Page 53 of The Importance of Being Emma
‘How about a coffee?’ I kept my voice low. ‘Or maybe a nightcap?’
He made no answer, just stared down at me.
I swallowed. ‘So . . . do you want to discuss the mentoring? Although it’s very late and I’m whacked.’
‘I just want to thank you for a wonderful evening,’ he said softly. ‘Like this.’
He paused. My lips framed a question, but no words came. Then he reached out and cupped the back of my head, threading his fingers through my hair, spreading his hand wide so that the tip of his thumb brushed the corner of my mouth, over and over, building to a slow, hypnotic rhythm. I looked into his eyes, willing him to stop; but his gaze never wavered. At last, he rested his other hand on my waist, bent his head and kissed me.
I suppose I should have guessed what he was after . . . but I couldn’t, wouldn’t, believe it. The gentle circling of his thumb lulled first my mind into a false sense of security — and then my mouth into an unthinking response.
There was a time, long ago, when a kiss from Mark Knightley had been my life’s ambition. But things happen for a reason. Back then, I could never have appreciated the erotic play of histongue, the skilled caress of his hands, the unspoken invitation to give myself to him completely. Because a man who kissed like that had no intention of spending the night alone.
And, back then, I would probably have mistaken lust for love.
Now, thank God, I could see it all for what it was. A kiss that promised much, but meant little. A kiss that discovered my mouth, but remembered Tamara’s.
And yet . . .
I was lost. Lost to all sense of time. Lost in the heat of his mouth, the scent of his skin, the feel of his body against mine. Each kiss lasted an eternity, but finished too soon. Each kiss left me satisfied, but kept me wanting more.
In a little while, I would end it. I would break away, laugh it off, dismiss it as an error of judgement on his part. An understandable error, perhaps, after a long day that he should have spent withher.
Upstairs, a floorboard creaked.
‘Emma, is that you?’ Dad, sounding anxious.
I would have ended it anyway. I know I would.
* * *
~~MARK~~
‘Emma, is that you?’
At her father’s voice, Emma twisted out of my grasp.
‘I didn’t realise I was a substitute for Tamara ineverything!’ she hissed, before calling out, ‘Yes, Dad, it’s me. And Mark, who’s just leaving.’
I grabbed her arm. ‘Tamara? What’s she got to do with it?’
She glanced nervously at the stairs. ‘Shhh! He’s coming.’
‘For God’s sake, we need to talk.’ I racked my brains for a convincing excuse. ‘Tell him I’m mentoring you for the next hour or so.’
‘Don’t be so bloody ridiculous!’ She wrenched herself away just before Henry appeared at the top of the stairs. He took his time coming down, stopping every so often to fasten his dressing gown more securely or turn up his collar against a non-existent draught. She ignored me and watched his irritatingly slow progress. I could see she was trembling, and I longed to hold her close . . .
‘Had a nice evening, the pair of you?’ Henry said, cautiously navigating the last stair as though it was a ten-foot drop.
I forced a smile. ‘Lovely, and it isn’t over yet. We’re just going to have that long overdue mentoring meeting—’
She cut in with, ‘Oh no, I’m exhausted — and I’m sure you are too. We wouldn’t be able to do it justice, which would be a complete waste of Highbury Foods’ money.’ She gave a hollow laugh and hurried to a safe distance halfway up the stairs, her dress shimmering around her.
Henry nodded. ‘Quite right. And I must say, Mark, you look stressed out. I’m not surprised, all that rich food and then driving at this ungodly hour.’
I looked past him, straight at her. ‘Just a few minutes, Emma, please—’
‘Not tonight,’ she said stonily, avoiding my gaze. ‘Come back in the morning, when you’ve got whatever it is out of your system.’
