Highly Unsuitable: Mr and Mischief / The Darkest of Secrets / The Undoing of de Luca

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.

Jason Kingsley had kissed her. Why? What had he been hoping to accomplish? He’d certainly never expressed any interest in kissing her before—and after he’d kissed her he’d stepped away so easily, giving her such a cool little smile.

Emily felt her stomach lurch in panicked protest. He wasn’t interested in kissing her at all. He hadn’t been affected like she was, even now, her face flushed and her mind spinning in dazed, dizzying circles.

The door to the ladies’ room opened and Helen slipped in, frowning in hesitant concern. ‘Emily—are you all right?’

Emily pushed her hair behind her ears and lifted her chin. ‘Of course. Why shouldn’t I be?’

‘It’s just that Mr Kingsley said you were in the Ladies and I ought to check on you—’

‘Jason worries too much,’ Emily said with a laugh that sounded just a bit brittle. It both stung and soothed her that Jason had thought it necessary to send someone to check on her. It was considerate—and annoying. He’d probably been trying to detach Helen from Philip, and this was simply an excuse. ‘Honestly, I’m fine. The noise is giving me a bit of a headache, that’s all.’ She ran some water over her wrists and then quite deliberately took her lipstick from her handbag and reapplied it, her gaze fixed firmly on her own reflection. Her blush had faded, she saw, and her lips did not look so swollen. Slipping the lipstick back into her bag, she turned to Helen. ‘There. Shall we go back out?’ Helen nodded and Emily smiled, her equanimity almost restored as she led the way back to the ballroom. ‘Philip Ellsworth is very nice, isn’t he?’ she said, and from the corner of her eye she saw Helen blush and felt another little stab of satisfaction.

Take that, Jason Kingsley, she thought and, smiling, reached for another glass of champagne. She glanced around the ballroom, instinctively seeking out that tall, purposeful figure but she could tell from the emptiness she felt inside that Jason had already gone.

Emily kept her thoughts from Jason—and that kiss—for the rest of the evening. She was on full form, sparkling and chatting and posing for photographs until well after midnight, when common sense finally told her she—as well as Helen—had to return to work tomorrow, so they might as well call it a night.

Yet, alone in her flat, the rooms all dark around her, she found the memory of Jason’s kiss came rushing back to her, overwhelming her senses and making her ache deep inside in a way she didn’t like but recognised as the onslaught of unfulfilled desire.

Why had Jason kissed her? Why had it stirred up this longing and need inside of her, when surely it couldn’t be sated? She couldn’t. Not by Jason, for that kiss—that little kiss—had been nothing more than a proof, a punishment for pushing Helen and Philip together.

The more Emily considered it, the more she felt, like a leaden lump in the pit of her stomach, that she was right. Jason had not kissed her out of desire or attraction or anything like that. He’d kissed her to prove something to her, simply because he could. The thought sent a blush firing Emily’s body and scorching her face, even in the empty darkness of her own flat. She was reminded, painfully, of Jason’s rejection on the dance floor seven years ago. She’d so desperately wanted to prove to him—and herself—how beyond that moment she was, how grown-up and sophisticated and worldly she’d become, but she’d done the opposite. Now, with the aftermath of that kiss sending a riot of ricocheting emotions through her, Emily realised she wasn’t sophisticated at all. at least not when it came to Jason. With Jason she would forever be an adoring, annoying little girl, and she’d never felt so more than now.