stood there, and he was looking right at her.
EMILY took a hasty sip of her champagne, then promptly choked, causing an ageing socialite to give her a frosty frown. Such behaviour was hardly decorous.
Emily smiled weakly and watched as Jason made his way towards her, threading through the well-heeled crowd with an arrogant assurance, seemingly indifferent to the people mingling around him. He was a head taller than most of them, and they looked no more than a swarm of insects buzzing about him, an annoyance he dealt with easily as he made his way towards her. Emily swallowed, her chest still burning from when she’d choked. Jason didn’t look angry precisely, but he didn’t look happy either. Nervously, her gaze flicked to Helen and Philip, now swaying to the music. She had a feeling he wouldn’t be happy about that.
Jason surveyed Emily and tried not to scowl. She wore a tiny slip of a silver spangled dress that glittered like water on the scales of a fish, her hair falling down her back in golden waves. She looked, he thought, like an X-rated mermaid.
‘What a surprise to see you here,’ she said, tilting her head and giving him a flirty smile, her cat’s eyes slanted at the corners, alight with mischief.
Jason held on to his temper, but just. He’d arrived a few minutes ago with Margaret Denton, a girl he’d gone to Cambridge with and who was now a solicitor, very elegant, understated and perfect wife material. And then he’d seen Emily … and Helen. He’d watched as Emily pushed Helen towards Philip Ellsworth, who was the biggest waste of space Jason had ever encountered and was steadily partying his way through his daddy’s trust fund. Jason’s annoyance had increased as Philip took Helen to the dance floor and Emily practically preened with satisfaction. She was matchmaking. Again. And this time she—or at least Helen—was quite out of her element. He’d left Margaret with a cluster of mutual acquaintances and headed towards Emily, drawn to her with a force he could neither stem nor stop.
He smiled at her now, coolly. ‘I do attend social events, Emily,’ he said, keeping his voice mild, ‘although perhaps not as many as you do.’ He nodded towards Helen and Ellsworth. ‘Now I am surprised to see her here.’
‘I invited her,’ Emily informed him with a hint of defiance beneath her blithe tone. ‘I thought she could use a night out—’
‘Don’t you think this might be a bit much?’ Jason surveyed the crowd with a jaundiced eye. Most of the guests were shallow, petty, vain and insipid. And they’d devour Helen Smith in one bite.
‘It’s just a good time,’ Emily said with a defensive shrug. ‘And it’s better than Helen waiting for Richard Marsden to ring.’
‘You’ve really got it in for him, haven’t you?’ Jason said. He took a flute of champagne from a tray and downed half of it in one sip. He’d never seen a dress quite as revealing as Emily’s. Her legs looked endless, ending in silver skyscraper heels. She’d painted her toenails silver to match. He yanked his gaze upwards, but there was no hope to be found there. Admittedly, the dress wasn’t particularly low cut, but the silver material moulded itself to Emily’s breasts, outlining every luscious curve. He settled his scowl on Emily’s face, for he was indeed scowling now. She seemed to have that effect on him.
‘I don’t have it in for anyone,’ Emily told him, sounding defensive. ‘But I don’t see any harm in inviting Helen out—’
‘And are you going to pretend you didn’t just push her towards Ellsworth?’
Emily flushed, and Jason couldn’t help but notice how the heightened colour brightened her eyes. Her chest heaved, drawing his attention downwards again. His scowl deepened. ‘All I did was ask him to dance with her—’
‘Usually, it’s the man who does the asking.’
‘This is the twenty-first century, in case that had escaped your notice—’
‘You’re matchmaking again, Emily,’ Jason cut her off softly. ‘And this time I’d really rather you wouldn’t.’
‘Why? You’re matchmaking as much as I am, clearing the way so she can be with someone like Richard.’
Jason stilled, every muscle tensed. He didn’t like her scoffing tone. Or her implication. ‘Someone like Richard?’ he repeated, his voice lowering dangerously. He felt dangerous.
‘Yes,’ Emily replied with some heat, ‘someone earnest and dull who can’t be bothered to romance the woman he allegedly loves—’
‘You’ve witnessed this? Talked to Richard, perhaps?’
Emily’s flush deepened. ‘It’s fairly obvious from talking to Helen,’ she finally said. She bit her lip, taking its fullness between her teeth, and Jason’s fingers clenched around his flute of champagne.
‘What does it matter to you?’ he demanded roughly. ‘I didn’t think you were a great believer in love anyway.’
‘I do believe in love!’ Emily returned with sudden force. Her voice rose and Jason wished he had thought to have this conversation somewhere more private. She was making a scene. ‘I believe in it very much,’ she continued, her voice thankfully a notch lower. ‘Just because I haven’t found it for myself—’
‘But you’re looking after all?’ Jason enquired. Why was he asking? Why did he care?
Emily looked troubled, and trapped. She lifted one shoulder in a shrug, and the skinny strap of her dress fell down her arm. Her dress had just become a bit more revealing. ‘I’m happy as I am,’ she said firmly, ‘and I don’t have anything against Richard Marsden.’
Jason’s mouth curved in a cool smile. ‘No, indeed, you just find him—let me think—boring. Predictable. Cautious.’
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—’