

‘I think you’ve wandered into the wrong bedroom.’ Oh! Emily whirled around, one hand to her thumping heart. Jason stood in the doorway, his shoulder propped against the frame, one hand already starting to loosen his tie. His eyes glinted with humour and his mouth quirked upwards. ‘Haven’t you?’ he added so Emily’s face burned all the more and she could feel herself going scarlet. Lovely. Just the look she was going for.

She arched an eyebrow, tossing her hair over her shoulder. ‘I was just checking to see if there’s any colour in this place,’ she said, striving to sound nonchalant. ‘I have this mad urge to spill a can of red paint on your carpet.’

‘That sounds interesting,’ Jason said. ‘Although my decorator would have a fit. I suppose I can start with this.’ Emily watched in a sort of horrified fascination as Jason tugged off his tie—red silk—and tossed it onto a nearby chair. It landed on the white suede like a splash of paint. Emily swallowed.

‘That’s a start,’ she managed with a light little laugh. ‘Although this place still is rather stark.’ She gave him a teasing smile, the kind of smile she’d always given him, except now it felt like flirting. And, even stranger still, it felt like Jason was flirting back, an answering smile quirking the corners of his mouth—those lips—as he held her gaze a second longer than necessary. A second full of heat. She hadn’t imagined what he’d said at Stephanie’s wedding. What he’d wanted.

Emily cleared her throat. ‘I apologise for being so curious,’ she said after a few seconds as Jason simply gazed at her, his eyes sweeping over her rather dishevelled state, lingering on … certain places. Making her feel hot and shivery all at once. ‘Anyway,’ she said, struggling for words, for air, ‘I just couldn’t imagine you living in a place like this.’

‘I don’t live here very much, to tell you the truth,’ Jason replied. He dropped his attaché case by the bed and then shrugged out of his suit jacket, dropping it onto the same chair as the tie.

Emily watched his muscles ripple under the crisp white cotton. She’d never quite realised how built Jason was. Did he work out? Or did he just lift things when he was doing all that engineering stuff? She swallowed again and tore her gaze away from him. She had to get a grip on this conversation—or at least herself. ‘Now that you’re back for a bit perhaps you should invest in a new decorator.’

Jason chuckled. His fingers went to the buttons of his shirt. Was he actually undressing? Was he going to take his shirt off? Emily found she couldn’t breathe. She was staring at his hands as they slid the first button out of its hole and she caught a glimpse of the strong brown column of his throat.

‘I suppose I’ll never think of this place as home,’ Jason said musingly. He seemed unaware that he was undressing in front of her, or that she was staring. ‘Weldon will always be that.’

Weldon, Jason’s family estate, sprawling and comfortable, one of Surrey’s finest homes, yet he hadn’t been there properly in years. ‘Do you think you’ll move back there one day?’ she asked.

He paused, his fingers stilling on the buttons of his shirt. Her mesmerised stare finally broken, Emily lifted her gaze to Jason’s face. He was watching her with that same little knowing smile. Not so unaware, then. He knew he was unnerving her; he was teasing her. Like always. Except … not.

‘Yes, eventually. I’ll need to take care of the estate.’ A slight frown had settled between his brows, even as he undid another button.

Emily swallowed. ‘Yes … to produce that heir of yours, I suppose. Find any suitable candidates yet?’ The words held a bit of an edge, but her gaze was still hopelessly drawn to Jason’s shirt and how he was slowly—so slowly—unbuttoning it.

‘Actually, no,’ he said. ‘Not yet.’

And not her. The thought really shouldn’t bother her, Emily told herself almost frantically. She surely did not want to be in the running for that rather tedious role. And whatever was—or could be—between her and Jason, it certainly wasn’t marriage. Or love.

Just basic, primal, overwhelming attraction.

Jason’s fingers moved lower. If he undid another button, Emily thought with a lurch of panic, she’d be able to see his chest. ‘But I’m not really looking at the moment,’ he added. His fingers hovered over the button and Emily realised she was staring. Again. And Jason knew it. Even though her whole body felt heavy and strange, as if it belonged to someone else, she managed a step towards the door.