Mr and Mischief (11 page)

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.

‘Well, I suppose I should get dressed,’ she said, attempting a brisk tone. Her voice wobbled instead. ‘So I’ll leave you to it.’ She gestured towards his state of half-undress, her face reddening once more. She could
feel
the heat coming off her. And from Jason. It was all so new, so overwhelming, she felt
as if her brain had been short-circuited All she could do was feel.
Want.

‘Don’t rush off on my account,’ Jason replied, his words laced with lazy amusement. ‘You obviously wanted to be in my bedroom, Em …’

Emily froze. ‘I was just looking,’ she said stiffly.

‘And you still are,’ Jason replied softly. He’d undone that third button and once more Emily’s gaze was glued to his chest. She knew it, he knew it, and yet she still couldn’t move. That enticing glimpse of hard, sleek muscle and warm brown skin was making her remember how his chest had felt when she’d touched it—by accident—and how she would like to touch it again. Minus the shirt. What would his skin feel like? Warm, cool? Smooth, rough?

‘Really, Jason,’ she managed, finally tearing her gaze away from his chest. It took her a moment to focus on his face. ‘I had no idea you were such a tease.’

‘I’m not,’ he told her, his voice low, and he took a step towards her.

Involuntarily, Emily took a step back. ‘What are you doing?’ she whispered.

Jason gazed at her for a moment, the glint of amusement gone from his eyes. His mouth thinned as he gave a little shake of his head. ‘Terrifying you, apparently—’

‘No—’ Yet she could not deny the wild beat of her heart, the flush of her face. It wasn’t terrifying, but it was something close. She certainly
felt.
A lot. And it scared her, even as desire raced through her veins, made her dizzy with need.

She wanted this. She wanted Jason. And yet she was afraid, because at least part of her knew that Jason was different, that she would be different with him. Everything would be different, deeper. Dangerous.

‘Go get dressed, Em,’ Jason said, turning away from her. He sounded tired. ‘In another bedroom.’

Emily hesitated, wanting to say something witty and
sophisticated. Something sexy. Yet she couldn’t; her brain had frozen. Why did she still have to act so gauche with him?

Because this is Jason and you still feel like you’re silly and giddy and seventeen years old.

‘Fine,’ she whispered and left the room, but not without looking back once, her gaze arrested as she watched Jason shrug out of his shirt, the bronzed muscles of his back rippling with the simple movement. Then his hands went to his belt buckle and she fled.

E
MILY
watched Jason from the other side of his living room, a glass of wine clutched in her hand. He looked breathtaking in a tuxedo, the elegant cut of his clothing emphasising his powerful frame, the breadth of his shoulders and the trimness of his hips. She hadn’t really noticed either of those attributes before. She took a large gulp of wine.

Yet she
had
seen him in a tuxedo before. He’d worn one at Isobel’s wedding. Perhaps that was why she’d asked him to kiss her. A man in a tuxedo was hard to resist. Jason was proving hard to resist.

Now that she’d acknowledged just how attracted she was to him, it seemed to be all she could think about. It certainly was all she could feel. And she wondered what could happen—tonight, even—if she let it.

She glanced over to where he stood, leaning against one of the living room’s soaring white pillars. Her gaze remained fixed on the column of his throat and she imagined him undoing that little black bow tie, just like he’d undone his shirt buttons, revealing the warm skin underneath. She had a thing about his neck, apparently. And a few other parts of his body.

And Jason seemed to be thinking the same way about her. The thought caused an icy thrill to race down her spine right
out to her fingers and toes. Icy and yet warm at the same time. Hot.

Perhaps she was coming down with a cold.

No, her fever was of an entirely different sort. And if Jason desired her—if he
suggested
something, how was she going to respond? It all seemed too incredible, too impossible. Any moment he would turn to her with a little smile, a shake of his head, and cluck his tongue.

Oh, Em … you didn’t actually think …

She could, quite possibly, make a complete and utter ass of herself. She had to be careful. But then she’d always been rather careful in matters of the heart. Her heart, anyway. She’d been impulsive enough with Helen’s.

Although Jason hadn’t indicated any interest in her heart, of course. Love was out of the question, and he’d told her he didn’t see her as a suitable candidate for marriage. Not that she was interested. No, this attraction between them was purely physical.

Her gaze returned yet again to Jason; he wasn’t even looking at her. He hadn’t looked at her all evening, and the realisation made her just a little bit annoyed. She was quite sure he was ignoring her—teasing her—on purpose. Sighing, she glanced around the room, checking that everyone was enjoying themselves—although not too much—and her heart sank a little bit when she saw Helen standing by the window, looking lost and forlorn. Emily realised with a little pang of guilt that she’d been so caught up in her lustful thoughts of Jason that she’d completely forgotten about Helen.

‘Everything all right?’ Stephanie came to stand beside her, her arm around her husband’s waist. As former Head of HR, Stephanie was still on the guest list for the exclusive event. She and Tim had returned from their honeymoon only a week ago, and both still had that rapturous glow that made Emily feel both happy and sad—and a bit envious—at the same time. She’d never felt like that, not even close, and although there
was nothing precisely missing from her life, standing next to her friend so radiant with joy, made her feel just a little … less
than.
Like something—or someone—was missing, and she didn’t know what—or who—it was.

Was it Jason?

The question popped so suddenly and slyly into her head that Emily’s mind blanked. How could she have even thought such a thing? What did that even
mean?
‘Sorry.’ She turned to Stephanie, blinking as if she could clear the thought from her still-spinning mind. ‘What did you say?’

Stephanie laughed. ‘I just asked how things were. You look a million miles away, Emily!’

‘Yes,’ Emily admitted. She glanced again at Helen, who still stood alone. Stephanie naturally followed her gaze.

‘She looks rather lost, doesn’t she?’ she murmured.

‘Yes.’ Emily shifted uncomfortably. Perhaps inviting Helen to an event like this had been a mistake. Her friendship with Helen had seemed somewhat strained since Philip’s about-face; she didn’t know if it was out of her own sense of guilt or Helen’s hurt. Probably both. ‘I should go and talk to her,’ she said, and excusing herself, started towards Helen, only to be waylaid by Gillian.

‘We’ve run out of wine glasses,’ she hissed. ‘Stupid caterers didn’t bring enough. I can’t ask Jason—’

‘I’ll sort it out,’ Emily soothed. Gillian had been on edge ever since she’d arrived, and Emily assumed it had to do with her daughter’s visit. ‘I’m sure we can borrow some.’ She glanced again at Helen, who was looking more miserable by the minute.

‘People are waiting for their wine.’ Gillian bit her lip and Emily realised just how distressed she was. Gillian swiped angrily at her eyes. ‘I’m sorry, I’m a mess. My daughter—’

‘It’s okay,’ Emily said, squeezing her shoulder. ‘I’ll deal with it.’

It didn’t take more than a few minutes to organise the
glasses, and the crowd by the bar gratefully dispersed with drinks in hand. Emily turned to see to Helen and froze in horror. Stephanie had taken the matter into her own hands and was attempting to introduce Helen to the people standing near her. And one of them was Philip Ellsworth.

By the way a sleek blonde was clinging to him, Emily guessed he’d come as her date. She started towards them, wanting to intercede, yet she knew she wasn’t in time. She could already hear Stephanie’s cheerful voice.

‘This is Sylvie, who volunteered for a well-building project last year, didn’t you, Sylvie?’

The blonde nodded, and Emily had to grudgingly concede that, while she clearly had awful taste in men, she did possess an admirable altruistic streak. ‘And this is … ‘ Stephanie glanced at Philip, eyebrows raised enquiringly, and Emily watched with a sinking heart as he smiled rather smugly at Helen.

‘Helen knows who I am,’ he said, and there was enough innuendo in his voice to make Emily cringe. Stephanie looked confused and Helen bit her lip, her eyes filling with tears. She didn’t say anything.

Damn Philip Ellsworth, Emily thought with a savage bitterness. She started forward, determined to rescue Helen, but someone else got there first.

‘Helen.’

Emily’s head jerked around as she heard Jason speak in a tone she almost didn’t recognise. It was friendly and warm and intimate, and he crossed the room in a few long strides, placing his hand firmly on Helen’s elbow as he smiled down at her. ‘I don’t think you’ve seen the view from the terrace. It’s really quite stunning. The lights of the marina are spectacular at night.’

Emily watched as he expertly guided Helen away from the crowd—how many people had heard Philip’s remark, guessed at his sly innuendo? Too many, Emily knew. Far too many.

Yet now Helen smiled up at Jason as if he’d just charged in on his steed, and she allowed him to guide her outside.

And despite the guilt and regret that still lanced her, she felt a deep and heartfelt gratitude towards Jason for rescuing Helen. He might be a bit staid, a bit taciturn, but he was
kind.
Emily swallowed past the sudden lump of emotion in her throat. She had the uncomfortable feeling that she’d dismissed Jason all these years in a way perhaps she never should have. And it made her physical response to him all the more powerful—and alarming.

The party lasted until midnight. Emily could not focus enough to enjoy it, despite her best intentions to act as if she were. She chatted and smiled and laughed and pretended not to notice that Jason did not talk to her once the entire evening.

A month ago it wouldn’t have mattered. A year ago it hadn’t. Yet now everything had changed,
she
had changed, and this restless ache inside her would not go away. An ache for Jason. And though he didn’t talk or even look at her the entire evening, she couldn’t keep a sense of fizzy anticipation at bay, as intoxicating as the champagne she drank, filling her with bubbles of expectation. Surely Jason would seek her out before the end of the party. Surely
something
would happen.

Her mind left the details provocatively blank, although her body had no trouble remembering the slide of Jason’s lips on hers, their urgent demand. and her unquestioning response.

As the guests filtered away, Emily organised the clearing up, the caterers and quartet packing up their supplies while Gillian tallied the amounts pledged towards the desalination plant. ‘I think Jason will be very pleased,’ she said smugly.

‘Pleased about what?’ Jason strolled into the living room, having seen the last of the guests off.

‘Oh, Jason, you startled me.’ Gillian fluttered her false eyelashes at him and all the goodwill Emily had been feeling
towards her abruptly evaporated. ‘We did very well tonight,’ she continued, ever so slightly emphasising the
we.
‘Of course we’ll have to wait until the cheques clear—’

‘Wonderful,’ Jason cut across her in a way Emily was quite familiar with. ‘Now, Gillian, you look exhausted. I’ve called you a taxi,’ he told her as Gillian’s mouth dropped open in surprise and perhaps a little dismay. ‘And I insist you take it. You’ve, as always, done an absolutely brilliant job with the fund-raiser. Enjoy your rest. You deserve it.’ He smiled so charmingly that it didn’t feel like a dismissal, although Emily was quite certain it was. He wasn’t telling
her
to go take a taxi … and the thought filled her with fizzy bubbles again, the most delicious sort of anticipation.

Aimlessly, she wandered around the living room, waiting for Jason to return, her heart already starting a hectic beat. She saw a few half-drunk glasses of wine on a side table and reached for them, intending to take them to the kitchen.

‘Leave that.’

Emily stilled, turned around. Jason stood in the doorway, his bow tie and the top button of his shirt undone, his hair just a little rumpled. He looked unbearably sexy. How had she ever thought he was boring? Now she felt so fizzy with anticipation and excitement she could barely breathe. ‘Just trying to tidy up,’ she said in a breathy, wobbly voice she barely recognised as her own.

‘We can do it later.’

She swallowed down the question:
So what should we do now?
Her heart was beating so hard and fast it hurt and her palms were slick. She struggled to appear normal, as if
this
were normal, for her and Jason to be alone in his flat, the night dark all around them, his gaze steady on hers. She glanced around the stark black and white room with all of its after-party detritus. ‘I think everyone had a lovely time, don’t you?’

‘I hope so.’ He didn’t sound very interested in continuing
the conversation, and as he moved towards her Emily felt a lurch of something close to alarm. This was so new, so
strange.
This was
Jason.
And she still had a lurking fear that he was suddenly going to chuckle and say,
Oh, Emily, you didn’t actually think …

‘I feel terrible about Philip and Helen,’ she blurted, then wished she hadn’t. They were just about the last two people on earth she wanted to talk about right now. It looked as if Jason felt the same for he stilled mid-stride, his brows drawing together.

‘Do you?’ he said neutrally, and Emily decided she might as well come clean. Better now than … later. If there was a later.

‘Philip rang me last week,’ she confessed. ‘And it was obvious that he … that he didn’t.’ She stopped, wishing she’d never started this wretched conversation. ‘I had no idea he was such a … a …’

‘Bastard?’ Jason supplied, and Emily nodded.

‘Yes,’ she admitted in a small voice. ‘I’m afraid I really was blinded by his charm. And so was Helen.’

‘Understandable, I suppose,’ Jason replied. Emily watched as he removed his bow tie and slung it on a nearby chair. He certainly was very casual about removing his clothes. ‘He’s quite good at all that
sweeping
.’ His gaze met hers, glinting with amusement, although she sensed something deeper, something darker underneath. Philip, Emily supposed, was a case in point for Jason. Sensible won over romantic. Except Philip really hadn’t been either, in the end.

And Emily wasn’t sure what Jason was being now.

‘Yes … thank you for rescuing her from Philip this evening. I had no idea he would be here, or I wouldn’t have invited her. I thought she could use a night out, away from Philip, and then of course he showed up with that Sylvie person, who builds
wells,
would you believe—’

‘Emily,’ Jason said, moving towards her, ‘stop talking.’

Emily shut her mouth with a snap. She
had
been babbling, but she was so nervous. And Jason looked so assured. ‘Okay,’ she managed, her voice wobbling slightly. Jason stood in front of her, smiling faintly even as he drew his brows together in concern.

‘Why are you so nervous?’

Emily shook her head, unwilling to admit how uncertain she still was. Even now she wasn’t sure what Jason intended. What he wanted. She certainly knew what she wanted. Her gaze remained fixed on the column of his throat, the skin so smooth and warm-looking. ‘I’m not nervous.’

‘Really?’ Jason arched an eyebrow, glancing pointedly at the pulse fluttering wildly in her throat. ‘I wonder,’ he said softly, his gaze now sweeping over her body like a blush, ‘why the thought of me being anything other than boring, stuffy Jason terrifies you so much?’

Emily straightened her shoulders, her eyes flashing. ‘Do I look terrified?’

‘Do you really want to know the answer to that question?’

She let out an uncertain laugh, conceding the point. She supposed it did seem fairly obvious. ‘Maybe not.’

‘I think we’ve both needed to change the way we think about each other,’ Jason continued, his voice musing, his gaze sweeping over her once more, lingering, languorous. Emily knew there could be no misinterpreting or imagining a look like that. His look was like a caress, his eyes touching her body. ‘Of course, we might need some practical help in that regard.’

Only Jason would use the word
practical
in a moment like this. Emily didn’t feel practical at all. Her entire body was buzzing with awareness, aching with need. ‘Practical …?’ she repeated in a whisper.