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

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ 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.

      Jason stared at the social pages of the newspaper that his PA had laid out with other relevant articles. Tumbled, golden curls, a tiny silver scrap of a dress. Three separate photographs, each one more damning than the last. He scanned the captions: Emily Wood dazzles the fund-raising scene in an exclusively designed dress … Emily Wood and unidentified guest toast their evening … Emily Wood and Philip Ellsworth dance together at last night’s charity gala.

      With a grimace of disgust, Jason pushed the pages away. He didn’t need to see any more photographs. He’d already been convinced that as charming as Emily was, as desirable as he knew her to be, she could also be silly, scatty and most unsuitable. He had no business expressing any interest in her at all. No business kissing her.

      She was not wife material. Not even close.

      So why couldn’t he get her out of his mind? Why couldn’t he forget that kiss?

      Why did he want more?

      He’d returned to London for the express purpose of finding a wife. With his father’s health failing, it had become all the more urgent. He had no time to waste with Emily Wood, and yet he was honest enough to realise he had trouble resisting her. His self-control had deserted him, his willpower at an alltime low. How he’d managed to keep his distance from Emily for seven years he had no idea, since he certainly couldn’t seem to manage it any longer.

      With another grimace Jason pressed the intercom for his PA. ‘Book my ticket for Nairobi, Eloise,’ he said. ‘I’m going back to Africa after all.’

СКАЧАТЬ