Mr and Mischief. Кейт Хьюит
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the waiter over to the table to take their orders.
Emily ordered and then glanced around the room as Jason ordered for himself, a low murmur she didn’t really hear. Most of the diners were businessmen making deals, or well-heeled pensioners. This place really was a little stodgy.
‘The chicken? Adventurous, Em,’ Jason said, slanting her an amused look as the waiter left.
Emily gave him her own flippant look right back. She’d been a notoriously picky eater as a child, as Jason undoubtedly remembered. ‘The braised calf livers aren’t to my taste.’
‘Still picky?’
‘Discriminating is the word I’d use. And not as much as you might remember, Jason. I have changed, you know.’
‘I don’t doubt it.’ He paused, his long, supple fingers toying with the stem of his water glass. ‘I suppose,’ he said musingly, ‘there’s quite a bit I don’t know about you now. I’ve been gone, most of the time at least, for so long.’
‘But now you’re back to stay?’
He shrugged. ‘For as long as needed.’
Emily nodded in understanding. ‘On this personal business of yours?’
A frown creased his brow before his expression cleared and he flashed her a quick, knowing smile. ‘Yes.’
She couldn’t help but laugh; he wouldn’t give anything away. He never did, but then she’d never thought Jason had any secrets before. Or at least secrets worth knowing. ‘You’re a man of mystery now, aren’t you?’
‘Rather than boring?’ Jason filled in, one eyebrow arched.
‘I think I hurt your feelings when I said that.’
‘Only a little bit. As retribution, I told the waiter to bring you the calf livers rather than the chicken.’
Her eyes widened as she realised she actually hadn’t heard what he’d ordered. ‘You did not!’
‘No, I didn’t. But you believed me, didn’t you?’ His faint smile, for a second, formed into a fully fledged grin, and the effect of that smile had Emily unsettled yet again. She’d forgotten how white Jason’s teeth were, how the dimple in his cheek deepened… . He really was a handsome man, which was, of course, what had compelled her to flirt with him seven years ago. She would not make the same mistake again.
‘Only because you’ve always told me the truth, no matter how ungracious it is.’
He cocked his head, his gaze sweeping over her in considering assessment. ‘Would you rather I lied?’
Emily thought of times Jason had told her the unvarnished truth when no one else would: when she was fourteen, she’d had a terrible spot on the tip of her nose. She’d been horribly embarrassed, and in a moment of desperation she’d asked Jason if he’d noticed it.
Straight-faced, he’d said, Em, how could I not? But I still like you, spots and all.
And when she’d been fifteen and missing her mother, who’d died when she was only three, she’d asked him if one ever stopped missing one’s mum. She’d never met his mother; she’d died when he was eight years old.
No, he said, you never stop. But it does get easier. Sometimes.
His words had comforted her because she’d known them for truth rather than mere sentiment.
‘No,’ she said now, with her own surprised honesty, ‘I wouldn’t rather you lied. I suppose you need someone in your life who will tell you the truth.’
‘I’ll always do that.’ His gaze lingered on her for a moment longer than she expected, so a sudden warmth spread through her limbs, a new unsettling awareness that she could hardly credit. This was Jason. She felt a rush of relief when the sommelier came with the wine and Emily watched as Jason, with that same easy assurance, swilled it in his glass before taking a sip and then nodding his approval. When the man had left, he raised his glass, the deep ruby-red of the wine catching the candlelight, in a toast.
‘To old friends and new beginnings,’ he said, his gaze still lingering, Emily raised her own glass, as well.
‘Hear, hear.’
‘So,’ Jason said once they had each taken a sip of wine, ‘how is Helen getting on?’
‘Ah, I knew there was an ulterior motive to this dinner.’
‘Not at all,’ Jason replied blandly. ‘But, since you interviewed her this morning, I thought I might as well ask.’
‘Well, I hired her as you asked me to. I think she’ll do well enough. She hardly has the experience, though.’
‘I didn’t expect her to.’
Emily raised her eyebrows. ‘A charity case?’
‘Just a kindness,’ Jason replied mildly.
Emily reached for her wine again, suppressing a sharp stab—of something. Whatever uncomfortable emotion was assailing her was not one she wanted to name. ‘She’s quite beautiful, you know.’
‘Actually, I don’t. As you might recall, I told you yesterday that I’d never met her.’
‘Ah, yes.’ Emily pursed her lips. ‘I do recall now. You wanted to hire her as a favour to Richard Marsden.’
Jason cocked his head. ‘I don’t think I mentioned him by name, but yes.’
‘Because,’ Emily continued wryly, but with a little bite to her words, ‘Helen and Richard are going to make a go of it.’
Jason paused, his wine glass halfway to his lips. ‘You sound as if you don’t approve.’
‘Who am I to approve or disapprove?’ Emily replied, her eyebrows arching innocently.
‘It sounds eminently sensible to me,’ Jason said with a brisk reasonableness Emily didn’t like.
‘Oh, yes, very sensible,’ she agreed. ‘Hardly romantic, though.’
‘Romantic?’ Jason frowned. ‘Is it meant to be romantic?’
He sounded so nonplussed that Emily almost wanted to laugh, yet something in her—some deep, hidden well of emotion—kept her from amusement. Instead, she almost felt hurt, which made no sense at all and so she pushed the thought away. ‘Well, in general, Jason,’ she said, as if explaining basic arithmetic to a slightly backward child, ‘the kind of relationship Helen was talking about with Richard is meant to be romantic rather than sensible. You’re hardly choosing a … a pair of shoes when it comes to a girlfriend or even a wife—’
‘I’m a great believer in sensible shoes.’
Emily narrowed her eyes, unable to tell whether Jason was joking or not. She had a feeling he wasn’t. ‘A girl likes to be swept a little bit off her feet, you know.’
‘It sounds dangerous,’ Jason replied, straight-faced. ‘If you’re swept off your feet, you could lose your balance. You might even fall.’
‘Exactly,’ Emily replied. ‘You might fall in love, which is the whole point, isn’t it? Rather than making a go of it.’
He eyed her thoughtfully. ‘You seem to have taken exception to that expression.’
‘I have,’ Emily agreed with a bit more passion than she would have preferred to show. The glass of wine must be going to her head; she’d had hardly anything to eat since breakfast. ‘I’d much rather stay single my whole life than be with someone who asks me to make a go of it,’ she finished, her voice still sounding a little too loud.
‘Duly noted. And are you planning to stay single, then?’
‘As a matter of fact, yes,’ she said, glad