Mr and Mischief. Кейт Хьюит

heat of his body, and a strange new awareness prickled along her bare arms and up her spine. He really was awfully close.

      ‘You have icing in your hair,’ he said, and reached out to brush a sticky strand away from her cheek. His fingers were cool, the touch as light as a whisper, yet Emily stiffened in surprise anyway. She was conscious of how dishevelled she must look, with her hair falling down and a coffee stain on her skirt. Definitely not at her best.

      She laughed lightly and pushed the unruly tendrils behind her ears. ‘Yes, I’m rather a mess, aren’t I? I just need to finish this clearing up.’

      ‘You could leave it for the cleaning lady.’

      ‘Alice? She’s taken the day off.’

      ‘You know her name?’

      ‘I am about to become the Head of HR,’ Emily reminded him. ‘Her mother’s ill and she’s gone to Manchester for the weekend to see her settled in a care home. It was a terrible wrench for her to make the decision, of course, but I think it will work out—’

      ‘I’m sure,’ Jason murmured, effectively cutting her off yet again, and Emily gave him a knowing look.

      ‘So sorry to bother you with details, but I thought you kept tabs on your employees’ lives? Or just the ones who make the social pages?’

      ‘I’m more concerned about how a social scandal reflects on Kingsley Engineering,’ Jason replied, ‘rather than the hows or whys of a cleaning lady taking the day off for her elderly mum.’ He gestured for her to keep speaking. ‘But do go on. It’s fascinating how you take such an interest in other people’s lives.’

      Emily felt herself flush. Was that a criticism? And while she’d been high-spirited on occasion, she’d never involved herself in an actual scandal. Although she supposed high-spirited and scandal were synonymous in Jason’s view. ‘I suppose,’ she told him rather pointedly, ‘it’s what makes me good at HR.’

      ‘Absolutely, among other things.’ He smiled, a proper one, not just a little quirk of his lips, revealing a dimple in one cheek. She’d forgotten about that dimple, forgotten when Jason smiled properly his eyes turned the colour of honey. They were normally brown, just as his hair was brown. Brown and boring. Except when he smiled. Abruptly, Emily turned back to the table. She could tell Jason was watching her, felt his assessing gaze sweep over her. Strange, how you could feel someone watching you.

      ‘Are you planning Stephanie’s wedding, as well?’ he asked now. ‘Some big fancy do?’

      Emily turned around, brushing another unruly strand of hair from her eyes. ‘The wedding? Heavens, no. That’s far above my capabilities. And she’s having it back home where she grew up.’

      ‘But you’ll be there, won’t you? Maid of honour, I suppose?’

      ‘As a matter of fact, yes.’

      Jason’s smile deepened, and so did his dimple. Something flashed in his eyes, something dark and unsettling. ‘And you’ll dance, won’t you? At the wedding?’ His voice had dipped to a husky murmur, a tone Emily didn’t think she’d ever heard him use before, a tone that brushed across her senses with a shiver. She frowned, then froze as she realised just what Jason was alluding to with that little murmured remark… . Jack and Isobel’s wedding, when they’d danced, and she had been seventeen years old and very, very silly. In the seven years since that episode had occurred, Jason had never mentioned it. Neither had she. She’d assumed he’d forgotten it—just as she had. Almost … until now. Now it was suddenly taking up far too much space in her brain.

      ‘Of course,’ she said after a moment, her voice light. She decided to ignore any implication he might have been making. They hardly needed to talk about that unfortunate episode now. ‘I love to dance.’ She glanced at him again and, despite her now almost twenty-five years, she felt every inch the gauche girl she’d been at that wedding. She’d made such a fool of herself, but at least she could laugh about it now. She would laugh about it.

      ‘I know,’ Jason said, his voice still no more than a murmur. ‘I remember how we danced.’ The corner of his mouth quirked up again, only for a second, as his gaze held hers. His eyes really were the most amazing colour … like whisky, or chocolate, but with golden glints… . ‘Don’t you?’ he pressed, a lilt of challenge in his voice.

      So he was going to mention it—and make her mention it, as well. From that knowing glint in his eyes, he intended to tease her about it, although why he’d waited seven years to do so, Emily had no idea. She smiled wryly, determined to ride it out. ‘Ah, yes. How could I forget?’ Jason didn’t say anything, and Emily shook her head, rolling her eyes as if it was no more than an amusing little anecdote. It was a silly enough episode, seven years in the past, and surely it had no power to embarrass her now, even if she’d been mortified at the time.

      It was just, Emily told herself, that they’d never talked about it, not when he’d hired her, not when he’d kissed her cheek at their niece’s baptism, nor when he’d sat at the far end of the table at Christmas dinner. On all of those occasions he’d remained rather remote, and only now was Emily realising how glad she’d been to retain that little distance. Yet here he was now, standing so close, bringing up all these memories, and behaving in a very un-Jasonlike way. It unnerved her.

      She let out a light little laugh and gave him a self-mocking smile. ‘I made quite an idiot of myself over you.’

      Jason arched an eyebrow. ‘Is that how you remember it?’

      Of course he wouldn’t make it easy for her. He never did. Not when she was six, not when she was seventeen, and not even now she was almost twenty-five. She should be used to his lightly mocking smiles, the eloquent arch of a single eyebrow, but somehow with the distance in their professional relationship she’d forgotten. She’d forgotten how much he could affect her.

      ‘You don’t remember?’ she asked, pretending to shudder. ‘That’s a relief, I suppose.’

      Jason didn’t speak for a moment, and Emily busied herself with organising the dirty cutlery into a tidy pile. ‘I remember,’ he finally said, quietly, without any humour at all, and she felt a strange, icy thrill all the way down her spine.

      And suddenly, without either of them saying anything more, Emily felt as if that memory was right there with them, living and breathing and taking all the air. She certainly remembered it, could feel even now how young and happy she’d been—and so very silly.

      Jason had asked her to dance, the obvious and polite thing to do since he was the brother of the groom and she the sister of the bride. He’d been a worldly twenty-nine to her naive seventeen years, and she’d been breathless and giddy from three glasses of champagne when he’d taken her in his arms and led her in a gentle and unthreatening waltz. It had been a dance of duty, and Emily had known it for what it was—she hadn’t even wanted to dance with boring Jason Kingsley in the first place. All he’d ever really done was tease her or scold her.

      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