Mr and Mischief (7 page)

Except he hadn’t seemed so stodgy last night.

‘Well, that’s probably all you need to know,’ Gillian said, unfolding herself from the chair. ‘The head of every department gets an invite, but that’s all.’ So that was why she’d never been to one of Jason’s fund-raisers before, Emily thought a bit sourly. Gillian strode towards the door. ‘I’ll take care of all the arrangements. You can just show up.’ Emily had a feeling Gillian was keeping her out of the loop on purpose, especially since the fund-raiser would be at Jason’s flat. No doubt Gillian had her eye on him as husband number four.

And that unpleasant feeling still spiking through her was
not
jealousy. Emily gave Gillian her sunniest smile. ‘Thank you so much, Gillian, that’s lovely.’ She breathed a sigh of relief when Gillian finally stalked out of the room, leaving behind a waft of cloying perfume.

Emily let out a tiny sigh. Why was she irritated by Jason’s offer to host the party? Or was it simply the possessive way Gillian had talked about Jason—as well as the thought of him finding a wife?

None of it had anything to do with her, and it shouldn’t affect her mood at all. It wouldn’t, because she wouldn’t let it. Determinedly, Emily turned back to her desk and she spent the rest of the morning taking telephone calls and sending emails, purposefully busy, before she headed down to the reception area to meet Helen for lunch as promised.

‘How are things going?’ she asked cheerfully as she approached the circular marble desk that was the focal point of the building’s lobby. Jane was busy on a call, but Helen sat there looking pale and a bit woebegone. ‘Got the hang of
it?’ Emily asked, smiling, and Helen darted an anxious look at Jane.

‘I disconnected three calls,’ she confessed in a whisper. ‘And I got the lists wrong—’

‘The lists?’

‘The ones about who likes their calls and who doesn’t,’ Helen explained. She sounded frantic. ‘I mixed it all up, and gave the calls to people who don’t want them and not to those who do—’

‘Oh, well, no one was too bothered, were they?’ Emily said, quick to reassure Helen. ‘I told you, we’re quite a friendly bunch here.’

‘Mr Hatley came down right to the desk,’ Helen said in a low voice. ‘Shouted at me that he didn’t want the bloody calls.’ She blinked up at Emily, who felt her heart give a little twist at Helen’s obvious misery.

‘I should have warned you about John,’ she said. ‘He’s an old bear, but his bark is much worse than his bite. Or growl, I suppose. Come on.’ She reached for Helen’s coat, which hung on a nearby hook, and handed it to her. ‘There’s a pasta place around the corner that does a wonderful lasagne. Let’s forget our troubles for a bit.’

Helen rose gratefully from her seat and Emily waved to Jane, who gave her a rather despairing shake of her head and a pointed look at Helen before Emily sailed through the building’s front doors. It appeared it was going to take more than a morning for Helen to figure out the phones, but she’d get there in the end. Emily would make sure of it.

In any case, everything looked better from a cosy table in a restaurant, as they tucked into huge bowls of pasta and crusty garlic bread.

‘How are you finding London?’ Emily asked as she twirled some linguine around her fork. ‘Is Richard showing you around a bit?’

‘A bit,’ Helen allowed. She sounded cautious, perhaps even unhappy. Emily could hardly pretend to be surprised.

‘He’s busy, I suppose?’ she said in sympathy; she could just imagine Richard getting on with his flood retention basins and hydraulic mechanisms and who knew what else, leaving Helen quite on her own.

‘I didn’t realise he worked quite as much as he did,’ Helen admitted. ‘And I don’t understand a word of it—’

‘Neither do I,’ Emily confessed cheerfully. ‘And I’ve worked here for five years.’ She was interested in people, not mathematical formulas or desalination plants, for that matter. ‘Surely he’s been around sometimes, though?’ she asked, and Helen gave a little shrug.

‘Occasionally,’ she said softly. She hesitated, then confessed in an anxious rush, ‘I suppose it’s bound to be different than you think, isn’t it? We’ve been friends for so long, you know, and of course things will be bumpy at first—’

Bumpy? Emily felt a swell of self-righteous indignation. Surely Helen deserved a bit better than
bumpy,
a little more than sitting at home waiting for Richard to ring. ‘Tell you what,’ she said suddenly, an idea lighting her mind and firing her heart, ‘I’ve an invitation to a party tonight—it’s a launch for a new clothing designer, I think.’ Actually, she wasn’t sure what it was for; she received dozens of invitations every week, so that Emily mixed them up in her mind. Yet any of them would be a good opportunity to dance and laugh, and that was just what Helen needed. ‘Why don’t you come with me?’

Helen’s face slackened in shock. ‘Me? You want to go with

me?’

Richard had already done a number on her, Emily thought sourly. ‘Of course. It’ll be fun.’

‘I don’t have proper clothes—’

‘You can borrow something of mine.’ Emily eyed Helen assessingly, acknowledging that she was probably a size or two
smaller than Emily was. Well, she had a few things she didn’t fit into any more, alas. And the idea of a makeover energised her. ‘We’ll have a real girly evening getting all done up,’ she said, ‘and then have a night on the town! Richard won’t know what’s happened to you.’

Slowly, shyly, Helen brightened. ‘That does sound lovely,’ she began, ‘but—’

‘No buts. It will be fun.’ And successful, as Jason liked to say. Quickly, she pushed him out of her mind. He didn’t need to know about this.

By eight o’clock that night Emily was shepherding Helen into the foyer of one of London’s grandest hotels. Helen was looking around in awe, clearly overwhelmed by the sheer luxury of the venue, with its glittering chandeliers and marble floor, the ballroom bustling with a thousand guests, all of them well-connected and wealthy.

Helen had transformed into a swan quite wonderfully, Emily thought in satisfaction. The black cocktail dress was unfortunately two years out of date as it was one of the only things of hers that had fitted Helen, but its lines were simple and classic and made the most of the younger woman’s slight frame. Emily had piled her luxuriant dark hair on top of her head, and emphasised Helen’s huge grey eyes with dark shadow and eyeliner. And she’d given her a manicure. She looked gorgeous.

Buoyed by her own efforts, Emily worked her way through the crowd, plucking two flutes of champagne from a circulating tray as she introduced Helen to the numerous acquaintances she’d cultivated over the years. No matter that Helen mumbled her greetings as she ducked her head; she’d get the hang of it soon, and she was pretty enough that it hardly mattered what she said.

‘How have I missed you two gorgeous ladies?’ A smooth voice interrupted Emily’s latest introduction and she turned to see Philip Ellsworth standing just a little too close, his
gaze taking in Helen even as he smiled at Emily. Philip was charming, wealthy and definitely had an eye for the ladies. Emily watched Helen blush under Philip’s appreciative stare. Well, her confidence could use a little bolstering.

‘So
charmed to meet you,’ Philip said after Emily had made the necessary introductions. ‘I can’t believe I haven’t come across you before. I’m sure I would have remembered.’

‘Helen is new to London,’ Emily interjected. Philip was still gazing at Helen with obvious admiration, and it compelled her to say, ‘The music is just starting up. Philip, I’m sure Helen would love to dance.’ All right, it was a little obvious, but he clearly enjoyed her company, and why shouldn’t Helen have a dance? ‘You do like to dance, don’t you, Helen?’

‘Yes,’ Helen admitted in a shy whisper.

‘In that case, I’ll have to oblige,’ Philip said with a charming and very white smile. He must use artificial whitener, Emily thought with a tiny flicker of distaste. Yet there could be no denying he was incredibly handsome and suave. And just the thing to cheer Helen up a bit. ‘I’m always at Emily’s command,’ he added, throwing Emily a sleek and even sly look. She firmly ignored it.

‘Go on, then,’ she said, and watched in satisfaction as Philip led Helen to the dance floor with obvious expertise. And Helen wasn’t too bad a dancer herself. Who knew what could happen there, Emily mused. Philip was in his thirties. Perhaps he was looking to marry, as well. Settle down. She smiled wryly at her own choice of words. No doubt Jason would accuse her of matchmaking again, but she could hardly be blamed if Helen and Philip made a go of it—

Emily laughed aloud. Those unfortunate phrases really had got stuck in her head. Her gaze returned to Philip and Helen. He was holding her quite close, and she was looking up at him with a rather dazed smile. Emily could not suppress the sharp stab of triumph at seeing Helen out and enjoying herself,
flourishing under the approval and attraction of a handsome man. Take that, Richard Marsden.

She lifted her champagne flute, only to pause with it halfway to her lips as her body tensed of its own accord, a shiver of awareness rippling over her. She felt as if she were being watched, and before her brain had processed this her body already knew.

Her gaze swivelled to the entrance of the ballroom and she felt as if an electric current had just pinned her in place. Jason Kingsley stood there, and he was looking right at her.

E
MILY
took a hasty sip of her champagne, then promptly choked, causing an ageing socialite to give her a frosty frown. Such behaviour was hardly decorous.

Emily smiled weakly and watched as Jason made his way towards her, threading through the well-heeled crowd with an arrogant assurance, seemingly indifferent to the people mingling around him. He was a head taller than most of them, and they looked no more than a swarm of insects buzzing about him, an annoyance he dealt with easily as he made his way towards her. Emily swallowed, her chest still burning from when she’d choked. Jason didn’t look angry precisely, but he didn’t look happy either. Nervously, her gaze flicked to Helen and Philip, now swaying to the music. She had a feeling he wouldn’t be happy about that.

Jason surveyed Emily and tried not to scowl. She wore a tiny slip of a silver spangled dress that glittered like water on the scales of a fish, her hair falling down her back in golden waves. She looked, he thought, like an X-rated mermaid.

‘What a surprise to see you here,’ she said, tilting her head and giving him a flirty smile, her cat’s eyes slanted at the corners, alight with mischief.

Jason held on to his temper, but just. He’d arrived a few minutes ago with Margaret Denton, a girl he’d gone to Cambridge
with and who was now a solicitor, very elegant, understated and perfect wife material. And then he’d seen Emily … and Helen. He’d watched as Emily pushed Helen towards Philip Ellsworth, who was the biggest waste of space Jason had ever encountered and was steadily partying his way through his daddy’s trust fund. Jason’s annoyance had increased as Philip took Helen to the dance floor and Emily practically preened with satisfaction. She was matchmaking. Again. And this time she—or at least Helen—was quite out of her element. He’d left Margaret with a cluster of mutual acquaintances and headed towards Emily, drawn to her with a force he could neither stem nor stop.

He smiled at her now, coolly. ‘I do attend social events, Emily,’ he said, keeping his voice mild, ‘although perhaps not as many as you do.’ He nodded towards Helen and Ellsworth. ‘Now I
am
surprised to see her here.’

‘I invited her,’ Emily informed him with a hint of defiance beneath her blithe tone. ‘I thought she could use a night out—’

‘Don’t you think this might be a bit much?’ Jason surveyed the crowd with a jaundiced eye. Most of the guests were shallow, petty, vain and insipid. And they’d devour Helen Smith in one bite.

‘It’s just a good time,’ Emily said with a defensive shrug. ‘And it’s better than Helen waiting for Richard Marsden to ring.’

‘You’ve really got it in for him, haven’t you?’ Jason said. He took a flute of champagne from a tray and downed half of it in one sip. He’d never seen a dress quite as revealing as Emily’s. Her legs looked endless, ending in silver skyscraper heels. She’d painted her toenails silver to match. He yanked his gaze upwards, but there was no hope to be found there. Admittedly, the dress wasn’t particularly low cut, but the silver material moulded itself to Emily’s breasts, outlining every luscious curve. He settled his scowl on Emily’s face, for he
was indeed scowling now. She seemed to have that effect on him.

‘I don’t have it in for anyone,’ Emily told him, sounding defensive. ‘But I don’t see any harm in inviting Helen out—’

‘And are you going to pretend you didn’t just push her towards Ellsworth?’

Emily flushed, and Jason couldn’t help but notice how the heightened colour brightened her eyes. Her chest heaved, drawing his attention downwards again. His scowl deepened. ‘All I did was ask him to dance with her—’

‘Usually, it’s the man who does the asking.’

‘This is the twenty-first century, in case that had escaped your notice—’

‘You’re matchmaking again, Emily,’ Jason cut her off softly. ‘And this time I’d really rather you wouldn’t.’

‘Why? You’re matchmaking as much as I am, clearing the way so she can be with someone like Richard.’

Jason stilled, every muscle tensed. He didn’t like her scoffing tone. Or her implication. ‘Someone like Richard?’ he repeated, his voice lowering dangerously. He
felt
dangerous.

‘Yes,’ Emily replied with some heat, ‘someone earnest and dull who can’t be bothered to romance the woman he allegedly loves—’

‘You’ve witnessed this? Talked to Richard, perhaps?’

Emily’s flush deepened. ‘It’s fairly obvious from talking to Helen,’ she finally said. She bit her lip, taking its fullness between her teeth, and Jason’s fingers clenched around his flute of champagne.

‘What does it matter to you?’ he demanded roughly. ‘I didn’t think you were a great believer in love anyway.’

‘I do believe in love!’ Emily returned with sudden force. Her voice rose and Jason wished he had thought to have this conversation somewhere more private. She was making a scene. ‘I believe in it very much,’ she continued, her voice
thankfully a notch lower. ‘Just because I haven’t found it for myself—’

‘But you’re looking after all?’ Jason enquired. Why was he asking? Why did he
care?

Emily looked troubled, and trapped. She lifted one shoulder in a shrug, and the skinny strap of her dress fell down her arm. Her dress had just become a bit more revealing. ‘I’m happy as I am,’ she said firmly, ‘and I don’t have anything against Richard Marsden.’

Jason’s mouth curved in a cool smile. ‘No, indeed, you just find him—let me think—
boring.
Predictable. Cautious.’

Emily stiffened in surprise, her eyes widening. ‘This isn’t about you, Jason.’

No, it wasn’t, Jason thought savagely. Yet it
felt
like it was about him, and her rather dire assessment of him that still, stupidly, stung. Deliberately, he reached out and slid the strap back up to her shoulder, his fingers sliding along her skin. Emily jerked in response, and he saw desire flare in her eyes. A feeling of triumph raced through him, headier than champagne, followed by another flash of lust. He smiled. ‘No, of course not,’ he murmured. ‘It’s not about you or me at all.’ His hand lingered on her shoulder, his thumb tracing the arc of her collarbone. Emily had frozen, staring at him in dazed shock, and Jason knew he should remove his hand. He was doing it again. Playing with fire. Yet he just couldn’t seem to stop.

Emily felt as if her mind and body had both frozen, so shocked by the way Jason was touching her. Although that wasn’t quite true; all he’d done was fix her dress strap. No, she was shocked by her own response, the desire coursing through her in a molten flood she had neither expected nor experienced before. And she couldn’t move—or think—or even breathe. The crowds shifted and swirled around them, and she felt as
if she and Jason were pinned in place. His thumb stroked her collarbone again, his eyes hard and blazing on hers.

Somehow, slowly, as if she were in quicksand, Emily moved. She took a shaky step backwards, shaking her head with more force than intended or necessary, her champagne sloshing and her hair flying. ‘This argument is pointless,’ she said. ‘Helen is a grown woman and she can do as she likes. And so can Richard—and Philip—and you.’ Jason had dropped his hand and was simply staring at her. Too disconcerted to say anything more, Emily gave him one last pointed look and pivoted on her heel, intent on finding the only safety on offer: the Ladies.

Yet just as she’d entered the empty, quiet corridor that led to the loos, Jason was there, his long strides overtaking Emily’s, so he cut her off from her escape and with the simple turn of his body left her trapped against a wall.

‘Jason—’

His body was close enough that she could feel the heat of him, sense his strength. ‘You’re absolutely right, Emily, Helen can do as she likes. And so can Ellsworth. And Richard. And me.’ She looked up at him, his face alarmingly close to hers. His hair was rumpled and colour slashed his cheekbones. Emily was conscious of his nearness, the very scent of him, the way his chest rose and fell under the crisp whiteness of his shirt. Her mind spun with the sensory overload, blanking as she stared up at him, felt the heat of his body like a pulse against her own.

He braced his hands against the wall on either side of her head so that she was effectively imprisoned, although standing between the strength of his arms did not feel like being trapped. Instead, as her heart started to pound and her cheeks flushed, Emily felt a glorious sense of anticipation that rose up inside her like a bubble, so she felt almost as if she could float right off the ground, anchored only by the heavy thud of her heart. Jason’s gaze remained on her, his eyes the colour of
dark honey, and Emily could not look away. From somewhere she found words.

‘Well, of course, Jason, they can all do as they like.’ She looked up at him, felt her lips part in what surely was expectation.
Invitation.
Her voice lowered to a breathless, husky murmur. ‘And just what is it you’d like to do?’

‘This.’

As he lowered his head to hers, Emily could hardly believe this was happening. He was going to kiss her. Alarmingly. Amazingly. At last.

And then he
was
kissing her, his lips cool and firm on hers, one hand coming to curve possessively about her waist, his fingers splaying along her hip. With his other hand he touched her cheek, cradling her face in a gesture that was as intimate as the kiss itself and infinitely more tender.

Emily remained frozen under that gentle touch of his lips, too shocked to respond, at least at first. Then her body began to become aware of just how wonderful it felt to be kissed by Jason, every nerve and sinew suddenly, gloriously alive, overwhelmed by a tidal wave of sensation. As Jason gently explored the contours of her lips, his mouth so firm and persuasive on hers, her body clamoured for more and then took control despite the sputtering protests her mind still insisted on making.

This is Jason—Jason! He can’t be kissing me. He can’t want to kiss me …

Her body was defiant; Emily found she was taking hold of Jason’s shoulders, almost as if she meant to push him away, except of course she didn’t. Instead, her hands slid from his shoulders to his head, her fingers threading through the crisp softness of his hair as her mouth opened under his like a flower in the sun and the gentle touch of his tongue to hers sent her body spinning into a deeper whirlpool of sudden, intense feeling.

Yet Jason did not deepen the kiss further and, even as she
pressed closer, her hips bumping his, she became aware of his restraint. He did not pull her closer; he did not move at all and as her brain came up to speed with her body, Emily realised this kiss was not a kiss of passion, but one of proof. Jason was proving something to her; he was telling her something with this kiss, and Emily wasn’t sure it was anything she wanted to hear.

Yet before she could pull away in appalled indignation, which was what she intended, Jason broke the kiss and stepped away with his own cool little smile. Emily stared at him, her chest heaving, her lips tingling.

‘What was that for?’ she demanded in a raw voice.

He looked nonplussed for a tiny beat before his lips curved wider in a satisfied smile. ‘Does there need to be a purpose?’

Emily had no answer, because now that her body had stopped its restless clamour—although it still
ached
—her mind had taken over, spinning out incoherent protests, impossible ideas.

‘Very well,’ Jason said coolly, his voice edged with impatience. ‘Then this. Now you know I’m not boring … and neither is Richard Marsden.’

‘And a kiss is meant to convince me of that?’ Emily scoffed, which would have been a lot more believable if her voice hadn’t wobbled.

‘Considering how much you enjoyed it,’ Jason replied, his gaze sweeping over her flushed face and heaving chest with knowing assessment, ‘yes.’

‘I didn’t—’ Emily protested uselessly, for it was surely a lie and Jason was already walking away from her.

Jason stalked away from Emily, furious with himself for losing his self-control. For kissing her. And yet his body wanted—demanded—more, and he was both aggravated and amazed by
how that one simple kiss had affected him so much. Affected her as well, to both his satisfaction and shame.

‘Jason, where
have
you been?’ Eyebrows arched, too elegant to look annoyed, Margaret Denton glided up to him, one thin hand on his arm, her nails biting into his flesh. The smile she gave him was both imperious and reproving, and annoyed him all the more. She smiled as if she were his mother, as if she already owned him.

And this was a woman he was considering for his
wife?

Not any more.

Carefully, Jason detached his arm from Margaret’s biting grasp. ‘I’m sorry, Margaret, I had business to attend to.’ She pursed her lips, unimpressed, and Jason’s gaze settled on the woman across the ballroom who stood alone, watching the crowds with a lonely longing. ‘Excuse me,’ he told Margaret and, without looking back, he headed across the ballroom.

‘Mr Kingsley!’ Helen Smith looked at him in both surprise and more than a little relief. How long had she been standing alone? Jason wondered. How long had it taken Ellsworth to ditch her?

‘Good evening, Helen. I hope you’re having a good time?’

‘Oh … yes.’ She smiled, but he saw the uncertainty in her eyes. This kind of crowd was far from her own experience, and standing alone like a wallflower had to be a miserable introduction to it.

‘I wonder if you could do me a favour,’ Jason said, and Helen nodded, her eyes wide.

‘Of … of course—’

‘Emily wasn’t feeling all that well, and I believe she’s gone to the Ladies. Would you mind checking on her?’ He glanced at his watch as if he cared what time it was. ‘I’m afraid I have to run.’

‘Of course, Mr Kingsley—’

Smiling his thanks, Jason turned to leave the ballroom

behind. He’d done enough damage for one night.

Emily stood in the elegantly upholstered ladies’ room, gazing at her shocked reflection in the gilt mirror. Her face was flushed, her lips reddened, her hair a tousled mess. She looked as if that one kiss—just one kiss!—had utterly affected her, changed her, and in some ways it had.