Mr and Mischief (10 page)

‘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.’

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.

E
MILY
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.