A Night of No Return

For him, it hadn’t been special, had it? It hadn’t really been about her at all, even though it had been her name he’d spoken in the heat of the moment. She wasn’t foolish enough to pretend it had been personal. For him, it had been nothing more than a temporary escape. She’d offered distraction at a time when he’d needed it most, a woman who’d happened to be there when he was in trouble. She was his employee—Emma’s smile vanished and she felt a sudden rush of panic as reality bloomed.

Oh God, she’d slept with her boss. What had she been thinking?

Sleeping with the boss wasn’t incredible, it was stupid.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

She, of all people, knew just how foolish that was. How could she have been so reckless? She was always professional. Always. She was always careful not to step over that line.

Emma shot out of bed on legs that shook and grabbed the clothes she’d left drying in front of the fire. Afraid that he might reappear at any moment she dressed in a flash, a surprising achievement considering that her hands were shaking as much as her legs. Switching on her phone, she saw that it was eight a.m. And she already had five missed calls from Jamie.

Oh God, Jamie.

It was like a thump in her stomach. The warm glow that had surrounded her when she’d woken had vanished and all that was left was cold panic.

What had she done? From the moment she’d put her hand on Lucas’s shoulder, she hadn’t given her life a single thought. It had all been about the moment, not about what would happen afterwards. With a groan of remorse, she sank onto the edge of the bed.

‘This looks like a serious case of morning-after regret to me.’ A dark male drawl came from the doorway and Emma gave a start because she’d been hoping for some time to pull herself together before having to face him and now there was no hope of that.

This was a scenario she’d never had to handle before and she was clueless.

She looked at him and felt her stomach drop. He was insanely attractive. Not just good-looking, but truly gorgeous in a deliciously sexy, bad boy sort of way, with those strands of dark hair flopping over his forehead and his jaw unshaven. Was it wrong to wish he hadn’t decided to leave the bed before she woke? Wrong to wish they’d woken together?

Sex with him had been unforgettable.

And that was the problem.

He was her boss. She had to forget it. She had to ignore that tiny, ridiculous part of her that just wanted to resign on the spot and see if this thing between them could go somewhere. She had to ignore that part of her that wanted to forget the professional so that they could pursue the personal. That would have been crazy and impulsive and she was neither of those things. She had responsibilities. Commitments. She always made sensible decisions and the sensible decision was to lock last night away in her brain and forget it had ever happened. She had to forget everything personal that she knew about him.

The question was—how?

She wondered if he was asking himself the same question but one glance at his face told her that he wasn’t. There was no doubt or uncertainty there. Nothing that suggested that what they’d shared had meant anything to him but a way of getting through a bad time. There was no evidence now of the unspeakable agony she’d witnessed the night before. Whatever dark, savage emotions had gripped him in the bitter cold of the night had been chased away by the morning light. Lucas Jackson was back in control, those secrets buried deep under layers of self-discipline.

She, however, felt emotionally and physically wrecked.

He was already dressed, in black jeans and a black sweater that added emphasis to powerful shoulders. His choice of clothes was casual, and yet there was still an innate sophistication about him, an effortless style that was evident in everything he did.

Through her moment of panic came the memories. Memories of how those shoulders had felt under her fingers, the ripple of male muscle and hard strength. Memories of how it had felt to touch him and be touched. Strange, she thought, how even that unscheduled glimpse of vulnerability hadn’t seemed like weakness. There was nothing weak about this man.

They hadn’t even talked about it, she realised. Not really. All she knew was that he blamed himself for the death of his daughter. Other than that she had no details and, judging from the grim set of his mouth, he had no intention of offering any.

This was the man she knew. The Lucas Jackson she recognised. And of course that made it worse, because this man was her boss.

Which really only left her with one course of action.

Emma stood up slowly, as if by taking her time a miracle might happen and she might somehow know what to say. And he was obviously waiting for her to speak. That intense blue gaze, always more perceptive than most people’s, held hers for longer than was comfortable. And although it seemed shallow to care about such things, she was acutely conscious of how appalling she must look. She had that exhausted, gritty-eyed feeling that followed a night of seriously reduced sleep so she knew she’d be pale. And she knew she’d look rumpled because, although she’d pulled on clothes, she hadn’t had time to do more than smooth her hair and after the way he’d treated it the night before it tumbled in a wild mess over her shoulders.