Mr and Mischief (6 page)

than that. Her body fitted close to his, her legs entwined with his.

Jason called a halt to that line of thinking, pleasurable as it was. No matter what her age now, Emily was still off-limits. He’d told her the truth when he’d said she was not on his list of candidates for a wife. He’d returned to London on
very
personal business, and that was the matter of finding someone to marry. He was thirty-seven years old and his father’s health had begun to fail. He needed an heir. Emily might think that was awful and archaic, but Jason preferred to see it as practical.

Practical and without the kind of emotional expectations that had made his own mother miserable, and his father a widower. Love wasn’t just overrated, it was inadvisable. Fraught with disappointment and danger, which was why Jason chose to avoid it altogether … as would his wife. No meaningless words, useless gestures, nameless disappointments. Just mutual respect and affection, the most solid basis for a lasting union.

What was not practical was envisioning Emily Wood in that role. Scatty, silly, teasing and tempting Emily Wood. Spoiled darling of the social pages, not to mention her father. Looking for love, even if she didn’t realise it. Hell, she was arranging it for other people.

She was not remotely suitable to be his convenient, carefully chosen wife.

And
she thought he was boring.

He laughed aloud, the sound rueful, as he acknowledged just how much Emily’s careless remark had annoyed him. He really had thought she was still a little besotted with him, and the fact that she wasn’t made him realise the extent of his own foolish arrogance. Although she hadn’t thought he was boring when he’d touched her. He’d heard that slight indrawn breath,
felt the crackle between them. Emily had definitely not been bored then.

And he’d barely been able to keep himself from cupping her face and drawing those lush lips towards his for the kiss he’d long denied himself.

And would continue denying himself, even if he longed to prove to Emily just how
exciting
he could be. He was in the business of finding a wife, not a lover. And despite the lust that still fired his body, he knew Emily could never be either.

E
MILY
woke up with a vicious headache, which did not endear her to anyone, including Jason. She still had a vague sense of unease from their dinner last night, although she could not articulate why. It had been kind of Jason to take her out and, since she could be a bit more rational about things in the cold light of morning, she was honest enough to acknowledge that it was perfectly right and fair for Jason to be checking up on her. She’d expected it, years ago, and had been surprised and even a little hurt when he’d left so abruptly after he’d hired her. So why should it bother her now?

That
part of their conversation, Emily acknowledged, didn’t bother her. No, it was the other, hidden part, the way his eyes had glinted so knowingly and his mouth had quirked up at the corners and he’d murmured in that low hum of a voice that made her feel as if she wasn’t with Jason at all, at least not the Jason she knew and depended on and sometimes—often—was irritated with, the Jason who teased and scolded and kept her in line. She was with a different Jason, someone she wondered whether she knew at all.

It was most unsettling.

Emily pushed
that
Jason out of her mind as she hurried to dress for work. Her headache had made her slow and after popping a few paracetamol she quickly dressed, grabbed her bag and hurried out of her flat.

She was looking forward to seeing Helen again, who was reporting to HR to start her first day at nine o’clock sharp. Helen was already waiting when Emily arrived, wincing slightly at the bright office light, at five minutes after nine.

‘Sorry … a bit of a slow morning.’

‘Oh, it’s all right,’ Helen said quickly. ‘It’s just so good to be here.’ She smiled, a faint blush tinging her cheeks. ‘I am a bit nervous, though,’ she admitted.

‘I’m sure you’ll be fine,’ Emily assured her as she put her things away and reached for Helen’s paperwork. ‘Come on then, let’s get you sorted.’

Fifteen minutes later, Helen was seated comfortably at the front reception area, with Jane, the other, more senior receptionist, showing her how to work the bank of blinking telephones. There had been a push a few years ago to move to a more modern automated system of taking calls, but Jason had refused, and Emily could guess why. Two receptionists would be out of jobs. Besides, she supposed he was a bit old-fashioned that way, and the personal touch of a real human voice on the other end of the line was always appreciated. It was one of the many things that made Kingsley Engineering head and shoulders above other engineering firms, and Jason Kingsley a wealthy man.

Now Emily watched as Helen’s eyes rounded at the seemingly complicated system of buttons and switches, her expression glazing over as Jane explained how to hold a call while answering another one, and then reeled off a list of employees who never liked to take calls, and other ones who preferred to be interrupted.

‘Goodness,’ Helen murmured. She’d been writing down what Jane was saying, but had abandoned the effort midlist and simply stared around her in what looked to Emily like growing dismay. It reminded Emily of how she’d felt—and probably looked—when she’d started in HR, with Steph
explaining a filing system that had been alarming in its complexity.

‘Don’t worry,’ she told Helen, squeezing her shoulder. ‘You’ll get the hang of it in no time. I know it seems overwhelming at first, but it just takes a few calls before it’s easy peasy.’

‘Easy peasy,’ Helen repeated, as if reassuring herself.

‘I’ll be back in a few hours to check on you,’ Emily promised. ‘And take you out to lunch.’ She wasn’t going to make the mistake of skipping lunch again, she thought, even as she acknowledged that Jason wasn’t likely to ask her to dinner two nights in a row.

She hadn’t seen him this morning, which was hardly surprising, yet she still felt a tense expectation prickling between her shoulder blades as she took Helen down to reception. It wasn’t until she saw Jason come through the front doors of the building that the tension eased and her shoulders relaxed, making Emily realise just what had been causing it in the first place.

‘Ah, you must be Helen,’ he said, smiling easily as he held a hand out to shake, and Helen’s blush deepened so she looked truly lovely, all cream and roses.

‘It’s so nice to meet you, Mr Kingsley.’

‘The pleasure is all mine,’ Jason assured her, and his voice had that low, steady thrum that reminded Emily of how he’d been with her last night, how it had made her feel, and she stepped forward, smiling brightly.

‘I’ve just been showing Helen the ropes. But I’m sure she’ll be running rings around Jane within hours!’ Emily smiled conspiratorially at Jane to let her know this wouldn’t
quite
be the case, and Jason turned from Helen to Emily, his gaze resting on her with that quiet sense of assurance that still, after all these years, had the power to unnerve her.

‘I’m sure she will, if you have anything to do with it,’ he said, and Emily wondered if she was the only one who
heard the faintest thread of mocking laughter in his voice. He turned back to Helen, smiling again as he wished her well, and then went to head towards his executive office. After saying her own goodbyes to both receptionists, Emily fell into step with Jason, matching his long stride, and he slid her a sideways glance. ‘You seem to be taking quite an interest in Miss Smith.’

‘I take an interest in all the people I hire,’ Emily replied briskly. ‘It’s my job.’

‘Of course,’ Jason agreed. ‘And an admirable dedication to your job is the only reason, I suppose?’

He was laughing at her, she knew, but somehow she didn’t really mind. She’d reached the door of her office, and she turned to face him, surprised and a bit breathless by how close he stood to her. She could smell the citrusy scent of his aftershave again, and underlying it was a fainter, muskier scent that she knew had to be just
Jason
and the thought made her stomach flip over in a way she was starting to get used to, it had been happening so often in the few days since Jason had returned. Despite its now familiarity, it still felt strange, unnerving, because this was Jason and save the thirty humiliating seconds when she’d asked him to kiss her, she’d never reacted this way to him before. She could only imagine how horrified he would be if he knew. ‘Of course,’ she said innocently. ‘What else would it be?’

‘As long as you aren’t planning to meddle,’ he said. Although he kept his tone light, Emily heard the warning in his words.

‘Meddle or matchmake?’

‘They’re one and the same.’

‘Only in your opinion.’ She placed a hand on his chest, her palm flattening against the crisp fabric of his shirt, her fingers instinctively seeking the heat of him underneath the cloth. She felt his heart thudding steadily under her palm. She’d meant it to be a light, even impersonal touch, no more than a playful
poke in the sternum, yet as if driven by a deeper, baser need, she found it couldn’t be that; her hand acted of its own accord, fingers stretching, seeking, while every thought flew from her head.

‘You don’t need to worry about Helen—or me,’ she finally said, fishing for the words that seemed to have pooled deep in her consciousness. She looked up to meet his gaze, saw the gold flecks in his eyes. They weren’t brown at all. They weren’t boring either. She swallowed. ‘You don’t need to keep an eye on me, Jason. I’m all grown up now.’

‘As I’m coming to realise,’ Jason said, his voice so low Emily felt it vibrate through her. His chest tensed under her hand. They remained silent, unmoving, and Emily felt as if everything had slowed down, distilled into this one moment, which was crazy because it wasn’t a moment at all. They were just talking. And she was touching his chest.

‘Well.’ She cleared her throat and somehow managed to remove her hand from his chest; it flopped to her side like a dead thing, useless, awkward, and she suddenly didn’t know what to do with it. She was acting ridiculously, Emily thought. Almost as bad as when she’d asked him—

Her mind skittered away from that memory.
Seven years ago.
Old hat, ancient history. Yet it felt close now—far too close—so even now she was half-inclined to tilt her head up and—‘I should get to work,’ she said, a little too loudly, and she made her mouth curve into something close to a smile as she turned from him and opened her office door.

Jason watched her go, not moving. It wasn’t until she was at her desk that Emily heard him walk down the hall, his steps quick and assured as always, as if he hadn’t a care in the world.

She collapsed into her chair. What was
wrong
with her? Why was she acting so strangely around Jason—Jason, who had always been so predictable, so safe, so
ordinary?

Even as she asked herself the question, Emily knew the
answer. She was acting so oddly around Jason—feeling so odd—because no matter how she tried to convince herself otherwise, some vestige of girlish longing from that dance long ago remained inside of her, needing only to see Jason properly again to unfurl and blossom once more.

Some part of her still wanted Jason. Wanted him to kiss her, even. Wanted him the way a woman wanted a man, if only to prove to the girl she’d once been that she was desirable. Desired … by Jason.

Which was ridiculous, because the last person she should be thinking of that way was Jason Kingsley. He’d surely be appalled if he knew the nature of her thoughts.
She
was appalled, because of all people to be even the littlest bit attracted to—well, Jason Kingsley was low down on her list. Sometimes she wondered if he even liked her all, beyond the most basic affection. He’d certainly always been quick to point out her faults. And as for his faults … well, boring was the least of them. Stodgy and stern and
horribly
practical.

She had no business feeling oddly about him at all. So she wouldn’t. It was, Emily decided, a simple matter of mind over body. Whatever latent, leftover feeling she might have secretly nurtured for Jason would be stamped out by self-control right now.

She had more important things to do, better things to think about—

‘Emily?’

Emily jerked her head up from where she’d been blindly gazing at a mindless doodle on a spare bit of stationery. It looked suspiciously like a J. She crossed it out viciously and then smiled at the woman who stood in her doorway, her skirt six inches shorter than Emily’s, her nails curved talons, ruthlessly manicured. Gillian Bateson, the Head of Public Relations.

‘Gillian, hello. Good to see you. Can I help with something?’

‘I don’t suppose Stephanie told you about the charity fund-raiser?’ Gillian said in that rather lofty tone that Emily had never liked.

‘I’m afraid not,’ she replied equably enough. She knew the basics: every year Jason hosted an exclusive fund-raiser for a water-based charity, usually in one of London’s best hotels. It was an intimate, expensive event that Gillian organised, apparently with help from HR.

‘It’s a very big do,’ Gillian said, seating herself down across from Emily. ‘Last year we raised three million pounds for wells in the Sudan.’

‘That must have made for a lot of wells,’ Emily said politely. She just managed to keep the mischief from her voice. Gillian had always been rather full of her own importance.

‘It’s a
very
important event,’ Gillian confirmed, rolling her eyes dramatically. ‘Of course, I’m in charge of it since it’s essentially PR, but Stephanie always wanted to know what was going on—I suppose I’ll have to fill you in, as well?’ She made it sound as if that would be a terribly tiresome thing to do, and Emily smiled in understanding.

‘If you’d be so kind, Gillian.’ She had to remind herself that Gillian had been divorced three times and had lost custody of her only daughter. All the nail varnish and hairspray surely hid a deep heartache. Or so she tried to believe.

‘Well …’ Yet another eye roll. If she kept at it, Emily thought wryly, she’d have her eyes permanently aimed at the back of her head. ‘We’re raising money for a desalination plant in Namibia. The fund-raiser is meant to have a black and white theme, and since Jason’s flat is decorated in black and white we’re going to have it there—’

‘The fund-raiser is at Jason’s flat?’ Emily could not keep the surprise from her voice as she digested this information, unsure how she felt about it. Or Gillian calling him by his first name in that intimate way.

Gillian arched her ruthlessly plucked eyebrows, a smug
smile curving that over-lipsticked mouth. ‘You
have
been there?’

Actually, she hadn’t. And no doubt Gillian knew it. She’d been there, obviously. Emily did not want to ask herself why. She smiled, shaking her head regretfully. ‘No, I’m afraid I haven’t had the honour, but I’m sure it’s stunning. And Mr Kingsley is certainly generous to lend the use of his flat for the fund-raiser.’

‘Yes, he is, isn’t he?’ Gillian swung one foot, her spiked heel dangling. ‘I don’t know why he hasn’t married,’ she mused.

‘I’m sure he hasn’t found someone sensible enough for him,’ Emily said, her voice sharpening for the first time, and Gillian gave her a knowing glance.

‘You think he needs someone sensible? He’s hardly gone for the sensible types before.’

Emily shifted in her seat, uncomfortable with the nature of the conversation, or the sharp stab of something that felt almost like jealousy at the thought of Jason
going
for anyone.

Still, Emily was forced to acknowledge that Gillian was right. Jason had never taken out sensible types, but then he’d never been seen with the same woman twice. All they’d been were dates, just as he’d said. Arm candy. So just what kind of woman would he want to be the mother of his all-important heir? What woman would fall in line with his no-love qualification? Plenty of women, Emily supposed, including sweetly biddable Helen Smith or worldly Gillian Bateson.

And why, oh, why, was she thinking like this?

‘In any case,’ Gillian said with another cat-like smile, ‘I’m sure he’s getting ready to settle down. He’s quite a catch.’

‘I suppose.’ What awful expressions, Emily thought. A catch, like you had to run after somebody and wrestle them to the ground before convincing him to marry you. And settling down was even worse. It sounded so … disappointing. She could just imagine what kind of woman Jason would choose:
someone coolly composed and perhaps just a little bit horsey; someone who would arrange flowers and place settings with contemptuous ease and give him an heir and a spare right off the bat. She’d have no sense of humour at all. A woman like that would be perfect for Jason. She would be so very sensible and stodgy, just as he was.