too much wine.
‘Poor, Em,’ Jason murmured as he pulled away from the kerb. ‘Did you have anything to eat today?’
‘A few crackers at lunch,’ Emily said with a sigh. ‘I’m a notorious lightweight, but even this is a bit much for me.’ She felt her stomach lurch and grimaced.
‘I hope,’ Jason said, ‘you’re not going to be sick all over my car.’
Emily tried to laugh, although the idea was alarmingly possible. ‘If I am,’ she said, ‘it’s because the chicken was off, not because I drank too much.’
Jason laughed softly. ‘Perhaps you should have tried the calf livers.’ He reached over and laid a cool hand on her forehead, his fingers massaging her temples with deft lightness. She inhaled the citrusy tang of his aftershave, felt the graze of his thumb on her cheekbone. The touch managed to both soothe and stimulate her, which made her body feel even more confused. Jason had never touched her like this before; he’d never really touched her at all. ‘Maybe you should close your eyes,’ he suggested.
Emily obeyed, her head resting against the seat as she took a few deep breaths and her stomach finally settled itself. Jason left his hand on her forehead, the pressure cool and comforting. Emily had the bizarre desire to put her hand over his own, to keep his palm there, pressed against her. ‘Sorry,’ she said after a moment, and then added, compelled to honesty, ‘And here I wanted to show you how sophisticated I am.’
‘Sophisticated?’ Belatedly, Emily realised she probably shouldn’t have said that. ‘Sophistication is overrated, Em.’
‘Like love?’ The words slipped out of their own accord. She felt as much as heard Jason’s hesitation.
‘Yes,’ he finally said, removing his hand, and she opened her eyes. Jason had stopped the car, and she saw they were in front of her building. The car suddenly seemed very small and dark and quiet, the only sound their breathing.
Emily curled her fingers around the door handle. ‘Well, goodnight, then,’ she said, her voice a whisper in the dark, and Jason reached for his own door.
‘I’ll see you home.’
Emily fumbled in her bag for her keys, conscious of Jason next to her, looming like a dark shadow. She lived in a block of mansion flats, with separate keys for the front door as well as the door to her own flat. Now, in her befuddlement, she shoved the wrong key into the door, jamming it uselessly.
‘Here, let me,’ Jason said, and his fingers wrapped around hers as he took the key from her and replaced it with the other, then turned the lock easily and opened the door.
The elegant little foyer was lit only by a small table lamp and in the shadowy light Emily could see Jason’s expression, his gaze solemn and yet somehow intent in a way that unnerved her. This whole evening had unnerved her because even though Jason had, for the most part, acted exactly as she expected him to, authoritative and a little annoying and yet still affectionately, impossibly Jason, he’d been different too. The whole evening had been different and, at this moment, with Jason still gazing at her in that intent, intense way, Emily could not articulate even to herself why. She couldn’t think at all.
‘You don’t have to come upstairs,’ she said, and then blushed at what sounded like some kind of ridiculous innuendo. ‘I’m fine—’
‘I’ll leave you to it, then,’ Jason said and, after a second’s pause where they simply stared at each other, he lifted his hand, his fingers suspended in air, a whisper away from her face. Emily held her breath, unsure of what he intended or why she felt a strange swooping sensation in her stomach, as if she’d missed a step, or the floor had fallen away completely. Then Jason let his fingers brush her cheek, no more than a whisper of a touch, his fingertips barely trailing her jaw as a smile softened his features. Yet before Emily could even process it or the feel of his fingers on her skin, his expression hardened once more, his brows snapping together as he dropped his hand. ‘Goodnight, Em,’ he said, and then he was gone.
Emily sagged against the stairs, her mind spinning more than
ever before, and this time it had nothing to do with the wine.
Jason slid back into his Porsche, cursing himself for almost kissing her. Or maybe for not kissing her. His body and mind were clearly at war, both seething with unfulfilled desire. This evening had been incredibly enjoyable, and therefore a big mistake. Why was he wasting his time with Emily? It so clearly couldn’t go anywhere. He wouldn’t let it.
And yet still here he was, wanting to be with her because it was so intensely pleasurable to listen to her banter, to hear her throaty laugh, to watch the lamplight pick out the golden glints in her hair. He’d felt vibrantly and vividly alive in her presence, and when she drew close to him he couldn’t keep himself from touching her. Her skin had felt like warm silk.
This time Jason cursed aloud. This was Emily. Emily Wood, his nearest neighbour, his sister-in-law, the girl whose plaits he’d tugged and tears he’d wiped. She was a woman now, yes, but she was also scatty and silly and a little bit wild, and a completely inappropriate choice for a wife. As for anything else … that was, if not unimaginable, then impossible.
He could not have a cheap affair or easy fling with Emily Wood. He thought of all the reasons why being with her was a bad, bad idea: their families were related; she was young, more naive than she’d like him to believe; and most importantly, most disastrously, she had ideas about love. Romance. She might not be looking for love or marriage now, but convenient and sensible were clearly not in her vocabulary. He’d seen the stars in her eyes.
Just as he’d seen the stars in his mother’s eyes wink slowly out. He’d lived with the resulting darkness, and it made him all the more determined to find the kind of wife his father should have had, the kind of wife he needed: convenient, sensible, practical. No romance. No love. No Emily.
Yet still the thought of her slid into his mind with a slyly seductive whisper and he found he could picture having an affair with Emily Wood all too easily. He could quite vividly imagine the silken slide of her lips against his, the heavy weight of her hair under his hand. And more … much more
than that. Her body fitted close to his, her legs entwined with his.
Jason called a halt to that line of thinking, pleasurable as it was. No matter what her age now, Emily was still off-limits. He’d told her the truth when he’d said she was not on his list of candidates for a wife. He’d returned to London on very personal business, and that was the matter of finding someone to marry. He was thirty-seven years old and his father’s health had begun to fail. He needed an heir. Emily might think that was awful and archaic, but Jason preferred to see it as practical.
Practical and without the kind of emotional expectations that had made his own mother miserable, and his father a widower. Love wasn’t just overrated, it was inadvisable. Fraught with disappointment and danger, which was why Jason chose to avoid it altogether … as would his wife. No meaningless words, useless gestures, nameless disappointments. Just mutual respect and affection, the most solid basis for a lasting union.
What was not practical was envisioning Emily Wood in that role. Scatty, silly, teasing and tempting Emily Wood. Spoiled darling of the social pages, not to mention her father. Looking for love, even if she didn’t realise it. Hell, she was arranging it for other people.
She was not remotely suitable to be his convenient, carefully chosen wife.
And she thought he was boring.
He laughed aloud, the sound rueful, as he acknowledged just how much Emily’s careless remark had annoyed him. He really had thought she was still a little besotted with him, and the fact that she wasn’t made him realise the extent of his own foolish arrogance. Although she hadn’t thought he was boring when he’d touched her. He’d heard that slight indrawn breath, felt the crackle between them. Emily had definitely not been bored then.
And he’d barely been able to keep himself from cupping her face