Maids Under The Mistletoe Collection. Christy McKellen

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      He made a mental note to pay her back tenfold for putting herself out for him like this. Her willingness to help him proved she was still the same big-hearted, generous person she’d always been. This travesty with her father hadn’t broken her—in fact, like the age-old adage, it had only made her stronger.

      Taking her hand, he gently led her towards the door, where their hosts were standing, chatting to a group of new people that had just arrived.

      ‘Rob, we’re going to make a move. Thanks for a good party,’ he said to his future associate, shaking the man’s hand.

      ‘Glad the two of you could make it,’ Rob said, returning the firm handshake and giving Emma a courteous nod. ‘It was lovely to meet you, Emma. I hope we get to spend more time with you soon.’

      He meant it too; Jack could tell by the conviction in the man’s voice. It was one of the things that had him excited about amalgamating their companies. Rob was well known for his straight-talking attitude and ability to cut through the bull. They seemed to be very similar in the way they conducted business and he was going to be a most useful ally.

      ‘Thank you for your kind hospitality,’ Emma said graciously, returning Rob’s smile and accepting a kiss on both cheeks from his apparently rather lovestruck wife, who was gazing at Emma with something akin to adoration in her eyes.

      Not that he was surprised; she was such a genuine, warm person it was impossible not to fall under her spell.

      The air was mercifully cool on his overheated skin as they walked carefully down the smooth slate steps of the Chelsea town house, making allowances for Emma’s high heels.

      His body twitched with nerves as he ran over what he had planned for them this evening. It had taken some doing—calling in favours from here, there and everywhere—but he was pleased with what he’d been able to pull together at the last second.

      The idea had struck him earlier as he’d watched her walk away from the kitchen table looking adorably dishevelled in her baggy old pyjamas that had done absolutely nothing to dampen his body’s desire for her.

      She was the kind of woman that would look sexy in a hessian sack.

      After the years of hard work she’d put into clearing her father’s name, denying herself the kind of life that she ought to have been living as a young, driven and intelligent woman, it was time she was allowed to have some fun for once.

      As they reached the pavement, right on cue his driver pulled up next to them in the car.

      Emma turned to frown at him. ‘You ordered the car to pick us up to drive us the two streets home? I know my heels are a bit high, but I think that’s what you’d call overkill, Jack. I can make it a hundred yards in them without falling flat on my face, you know.’

      He shot her a grin. ‘I’m sure you can, but do you really want to take the chance? Especially if we have to make a run for it into the house.’

      Shaking her long, sleek hair back over her shoulder, she gave an indifferent shrug. ‘I’ve been managing fine all evening and I’m getting quite good at putting on a blithely bored face for any journos that cross my path now.’

      He smiled as she treated him to a demonstration of the facial expression she’d just described.

      ‘Actually, we’re not going home,’ he told her.

      ‘Where are we going, then? We have the interview with Perdita in the morning, remember, and I don’t think she’ll be too impressed to have to change her article’s name to “At home with two hungover zombies”. It’s not that kind of magazine.’

      Flashing her a grin of wry amusement, he motioned for her to get into the car, holding the door open for her and raising a playful eyebrow when she frowned at him in confusion.

      ‘Don’t worry, Cinderella, I’ll have you back before midnight. Well, maybe a little after midnight.’

      ‘From where?’ she asked pointedly.

      ‘You’ll see. It’s a surprise. Trust me,’ he added when she gave him the side-eye.

      Muttering under her breath, she finally relented and slid into the back seat of the car, swinging her long legs in last so he was rewarded with a flash of her slender, creamy-skinned thighs before shutting the door for her.

      The evocative image remained stubbornly planted in his mind until he managed to shake it out by determinedly replacing it with a vision of his plan for the evening.

      The car drove them slowly out of Chelsea then along the tree-lined Embankment that ran next to the majestic expanse of the river Thames, the newly hung sparkling Christmas lights running parallel with their route. Taking a right, they travelled across Vauxhall Bridge then past the vibrant greenery of Lambeth Palace Gardens until their final destination was in sight.

      Emma didn’t utter a word throughout their whole journey, but repeatedly gave him searching looks as famous landmarks passed them by, which he gently rebuffed each time with a secretive smile.

      By the time John pulled the car up a short walking distance from the South Bank promenade her brow was so crinkled and her eyes so wide with bafflement he couldn’t help but laugh.

      ‘We’re here,’ he said, and, not waiting for her reply, he got out to walk round the back of the car and open her door for her. ‘I wanted to do something to say thank you for all the work you’ve put into making the house look so spectacular,’ he said as he took her hand and helped her out of the car, holding onto her until she’d centred her balance on those preposterously high heels of hers.

      Her fingers felt cool and fragile in his grip and he had a mad urge to wrap his arms around her and hold her close, to let her know he was there for her now and she didn’t need to do it on her own any more.

      He didn’t though, afraid that he might wind up with both a sore shin and a profoundly bruised ego.

      Not that he didn’t deserve that.

      ‘Are we going to see a film?’ she asked with a hint of disappointment in her voice.

      ‘Nope,’ he said, looping his arm through hers and letting out a secret breath of relief when she didn’t pull away from him.

      Her body radiated heat next to him as they walked along the mercifully deserted riverside towards their destination, arm in arm, the culmination of his plan for the evening looming over them in all its grand spherical glory.

      She stumbled a little and he tightened his grip to keep her upright.

      ‘Okay, you’re going to have to tell me where we’re going so I know how far I have to make it in these not made for hiking along the South Bank heels,’ she grumbled.

      He smiled at her frustration, which of course only made her scowl back at him.

      ‘Okay, we’re here,’ he said as they reached the entrance to the London Eye where a young woman was standing at the end of a plush red carpet, snuggled into a jacket branded with the attraction’s logo.

      Emma stared at him in surprise. ‘The Eye? But I thought they closed it at night.’

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