A Night of No Return

He’d been asleep and she hadn’t woken him.

Instead, she’d covered him with a blanket and checked on him a few times while she quietly got on with her work.

He probably didn’t even know who had put the blanket there. Either way, neither of them had ever referred to it.

Reaching up, she removed the rest of the streamers and the balloons.

It had been exactly this week. It might even have been the same date. She remembered because it was the same time that she took her holiday every year.

She stood, holding a bouquet of unwanted festivity as she thought it through.

Was it a coincidence that he was drunk again? Yes, probably. It was a busy time and everyone was entitled to let their hair down from time to time. Even the ruthlessly focused Lucas.

Emma clenched her jaw and stabbed the balloons with her car keys until they popped. It was none of her business.

But what if it wasn’t coincidence that he’d chosen to drink alone on the same night last year? What if it wasn’t coincidence that a man who forgot nothing chose this night to forget important documents?

She gathered up the last of the streamers until the only remaining evidence of the unwanted party was the uncut cake and the empty glasses.

With a murmur of frustration, she glanced over her shoulder towards the stairs.

This was one of those situations where she couldn’t win. If she left she’d worry and if she stayed she ran the risk of being shouted at again. Or worse.

Her cheeks heated. What if he thought she’d stayed for a different reason? She wasn’t stupid enough to think he hadn’t noticed the way she’d reacted to him earlier. Lucas Jackson had far too much experience with women not to have noticed. Her only hope was that he was too drunk to remember. That, by morning, the single breathless moment when she’d forgotten to think of him as her boss would have been drowned out by other more important memories. And if he did happen to remember it, with luck he’d dismiss it as a figment of his imagination. A memory spun by alcohol, not reality. Her own behaviour would support that belief because at work she was always careful never, ever to stray into the realms of personal.

Looking out of the window, she saw that the snow was still falling.

She’d stay another half an hour, she decided. She’d check on him one more time, hopefully without him even noticing her, just as she’d done the last time. And then she’d leave him to his snowy solitude.

CHAPTER THREE

LUCAS stood under the shower while needles of icy water stung his skin. He was undoubtedly drunk but, instead of being numbed, his senses appeared heightened. He was having thoughts he absolutely should not be having and he blamed that on the champagne. Thank goodness Emma had walked out when she had, otherwise he might have been tempted to seek an entirely different form of oblivion.

He gave a growl of self-disgust.

Since when had he imagined his PA naked? Never. Not once. But suddenly he found himself tormented by thoughts of dark, shiny hair. He’d wanted to yank out that damn clip and let it tumble free. He’d wanted to sink his hands into it and drown in the softness. He’d wanted to twist it around his fingers and hold her captive while he drank from that soft, innocent mouth to see if she were the cure he’d been looking for.

And he shouldn’t want any of those things.

Cursing softly, he leaned his shoulders against the cool tiles, closed his eyes and let the water slide over his head.

He shouldn’t want to touch her hair and he definitely shouldn’t be thinking about kissing that mouth. Emma worked for him and he wanted her to continue to work for him. And there was no cure for what he was feeling.

It had been a rocky road finding someone suitable to fill the role of his personal assistant—a role that required a multitude of skills. Before Emma he’d had a series of giggling girls for whom work was nothing more than a way to fund their social life. He’d had girls who were overawed by him, girls whose only reason for working late was the wistful hope that their relationship with him might turn into something more intimate. He’d had a male PA who had sadly struggled with the sheer volume of simultaneous projects he’d been expected to handle and an older woman who was a grandmother four times over, but she hadn’t had the stamina to handle the heavy workload and had resigned after a month.

And then he’d discovered Emma. Emma, with her serious brown eyes and her astonishing ability to juggle any number of projects at the same time without complaint. Emma, who never worked with one eye on the clock and had an admirable way of soothing the most frayed of tempers. She was the ultimate professional and it was that dedication to her job, her understanding of the importance of attention to detail, that had brought her out here tonight.

She was a gem.

And he’d shouted at her. And worse, he’d scared her.

His head spinning, Lucas swore under his breath and wondered if he’d remember to send her flowers when he was sober. The irony was, he never sent a woman flowers. Emma did it for him. But he’d have to do something because the last thing he wanted was for her to resign.

Hopefully they would both be able to ignore that single moment when their view of each other had changed and re-establish the normal parameters of their relationship.

Switching off the shower, he grabbed a towel.

He dried himself briefly and then tried to tie the towel around his waist but his fingers were clumsy and uncoordinated so in the end he gave up and dropped the towel on the floor with a frustrated laugh directed towards himself. Too drunk to secure a towel, apparently, but not drunk enough to forget.

Never drunk enough to forget.

The pain was lodged under his ribs like shrapnel that couldn’t be removed. Nothing eased the ache.

Surprised that he could still walk in a straight line, he returned to the bedroom and stopped dead because Emma was standing there.

For a moment he assumed that she was nothing more than a vivid image conjured by an intoxicating mixture of champagne, wishful thinking and inappropriate thoughts.

And then he heard a soft sound escape from her throat.

Her shocked eyes slid down his naked body and widened.

‘Oh my God—’ With a gurgle of horror she slapped her hand over her eyes and turned her head away. ‘Sorry! I’m so sorry. I … What are you doing walking around naked? I can’t believe you just … and I …’ She broke off, hideously embarrassed, and it was that embarrassment that penetrated his fuzzy brain.

Not an image, he thought. An image wouldn’t turn scarlet and have her hands over her eyes.

And he didn’t trust himself to move because suddenly all he wanted to do was give in to that most primitive part of himself, throw her down on the bed and explore a different way of getting through this one night. He wanted her to be the heat that melted the chill inside him. He wanted her warmth and all that was real about her. Instead of being surrounded by ghosts, he wanted human contact. Flesh and blood. Emma.

Hands clenched by his sides, he channelled all his power and strength into standing still. ‘I thought you’d left.’

‘No! I just went downstairs to tidy up and give you some space and—’ Her hand still over her eyes, she snatched in a breath. ‘Are you decent yet?’

‘For God’s sake, Emma, stop overreacting.’ Tension made his voice rougher than he intended. ‘You must have seen a naked man before.’ Jamie, he thought bitterly. She’d seen Jamie.

‘You’re my boss—’ her voice was muffled ‘—I don’t think of you as a man. Or at least I didn’t until … Please can you just get dressed or something? This is not good.’

In other circumstances he might have smiled at her confusion, but a smile was nowhere near his grasp. Instead he walked into the small anteroom he used as a dressing room and grabbed a robe. Any benefit derived from the cold shower had been instantly wiped out by the sight of her. Raw lust mixed uncomfortably with the knowledge that this was one woman he couldn’t have.

He needed to switch it off. He had to switch it off.

However much he’d drunk, this was not going to happen. She was the last woman in the world he wanted to see as—well, as a woman.

Dragging his hand through his wet hair, he prowled back into the room. ‘I presume you came back to tell me you’re snowed in?’

‘I have no idea if I’m snowed in. I haven’t tried to leave.’ Her hand was still over her eyes and Lucas sighed and knotted the cord around his robe firmly. Then he closed his hands over her wrists and tugged firmly at her hands. She kept her eyes screwed tightly shut. ‘Really, I don’t want to—’

‘I’m decent.’ At least on the outside. His thoughts were far from decent but as long as she couldn’t read minds, everything would be fine. Trying to ignore the warmth and softness of her skin against his palms, he let go of her wrists and stepped back for no other reason than the fact he knew he wasn’t sober enough to make good decisions. Distance, he thought. All he had to do was keep his distance. ‘If you’re not snowed in, why are you still here? You left half an hour ago.’

‘I told you, I was clearing up all those balloons and things. I assumed you didn’t want them. And I was worried about you.’ Cautiously, she half opened her eyes and when she saw the robe she relaxed and opened them properly. ‘I was worried that you’d carry on drinking your way through all that champagne, fall face down in the fire and die a hideous death.’