Kate Hewitt - Highly Unsuitable

Yet somehow, when he’d taken her in his arms, keeping her a safe six inches from his body, she’d felt something else. Something new and tingly and really quite nice, in a disquieting sort of way. She’d been an innocent at seventeen, and had never felt that sweet rush before. And so, despite Jason’s serious expression and boring waltz, she’d tipped her head up and smiled at him with as much flirtatious charm as she thought she might ever possess and said, ‘You’re quite handsome, you know.’

Jason had looked down at her, his face so aggravatingly solemn. His expression hadn’t changed one bit. ‘Thank you.’

Somehow Emily didn’t think that was what he was supposed to have said. She wasn’t sure of the script, yet she knew she didn’t like these lines. And yet he had been handsome, with his dark hair and eyes, the white of his smile and the strength of his arms as he held her that proper distance away from his body. She could still feel the heat and strength of him and, fuelled by the champagne fizzing through her veins, Emily had added, ‘Perhaps you’d like to kiss me.’ She’d tilted her pretty little chin up further, and had even had the audacious stupidity to pucker her lips and wait. She’d let her eyelids flutter closed, so suddenly desperate to have him kiss her. It would have been her first kiss, and at that moment she’d wanted it so very much. She’d wanted Jason, which was ridiculous because she’d never once thought of Jason that way—never even considered such a possibility—until he’d asked her to dance.

The moment had gone on too long, several seconds that had made agonising awareness, as well as a punishing sobriety, steal over Emily. She’d opened her eyes and seen Jason gazing down at her in what was almost a glare. His eyes had narrowed, his mouth had tightened, and he hadn’t looked friendly—or boring—at all. All of her flirtatiousness had drained out of her, leaving her as flat and stale as the dregs of her own champagne. She’d almost felt afraid.

Then his expression had changed, the glare wiped clean away, and he’d smiled faintly and said, ‘I would, rather. But I won’t.’ And with that, before the dance had ended or even really started, he’d set her gently and firmly from him and walked off the dance floor.

Emily had stood there for several seconds, unmoving and incredulous. The public humiliation of being left on the dance floor was bad enough, but far worse was the private humiliation of being so summarily rejected by Jason Kingsley. She’d been quite sure, at that moment, that he really wouldn’t want to kiss her. And because she’d been seventeen, tipsy, and it would have been her first kiss, she hadn’t been able to lift her chin and throw her shoulders back and saunter off the dance floor like she’d meant to. Instead she’d stumbled across the parquet, dissolving into drunken tears before she’d even left the ballroom.

Definitely an idiot.

She turned to smile brightly at him now, forcing the memory—and its accompanying mortification—back to the far recesses of her brain. ‘Well, I shan’t ask you to dance again, I promise you,’ she assured him. ‘Never fear.’

A smile flickered across Jason’s face like a wave of water. His gaze rested on her thoughtfully, as if he were taking her measure. ‘But, Em, I was counting on you to ask me to dance.’

Slightly thrown, Emily laughed and replied, ‘Well then, I certainly won’t ask you to kiss me.’

‘Then I shall be especially disappointed,’ Jason returned, his voice soft, and Emily felt shock slice through her, rendering her quite speechless, until she realised that of course Jason was just teasing her, the same as always. Except he’d never teased her quite like that before.

Jason watched as shock widened Emily’s jade-green eyes, her tongue darting out to moisten her lower lip. He felt a sudden jolt of desire at the sight of that innocent little action, and it both surprised and annoyed him. He had no business feeling that way about Emily … again.

He hadn’t even meant to seek her out tonight. He had only a few months to be in London, and spending time with Emily Wood was low down on his list of priorities. In fact, not spending time with her was a priority. He had other more suitable women to pursue. Women who were sensible, level-headed and businesslike, perfect for his purpose. Emily, with her cat’s eyes and teasing smile and endless legs, was definitely not any of those things. Even more importantly, she was off-limits. She’d been off-limits seven years ago, and she was still off-limits now—for more reasons than he cared to name or number.

‘How does it feel to be the Head of Human Resources?’ he asked, determined to move the conversation back to business. ‘Youngest in the post.’

‘Strange,’ Emily admitted. ‘I hope I’m up to the task.’

‘I’m sure you will be.’ He’d watched her grow into her position in HR from afar, and he’d been both surprised and encouraged by the way she’d taken to the role. Her promotion had been a smart business move, even though some—including Emily herself—might think it hinted at nepotism. Jason never let feelings get in the way of business. Or of anything.

‘As for your first duty,’ he told her, ‘there’s a woman I’d like you to interview on Monday, for a receptionist position.’

Emily glanced at him rather sharply. ‘Oh?’ she asked, her tone a bit diffident.

‘Helen Smith. She’s just come to London and could use a bit of help.’

‘A friend of yours?’ Emily asked, her voice sharpening just a little, and Jason suppressed a smile. Sometimes Emily was so easy to read. Could she actually be jealous? Did she still harbour a bit of the adolescent affection she’d shown him seven years ago?

The possibility was intriguing … and dangerous.

He still remembered the moment she’d tilted her pretty face up to his and said, ‘Perhaps you’d like to kiss me.’

And he had wanted to, more than he’d been willing to admit, even to himself.

That sudden, fierce jolt of lust had nearly knocked Jason to his knees. She’d been seventeen, practically a child, completely innocent and utterly naive. The strength of his own response had shocked and shamed him; he’d left the wedding immediately afterwards, near trembling with the aftershocks of surprising and suppressed desire, determined to put Emily completely from his mind.

And he’d accomplished just that, almost forgetting her completely, until three years later when she’d traipsed merrily to London without a plan—or a job—and he’d reluctantly offered her an entry level post.

He remembered how she’d sprawled in the chair across from his desk, her honey-blonde hair tumbling over her shoulders, her green cat’s eyes alight with mischief. She’d worn an indecently short miniskirt and a top in a vivid green that matched her eyes; he suspected she considered such an outfit business attire. He couldn’t keep his eyes off her long tanned legs, or the way one foot swung back and forth, a spiked heel dangling from her scarlet-polished toe.

Jason had stood behind his desk, his hands shoved in his pockets, doing his best to appear stern and disapproving. She’d been only twenty at the time and had looked artless and beautiful and so very young. And while he’d managed to forget how Emily had affected him three years ago, it had come back to him then with an overwhelming rush of memory and feeling.

‘You can have me do anything,’ she’d told him. ‘I’m not fussed.’ He’d stood there, looking grim, trying not to let it show on his face just what he could imagine having her do. It had been three years since they’d danced at the wedding, three years when he’d barely seen or thought of her at all, and yet he’d still felt that fierce dart of lust. When she’d leaned forward her hair had swung around her face and he’d smelled the scent of her shampoo. Strawberry.