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

Was she? Was she really?

Staring blankly at her computer screen, Emily wasn’t sure she was any more. The thought was frightening. Depressing too. Because if she wasn’t happy, what on earth could she do about it?

Forcing the question—and its impossible answer—aside, she kept her head down and focused on work until a hesitant knock on her door at half past three. She looked up and stared straight at Richard Marsden.

‘Hello,’ he began, awkward and uncertain, and Emily simply stared, shock rendering her temporarily speechless. A creeping sense of discomfort immediately followed, for while she’d been telling Helen it was perfectly fine to forget Richard just hours ago, she hadn’t had to deal with the man face to face.

Now he stood here in an ill-fitting suit, round-shouldered and a little dull, yet, Emily acknowledged fairly, with a rather nice smile.

‘Sorry to bother you, but I’m looking for Helen Smith. Jane down at reception said you might know where she is.’

‘She’s at the dentist’s,’ Emily said, her voice faintly cool despite her intention to sound both friendly and professional.

‘Oh.’ Richard’s face fell, the corners of his mouth turning down almost comically. ‘I was hoping to catch her before I leave for Africa. I’d stop by her flat but my flight leaves at eight—’ He paused hopefully and Emily did not attempt to fill the silence. ‘Do you know if she’ll be back today?’

Emily hesitated. Clearly Helen had not told Jane that she intended to return by four. Of course, Helen’s appointment could run long—dentist appointments often did—and there was no saying for certain that she would be back in the office today. There was no saying for certain at all.

Emily looked at Richard Marsden’s slightly droopy eyes, his kind smile, and then quite suddenly pictured Jason saying coolly, You most certainly are not in the running. She remembered how easily he’d walked away from that kiss, and how shattered she’d felt in its aftermath.

Her own mouth hardened and she heard herself saying, ‘I’m afraid I don’t know, Richard. She told me she planned to take the entire afternoon off.’

Richard nodded slowly in acceptance, clearly defeated before he’d even begun. Emily felt a flicker of regret but also a stab of self-righteous scorn. If Richard wasn’t going to try harder than that—

‘Well, if you see her, will you tell her I stopped by? And that … that I’m thinking of her?’

Emily knew she would have no difficulty in delivering Richard’s paltry message. ‘Of course I will.’

‘Thank you,’ he said, and Emily, her throat suddenly tight, just nodded.

As he rounded the corner, she managed to call out, ‘Have a safe trip, Richard.’

Then, as he finally disappeared down the hallway, she let out a long, slow breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding.

It didn’t matter, she told herself. Helen would have said something to Richard anyway. She was planning on it—mostly. And, in any case, Richard was only going to be gone for a week or so … although, Emily thought, by the time he returned Philip and Helen could very well be an established couple. Philip was, among other things, a fast worker.

She turned back to her computer screen and the email she’d been in the middle of composing, but the words danced before her eyes. All she could really see was Richard’s defeated look, his disappointed smile, and she wondered if for once she’d interfered just a little too much.

CHAPTER SIX (#ulink_d11a7064-89a3-56bb-9096-7dd2cb8947dc)

EMILY pulled at the tight satin bodice of her bridesmaid’s dress and grimaced in the mirror. The hot pink colour made her look like a piece of bubblegum, and the skirt belled out around her knees so she was halfway to wearing a tutu. Stephanie, however, had been enamoured with what she thought was a fairy tale dress, and insisted Emily looked gorgeous in it. Emily silently disagreed with Stephanie’s assessment, but offered no resistance. This was Stephanie’s day, not hers.

The wedding was to be a small, intimate affair, the ceremony taking place in the church of the Hampshire village where Stephanie had grown up, and the reception a dinner at a local hotel afterwards. Emily had arrived last night just in time to make the rehearsal, and then fallen into bed, exhausted and a bit overwhelmed by the general pandemonium and near hysteria an imminent wedding caused. Seating plans. Bouquets. A last minute alteration to Stephanie’s dress. Emily’s head swam.

Since last night she’d only seen Stephanie and Tim and their families and attendants, and she hadn’t had time to ask Stephanie if Jason would be coming to the wedding.

No, that wasn’t really true, Emily acknowledged to herself as she fixed her hair into what she hoped was a neat chignon. She’d had plenty of time to talk to Stephanie over the last two weeks. She hadn’t wanted to ask about Jason because she didn’t even want to think about him, or that kiss, and she certainly wasn’t going to give her friend any reason to think there was something between her and Jason. Because there wasn’t. How could there be? The thought was beyond ludicrous.

All they’d shared was a single kiss—a kiss that had been part punishment and part proof, as Jason had said himself. As if that kiss proved anything about Richard Marsden. Or even Jason. All right, it proved Jason was a decent kisser, but that was hardly relevant to anything. Or anyone. Certainly not to her.

And yet Emily could not quite forget the feel of Jason’s lips on hers, how they’d been both hard and soft, warm and cool, and even more aggravatingly—and alarmingly—how she’d responded to that kiss, as if he’d lit a candle inside of her. Not just a candle, but a roaring fire. And it still hadn’t gone out.

A knock sounded at the door of the spare bedroom in Stephanie’s parents’ house, where Emily had been getting ready.

‘The car’s here,’ Joanne, Stephanie’s mother, called. ‘Are you all set, dear?’

‘Yes … just about.’ With a last rather despairing look at her tutu-like dress, Emily turned towards the door.

The ceremony was beautiful, just as Emily had known it would be. The church sanctuary was bedecked with ivy and white roses, and a hushed silence prevailed as Tim and Stephanie exchanged their vows, their voices ringing with heartfelt sincerity and love.

This was why people got married, Emily thought with an unfamiliar wrenching inside. She’d consider it herself if she ever met a man who would look at her the way Tim looked at Stephanie. Not with disapproval, or amusement, or—

She was thinking about Jason. Again. Emily forced the thoughts away and let her gaze wander around the church. There were a handful of people from work but, other than that, few she recognised. Then she heard a quiet creak as someone opened the door to the church and slipped into the last pew.

It took Emily a stunned second to process who it was.

Jason.

His gaze locked on hers and held it, refusing to look away, his eyes calm yet his jaw tense. He looked … determined was the only word for it, as if he had a goal in mind and he fully intended to achieve it. Perhaps that was the way he looked at a flooded river, or a swamped stream, or—

But, no. He was looking at her, and Emily could not look away. She couldn’t move. It was as if Jason’s gaze was actually trapping her, and her hands clenched around her posy of rosebuds, the dress cutting into her ribcage, her gaze locked on Jason’s. Her gaze, of its own accord, moved to his mouth, took in those firm, sculpted lips. How had she never before noticed what amazing lips he had? They’d been on hers. Hard on hers.

One kiss. Just one kiss, and yet she couldn’t forget it. She had a feeling she never would. She swallowed, her throat suddenly unbearably dry. Jason still gazed at her, steady, unyielding.

‘And by the power invested in me, I now pronounce you man and wife.’

Finally, Emily possessed the ability to tear her gaze from Jason’s and she clapped along with everyone else as Tim, beaming, took his wife in his arms. She watched as he kissed her, a kiss filled with passion and love and happiness. That kiss was a declaration, a celebration, a shout of joy to the world.

Jason hadn’t kissed her like that. No one had.

Swallowing again, Emily glanced back at Jason. He was chatting with the person in front of him, oblivious to her now. Emily wondered if she’d actually imagined the intensity of the moment before; surely Jason hadn’t been looking at her quite like that.

Like what? her mind mocked, for she didn’t even know.

Stephanie and Tim had broken their kiss and were now beaming at everyone around them. Emily felt another wrench of what could only be envy. She’d meant what she’d said to Jason; she was happy, and she certainly didn’t need anything. The search for the kind of love Stephanie and Tim shared was exhausting and uncertain, and she had no desire to embark on it only to end up frustrated and alone. Better to be happy and alone, surely.

Yet that didn’t keep her from wanting for a moment—just a moment—what Stephanie and Tim had. She wanted it desperately. She longed for someone to look at her the way Tim had looked at Stephanie, with love, his face softened with adoration. She wanted to be desired, treasured, adored. Wined and dined and romanced. Swept off her feet.

It wasn’t going to happen.

Determinedly, she shrugged the feeling aside. Surely it was no more than even the most hardened heart would feel at a wedding as lovely as this one. It would pass.

Smiling at her radiant friend, Emily followed them down the aisle. She made sure to keep her face averted as she passed the last pew.

Of course she couldn’t avoid Jason for ever. She tried to, and managed it through drinks and dinner. Her duty as bridesmaid kept her close to Stephanie’s side, straightening her veil, fetching her a glass of water, smiling until her cheeks ached for the requisite round of photographs.

Yet when the dancing started and Stephanie and Tim took the floor, Jason headed directly to her and she realised she’d been waiting—and even expecting—him to. Emily’s heart started a heavy thud of anticipation as she watched him stride across the ballroom, as purposeful and self-assured as always. His hair and eyes both glinted near-gold in the dim lighting and she could see the ripple of muscles under his immaculate suit, the easy shrug of his shoulders as he walked.

She wondered what he was going to say to her, if he would mention the kiss. Should she act unconcerned, indifferent, as if she’d already dismissed it as the nothing encounter it surely was—for him, at least? Yet that would be an act, and he would surely know it. He’d probably tease her about it, but at least then they would be on familiar footing.