Kate Hewitt - Highly Unsuitable

She half-turned so her face was in profile, and he saw the smooth curve of her cheek, the downward sweep of her golden lashes. She looked uncertain and so very young. ‘I won’t get hurt,’ she said, her voice low.

Yet as she slipped from the room Jason wondered if she’d spoken to convince him … or herself.

EMILY did not see Jason for a week. It was a week of anxiety and also a little anger, of tensing and turning every time someone came to her door, of wondering why he’d made such a startling confession and then disappeared without a trace.

Was he teasing her? Had he changed his mind? Or was he serious, and he was giving her time to decide what she wanted?

Emily didn’t know which she preferred. Every option seemed alarming. Meanwhile, she found she was checking her mobile for messages or texts far too often. She scoured the internet’s social networking pages to see if he was on any, which of course he wasn’t. Jason was hardly the kind of man to update his online status. Annoyed with herself, she stayed away from her mobile and laptop except for work, determined not to think of him at all.

Unfortunately, that proved impossible. She kept going over her conversation with Jason again and again, marvelling at his words … and their meaning.

I want you, Emily. But I don’t want you to be hurt.

It amazed her to think that Jason desired her now, had been intimating that he wanted there to be something between them now.

But what? A kiss? A fling? Clearly, he wasn’t proposing marriage, and that was the last thing she wanted anyway. She wasn’t in love with Jason; she wasn’t in love with anyone. But she wanted him. And he wanted her.

It could be so very simple. She wouldn’t get hurt, just as she’d told him. So why was she still mired in doubt?

Perhaps, Emily reflected, it was because it seemed so impossible for Jason to want her physically. And even for her to want him. They had so much history, so many shared memories and moments that were at odds with what he was feeling now. What she was feeling.

If she were honest, the thought of Jason actually desiring her terrified and excited her in equal amounts. She’d never thought of him that way, never dared to … and yet another part of her sly mind whispered that in reality she’d always thought of him that way, or wanted to. That was why that dance—and almost-kiss—seven years ago had actually devastated her. even though she’d convinced herself for so long that it hadn’t. That it had been nothing.

And now? Emily didn’t know what the truth was, or could be. She was afraid to find out. Maybe Jason hadn’t meant that at all anyway. Perhaps he’d just been teasing her as usual, and she’d read far too much into a few throwaway remarks because her own need was suddenly so great. Maybe she was making everything up in her mind, and the next time she saw Jason he would be back to his familiar, mocking self, one eyebrow arched, a faint smile curving his mouth.

Oh, that mouth.

She really was a mess. An obsessed mess, she acknowledged as she kept checking her phone and surfing the Internet and looking for clues to the truth about Jason because he wasn’t there in person. Even if he had been she knew she did not yet possess the courage to confront him about any of it.

Meanwhile November drifted into December, and the charity fund-raiser at Jason’s flat loomed closer. Emily could barely hide her surprise when Gillian Bateson approached her again, for help with the organisation.

‘I thought you had it well in hand?’ she asked, surveying Gillian from across her desk. The older woman looked a little more subdued than usual. Her hair was not as immaculately styled and her nail varnish was chipped. Her smile seemed a bit fixed.

‘Oh, I do, of course I do. But I thought you might like a peek at Jason’s penthouse. It’s fab, you know—or actually you don’t—’

Emily gritted her teeth. ‘I’m sure it is, and I’ll see it at the party. I don’t really need a … a peek.’ Even if she was intensely curious about where Jason lived. Where Jason slept.

Gillian paused, her gaze sliding away from Emily’s. ‘Actually, I could use a little help,’ she said, the admission drawn from her with obvious reluctance. ‘It turns out my daughter is visiting that weekend, and I promised to take her out for a bit—’ She glanced back at Emily, her laugh a little wobbly. ‘You have no idea how demanding pre-teens are.’

‘I can imagine, considering I was one myself once.’ Emily smiled, surprised and gratified by this insight into Gillian’s life. She knew it was practically killing her to ask for help, but Emily was glad she had. And she was honest enough to admit to herself she did want a peek at Jason’s flat—badly. ‘I’d be happy to help, Gillian.’

After Gillian left her office Emily stared at her computer screen, restless yet needing to work. She had not been able to concentrate on anything. Her fingers drummed on her desktop and she glanced at her to-do list scribbled on a spare piece of paper. She was meant to follow up a shortlist of applications for an assistant in the legal department, arrange the details for an expatriate hire, and draft an email regarding intra-office communications. And that was just this morning. Sighing, she reached for her empty coffee mug.

She was just about to stagger to the coffee machine when her mobile rang. She glanced at the number; it was Philip.

‘Hello, sweetheart,’ he practically purred. ‘Heading out to any Christmas parties this weekend?’

Emily thought of the unanswered invitations scattered across her mantelpiece. ‘I don’t think so, Philip.’

‘I’ve got two tickets to a new art exhibit in Soho,’ Philip told her. ‘Very exclusive. You free?’

A ripple of unease made its way down Emily’s spine. Why was Philip inviting her? ‘I don’t think so, Philip. I’m quite busy this weekend.’ She let out a little gasp, as if she’d just thought of something wonderful. ‘I know. Why don’t you ask Helen? You’ve been seeing a lot of her lately, haven’t you?’

‘I don’t know whether I’d say a lot,’ Philip replied, his tone one of bored dismissal. Emily froze, her fingers clenched around her mobile. This was not how Philip was meant to talk about Helen. Yet despite the icy feeling of dread developing in the pit of her stomach, she could not give up so easily.

‘Well,’ she said brightly, ‘I’m sure she’d love to go to an art exhibit … and you two were certainly cosy when we all went out to the theatre.’ She let out a little suggestive laugh, waiting for Philip’s affirmation, but instead he just gave a rather dry chuckle.

‘Only because you dragged her along.’

Emily nearly dropped her phone. ‘But … but Philip!’ she said, her voice rising to something between a squeak and a shriek. ‘You were so … you sat next to her … you touched her hair.’ She sounded ridiculous, Emily thought distantly, but surely she couldn’t have been so terribly mistaken. So wrong.

‘You thought I was interested in Helen? ‘ Philip asked, and then laughed. There was nothing funny about that laugh, nothing warm or generous. It was a laugh of scorn, of mockery. It made Emily’s insides shrivel. ‘Come on, Emily. She’s a lovely girl, of course, but.’ He sounded horribly patronising.

‘But?’ Emily prompted coldly.

‘Well, she’s not our sort, is she?’ Philip said, and Emily could tell he was trying to be reasonable. ‘I thought you were dragging her around as some sort of charity case, and I was nice enough to her because of that, but you couldn’t actually think.’ He laughed again, and Emily closed her eyes.