Highly Unsuitable: Mr and Mischief / The Darkest of Secrets / The Undoing of de Luca. Kate Hewitt

of hair behind her ear. His fingers didn’t even linger this time. Yet still it was enough for Emily to expel a breath in a ragged rush she couldn’t quite control. ‘Perhaps,’ Jason murmured, ‘I should start by kissing you.’ Emily swallowed. Audibly. ‘This time,’ he told her, touching her chin with his fingertips, ‘you won’t ask me what it was for.’

      Emily let out a shaky little laugh. ‘Since you’ve already told me your intention, I won’t have to.’

      ‘Good.’ And then he did kiss her, finally, and it was as unlike the last time as anything Emily could have imagined. There was nothing tentative about this kiss, nothing tenuous or tender or hesitant. This kiss was hot, hard, a searing brand that told Emily more than anything Jason had said or done just what he wanted to do. What he would do.

      That she was his.

      Her mouth opened under his, and she gasped aloud as his tongue plunged inside, an erotic mimicry of what would surely come later. And even though Jason didn’t move his hands or body or touch her in any other way, Emily was on fire. Liquid fire, her insides melting, her hands reaching up to grasp the lapels of his shirt, pressing closer to him, revelling in the feel of his body next to hers, hard against soft.

      Jason broke the kiss with a smile; Emily felt his lips curve against hers. ‘Oh, no, Emily,’ he said softly. ‘We’re not rushing this.’

      He called this rushing? Emily’s face was flushed, her breathing already ragged, as if she’d just done a sprint. Or ten. Her hands were still fisted in his shirt. How could he look so unruffled? So in control?

      But then Jason had always been in control. He was certainly calling the shots now. She was at his mercy, under his command.

      ‘Fine,’ she managed, shaking her hair over her shoulders. ‘Take your time.’

      Jason laughed softly. ‘Oh, I will,’ he assured her. ‘I will.’ He moved around her, his head cocked as if he were studying her. Underneath that steady, assessing gaze Emily felt suddenly vulnerable, conscious of the skimpiness of her form-fitting cocktail dress, the black silk hugging her rather generous curves. What was Jason thinking? Why was he looking at her so … thoroughly?

      ‘You’re beautiful,’ he said. The words were spoken with such simple sincerity that Emily quivered. She’d been told she was beautiful before; her father said it all the time. She’d accepted it, taken it for granted even, yet she hadn’t really felt it. Believed it. But she did when Jason told her in that honest, heartfelt tone. His voice echoed through her, filled her up to overflowing.

      ‘Thank you,’ she whispered, because she didn’t know what else to say. ‘You’re not too bad yourself.’

      Jason laughed softly. ‘You’re rather grudging with your compliments, aren’t you?’ He stood behind her now, and she felt his breath tickle the back of her neck. She tried not to shiver, but she could not suppress the urge, and when Jason pressed his lips to her nape she gasped aloud. She hadn’t expected that, or for his hands to span her waist, sliding over the silk of her dress so he fitted her against him, and she leaned back, yielding to his touch.