Mr and Mischief (13 page)

Jason helped kick off his trousers, so all he wore was a pair of black silk boxers. Emily trailed her hands up the length of his legs, the crisp hairs tickling her palms. Taking another
deep breath, she let her hand slide along the silk of his boxers, her fingers wrapping around the hard length hidden underneath before she continued to skim upwards, sliding along the hard, muscled wall of his chest, reaching for his shoulders.

Standing on her tiptoes, she kissed him. His mouth slackened under hers for an instant before he took control of the kiss, as she instinctively knew he would. She surrendered to it, to him, as his arms came around and he lifted her easily to the bed.

His hand tugged at the zip of the dress and he slid it off her easily, far more easily than she had managed with his own clothes. She lay on the bed, the satin duvet slippery under her, and felt a blush heat her body as Jason gazed at her. She wore only a skimpy black lace bra and thong, which had seemed sexy earlier but now felt indecent. She’d always liked sexy underwear, but nobody ever saw it except her. And now Jason.

‘Incredible,’ Jason whispered and bent his head to her breast. Emily stopped thinking. Sentences fragmented in her mind and died on her lips as sensation took over once more. Her fingers threaded in his hair as he continued his relentless onslaught, his lips moving over her skin as he undid her bra and slipped off her underwear. She felt him shrug out of his boxers and they were both finally naked.

The feel of his body against hers was another onslaught as every pressure point came into sharp and exquisite focus. Emily hooked her leg around his to draw him even closer, her arms wrapped around his shoulders, her mouth finding his again and again.

Now there was rushing, sweet wonderful rushing, as the need became too great to ignore, the desire too strong to resist.

‘I’ve longed for this,’ Jason whispered as he slid into her, and she felt her body open underneath him and accept him, and it amazed her in that instant how good it felt, how surprising and yet how right.

Nothing was strange about this moment. Nothing was embarrassing or awkward. It was all good.

It was wonderful.

And then she stopped thinking again, at least coherently. Thoughts blurred like colours and she felt her body arch in acceptance and deeper need as she pulled him closer still, matching him thrust for thrust, her face buried in the curve of his neck until the colours burst in a rainbow of sensation and they both fell back against the slippery pillows as if they were stars falling to earth, and the night exploded around them.

Neither of them spoke. Emily closed her eyes, her body replete, her heart full. From that fullness she acted, her arms coming around Jason, drawing her to him. Smiling, she kissed him, a soft, gentle kiss of both promise and gratitude.

She felt Jason tense, and then he kissed her back, gently, sweetly. Still smiling, Emily snuggled against him, fitting her body to his, and slept.

Jason felt Emily relax in his arms as her breathing evened out. She was asleep. Asleep in his bed, in his arms. He finally had what he wanted, and it was wonderful. Emily had been as sweetly generous with her body as she was in every other aspect of her life. Giving, honest and artless, and so very thrilling.

It couldn’t last. He tensed again, as he had when she’d kissed him so sweetly, curling against him, utterly trusting and satisfied. He’d felt something in that kiss that he hadn’t expected, wasn’t sure he wanted. He couldn’t want it.

This was just a fling, easy, enjoyable and with an end. Those were the terms. He’d convinced himself Emily understood that, wanted that, and yet now—with that kiss—a tendril of doubt unfurled inside him.

He really didn’t want to hurt her. Yet he surely couldn’t
marry her. He needed a sensible wife, someone like him who valued the practical approach to marriage.

Not someone who wanted sweeping statements, grand gestures, a big romance—all things he didn’t want, couldn’t give. He wasn’t that kind of man, never had been. He’d known it from childhood, seen it in his own father and knew he was of the same mould. He didn’t want to disappoint his wife the way his father had his mother; he couldn’t live with the devastating consequences.

He
wouldn’t.

A convenient marriage—agreed on both sides—was so much simpler.

Emily sighed in her sleep and Jason pushed the thoughts away. There was still time to find a suitable wife. Plenty of time. And right now he simply wanted to enjoy being with Emily. For however long it lasted.

E
MILY
woke slowly, blinking in the sunlight that slanted through Jason’s floor-to-ceiling windows.the windows of his bedroom. She stretched, felt the slippery satin sheets slide against her naked limbs. A thrill ran through her, a thrill of excitement, remembrance and just a little fear, as the memories from last night tumbled and arranged themselves in her mind.

Jason kissing her, touching her, inside her.

She turned, expecting to see him, but the bed was empty. A little splinter of disappointment needled her soul.

‘Good morning.’

Emily turned to the sound of Jason’s voice and saw him emerge from the en suite bathroom. He was showered and wearing a pair of faded jeans, his hair damp and his chest gloriously bare. He looked wonderful and also alarmingly energetic, while she was still lazing about in bed with her hair in rat’s tails and last night’s make-up caked and sticky on her face. She hiked the sheet up a little higher. ‘Good morning.’

He smiled and tossed the towel he’d worn around his neck onto a bedpost. ‘Coffee?’

Emily watched as he selected a shirt from a closet of frighteningly well-pressed clothes and slid it on. He sounded very brisk. ‘Sure. I can make it.’ She didn’t move, though, because
she didn’t want to leave the bed naked and she didn’t relish the idea of wearing last night’s crumpled cocktail dress again.

‘It’s all right, it’s already brewing.’ Jason buttoned up his shirt, smiling at her, so clearly relaxed while she felt so horribly awkward.

Emily pushed a tendril of hair behind her ear, now stiff with old hairspray. ‘Okay. I think I’ll take a shower.’

‘Great. You should fine everything you need in there.’
Except clothes.
He raked his fingers through his damp hair, so clearly relaxed, while Emily felt a little lost, a little lonely. A
lot
vulnerable. This was new territory, and she didn’t know how to act or how to feel. She didn’t feel strong or brave enough to manage her usual flippant tone. Giving her one last quick smile, Jason left the bedroom, whistling tunelessly as he went, and Emily slipped from the bed and hurried into the bathroom.

The hot, stinging spray of the shower felt good, healing, wiping away the traces of make-up and hairspray, everything except the ache in her heart.

Last night had been fun. A fling. She knew that. She understood it, she’d accepted the terms. The rules. Jason had spelled them out clearly enough when he’d told her she wasn’t in the running to be his wife. He’d reminded her again at Stephanie’s wedding:
I want you, Emily. But I don’t want you to be hurt.

She’d harboured no illusions, no fantasies. This wasn’t love; it wasn’t even romantic. So why did she now feel such a yawning emptiness looming inside of her, as if she could tumble into its darkness and never return? Why did she feel so … sad?

She closed her eyes and let the water wash over her.

Love
always
had a habit of disappointing you.

Emily opened her eyes, the shampoo suds running into them and stinging. Why on earth had
that
word slipped into her mind? She didn’t love Jason. She hadn’t even considered
such a thing. She didn’t
want
to love him, didn’t want to let herself in for even more disappointment.

Yet when she’d let him into her body, she’d cracked open the door to her heart. And now life had the potential—and Jason had the power—of not just disappointing her, but something far worse.

Hurt. Pain. Heartbreak.

That was why, despite the intense pleasure, last night felt like a mistake. A regret.

And she had no idea how to act—or feel—this morning. Jason obviously wasn’t suffering from the same doubts. He’d been whistling, for heaven’s sake. He’d seemed energised and efficient and brisk. It terrified her; she didn’t know how to respond to it. She didn’t know anything.

Ten minutes later, her body near-scalded from the constant spray of hot water, Emily stepped out of the shower. She swathed herself in a towel and glanced hopelessly around Jason’s bedroom for her discarded underwear. She did not feel like slipping into one of his shirts, acting cute and flirtatious. She felt dire.

She finally found the relevant garments, and did her best to smooth the wrinkles from her dress. She slipped it on, struggling with the zip in the back, and then brushed her hair and straightened her shoulders, ready—as she would ever be—to face Jason.

The sight of her discarded garters and stockings in the living room sent another pang of both pain and remembered pleasure through her, and she forced it aside as she stuffed her stockings in her bag and slipped her heels on her bare feet. Then she went to find Jason. She badly needed that cup of coffee.

Jason blinked in surprise as she came into the kitchen. ‘You could have borrowed something of mine,’ he said mildly, and handed her a mug of steaming coffee.

Emily wrapped her hands around the mug, grateful for its
warmth. ‘I’m fine,’ she said, taking a sip. Her voice sounded stiff, brittle, and Jason noticed. He raised his eyebrows in silent enquiry, his gaze skimming over her. Emily knew she looked somewhat ridiculous. Her dress was crumpled, her legs bare, her hair wet. Worse, she felt suddenly near tears. There was no way she could tease or joke her way out of this, and from the look on Jason’s face, he knew it.

‘Emily,’ he said. ‘Come here.’

‘What …?’

He put down his mug and held out his arms, and Emily blinked at him in shock for several seconds before her feet acted of their own accord and she went.

Jason’s arms folded around her as he drew her snugly to him so her cheek rested on his shoulder and she breathed in the comforting smells of toothpaste and coffee, aftershave and the scent that was just Jason.

‘I don’t know how to be,’ she confessed, snuffling a little against his shirt.

‘Be yourself.’

She drew back to glance up at him, took in the kindness in his eyes, the hint of a smile around his mouth. ‘But I’m not sure you even like it when I’m myself.’

‘Like it?’ Jason’s brows snapped together in a sudden frown. ‘What are you talking about, Em?’

She pushed a hank of wet hair behind her ear and tried to step out of his embrace. Jason’s arms tightened around her; he wouldn’t let her go. ‘Be honest, Jason,’ she said, although she wasn’t sure she wanted him to be. ‘You’ve always disapproved of me a little bit. You think I’m hopeless and scatty and who knows what else. I’m not—’ She clamped down on that thought, her lips pressed tightly together.
I’m not even in the running.
Why was she thinking like this? Why did she care?

She should have sashayed out of Jason’s bedroom wearing
his shirt and her heels and tossed her hair over one shoulder, teasing him about how he wasn’t
that
boring after all.

The words bubbled inside of her now but she knew they were too late because she’d already said too much. Revealed too much of how she really felt, what she was afraid of, and now she was left feeling exposed and vulnerable and
awful.

This was why she avoided relationships, why she’d told Jason she wasn’t interested in love. Love had the power to hurt you, because it never could live up to your expectations. You let someone see your weaknesses and fears and opened yourself up to all sorts of pain when they didn’t feel the way you did, or they didn’t act the way you wanted them to or they died … like her mother had, leaving her father to grieve these twenty years and more.

Thank God she didn’t actually love Jason, she thought with a rush of relief. This was bad enough.

‘I don’t think you’re hopeless,’ Jason finally said, and Emily thought he sounded rather grudging.

‘Scatty, then.’

‘Emily—’ He let out a little huff of breath, and Emily could only imagine how all this talk of feelings was annoying him. This was not part of their understanding. ‘Let me make you some breakfast,’ he said instead, and Emily knew better than to press. She didn’t really want to hear Jason tell her how he agreed with everything she’d just said and then top it off with a nonplussed
‘so what?’

‘Fine,’ she said, and then amended that ungracious reply with, ‘Thank you. I usually just have toast in the mornings.’

‘Which is why you’re such a lightweight by dinner time,’ he said, sliding her an amused glance. Emily conceded the point with a stiff smile. ‘I’ll make you eggs. It’s the one thing I can actually make. You want the full fry-up?’

Emily didn’t know how much she’d be able to choke down but at least if they were eating they wouldn’t be talking. Saying things she didn’t want to hear. ‘Why not?’ she said, tossing
her hair, but it was wet and heavy and the gesture lacked the careless insouciance she’d been going for. Jason noticed, for he frowned slightly before turning towards the stove.

Jason concentrated on cracking eggs into a pan. He didn’t want to have to see the uncertainty in Emily’s clear green eyes. Of course the morning after was going to be strange; they had too much shared history for it to feel normal. Natural.

And yet holding her in his arms just then had felt all too natural. Too right. He’d drawn her to him without thinking or analysing. He’d just acted. And it had felt good. He liked the way she fitted in his arms. He liked the way it made him feel.

The thought unsettled him. He didn’t want to think about feelings, even if Emily seemed intent on pressing him to do so. He didn’t want to think about the surprising rush of emotion he’d felt towards Emily last night, or even now.

This was just a fling. It had to be. Emily understood that; so did he. Yet right now, with the memory of last night still stirring through his body, all he knew was he didn’t want to let her go.

‘So do you cook for yourself when you’re on these engineering projects of yours?’ Emily asked. She’d hoisted herself up onto a bar stool, her dress riding up her thighs. Jason turned away, desire spiking through him once more, although he was relieved they were talking about more innocuous matters.

‘Not really. When we’re on site there is a catering team, but the food still is pretty basic. However, breakfast in most sub-Saharan countries is just a gruel made from cassava, and I’ve always been partial to a fried egg and toast.’

‘So you learned to cook yourself breakfast there?’

‘Actually, I learned to cook when I was younger,’ Jason said. He kept his back to her, wanting to keep his voice light even though the question—and its answer—discomfited him. He wasn’t sure he wanted to go into such personal territory.

‘My mum died when I was eight, as you know, and my dad didn’t cook at all.’

Emily was silent for a moment and Jason flipped the eggs over. He didn’t particularly like to remember those lonely years, a house of taciturn silence and unspoken grief, painful memories. ‘Almost everything I tried was a near disaster,’ he continued lightly, ‘but I did manage to make a decent fry-up.’

‘That’s more than I can say,’ Emily replied, her voice as light as his. Still they somehow both managed to sound rather brittle. ‘I can barely boil water.’

‘What do you do, then?’ Jason slid the fried eggs and toast onto two plates, giving her a knowing glance. ‘Eat out?’

‘Of course. I am
very
talented at speed-dialling.’

‘A necessary skill in this day and age.’ Jason passed the plate over to her. ‘Dig in.’

‘One of the few I have,’ Emily agreed nonchalantly, and Jason had the feeling that she was trying to prove something to him. Was she actually trying to show him how scatty and hopeless she really was? He shook his head, unable—and perhaps unwilling—to understand the complicated working of the female mind. ‘This is delicious,’ she told him, her voice a bit more subdued. ‘Thank you.’

The eggs were delicious, but Emily could barely swallow a mouthful. That moment in Jason’s arms had both relieved and worried her, because it had felt too good to simply stand there, leaning against him, accepting his strength. Wanting more.

And even though she wanted to sit here and enjoy the breakfast and the time with Jason, the winter sunshine pouring through the huge windows, she couldn’t. Her chest felt tight, her insides raw, and her brain was hammering home the realisation that she’d
known
this could have happened, that she’d been afraid of this all along.

She cared about him. And she couldn’t allow herself to.

‘So,’ she said, dryly swallowing a mouthful of toast, ‘how are you going to pick this paragon of yours?’

Jason looked up, his eyes narrowing. ‘What are you talking about?’

Emily gave him a teasing smile. ‘Your wife, Jason. You mentioned a list of candidates—’

‘Actually, I didn’t. You did.’ He didn’t look pleased by the turn in conversation.

‘Only because I’m not one of them,’ Emily reminded him sweetly. She smiled, even though it made her face hurt. Jason pressed his lips together in a hard line. Now he looked really annoyed, and she knew why. This was hardly morning-after conversation. She was picking a fight because it was better than bursting into tears, and she was perilously close to doing just that.

‘I don’t see the point to this conversation,’ he said, a definite edge to his voice.

Emily arched her eyebrows. ‘Does there need to be a point?’

‘Emily—’

‘I thought we were just making conversation. You
did
come back to London to find yourself a wife, didn’t you? That’s your personal business, isn’t it?’ Although he hadn’t said as much, she could certainly put the pieces together. She might be scatty, but she wasn’t stupid.

‘In a manner of speaking,’ Jason conceded after a moment.

‘But since you’re here with me, you must not be having any luck.’

‘No, I’m not feeling lucky at all,’ Jason snapped. ‘Why are we talking about this, Emily? I think we both knew what we were getting into last night—’

‘Of course. You seduced me. End of story.’

He let out an irritated breath. ‘It was mutual, or so it seemed to me.’

She flashed him a quick cat-like smile. ‘Absolutely.’

‘Are you having regrets? Second thoughts?’ he asked, the words coming out in staccato bullets, like gunfire.