'Emma … I'm really sorry about this. But I'm going to have to go.'
'Go?' I stare at him in dismay. 'What, now?'
'I'm going to have to go away for a few days. I'm sorry.' He sits down beside me on the bench. 'But … it's pretty important.'
'Oh. Oh, right.'
'Sven's ordered a car for you to take you home.'
Great, I think savagely. Thanks a lot, Sven.
'That was really … thoughtful of him,' I say, and trace a pattern in the dirt with my shoe.
'Emma, I really have to go,' says Jack, seeing my face. 'But I'll see you when I get back, OK? At the Corporate Family Day. And we'll … take it from there.'
'OK.' I try to smile. 'That would be great.'
'I had a good time tonight.'
'So did I,' I say, staring down at the bench. 'I had a really good time.'
'We'll have a good time again.' Gently he lifts my chin until I'm looking straight at him, 'I promise, Emma.'
He leans forward and this time there's no hesitation. His mouth lands on mine, sweet and firm. He's kissing me. Jack Harper is kissing me on a park bench.
His mouth is opening mine, his stubble is rough against my face. His arm creeps around me and pulls me towards him, and my breath catches in my throat. I find myself reaching under his jacket, feeling the ridges of muscle beneath his shirt, wanting to rip it off. Oh God, I want this. I want more.
Suddenly he pulls away, and I feel as if I've been wrenched out of a dream.
'Emma, I have to go.'
My mouth is prickly wet. I can still feel his skin on mine. My entire body is throbbing. This can't be the end. It can't.
'Don't go,' I hear myself saying thickly. 'Half an hour.'
What am I suggesting? That we do it under a bush?
Frankly, yes. Anywhere would do. I have never in my life been so desperate for a man.
'I don't want to go.' His dark eyes are almost opaque. 'But I have to.' He takes my hand, and I cling onto his, trying to prolong contact for as long as possible.
'So … I'll … I'll see you.' I can barely talk properly.
'I can't wait.'
'Neither can I.'
'Jack.' We both look up to see Sven at the gate.
'OK,' calls Jack. We stand up and I discreetly look away from Jack's slightly strange posture.
I could ride along in the car and—
No. No. Rewind. I did not think that.
When we reach the road, I see two silver cars waiting by the pavement. Sven is standing by one, and the other is obviously for me. Bloody hell. I feel like I've suddenly become part of the royal family or something.
As the driver opens the door for me, Jack touches my hand briefly. I want to grab him for a final snog, but somehow I manage to control myself.
'Bye,' he murmurs.
'Bye,' I murmur back.
Then I get into the car, the door closes with an expensive clunk, and we purr away.
SIXTEEN
We'll take it from there. That could mean …
Or it could mean …
Oh God. Every time I think about it, my stomach gives an excited little fizz. I can't concentrate at work. I can't think about anything else.
The Corporate Family Day is a company event, I keep reminding myself. Not a date. It'll be a strictly work occasion, and there probably won't be any opportunity at all for Jack and me to do more than say hello in a formal, boss-employee manner. Possibly shake hands. Nothing more.
But … you never know what might happen next.
We'll take it from there.
Oh God. Oh God.
On Saturday morning I get up extra early, exfoliate all over, Immac under my arms, rub in my most expensive body cream and paint my toenails.
Just because it's always a good thing to be well groomed. No other reason.
I choose my Gossard lacy bra and matching knickers, and my most flattering bias cut summer dress.
Then, with a slight blush, I pop some condoms into my bag. Simply because it's always good to be prepared. This is a lesson I learned when I was eleven years old at Brownies, and it's always stayed with me. OK, maybe Brown Owl was talking about spare hankies and sewing kits rather than condoms, but the principle is the same, surely?
I look in the mirror, give my lips a final coat of gloss and spray Allure all over me. OK. Ready for sex.
I mean, for Jack.
I mean … Oh God. Whatever.
The family day is happening at Panther House, which is the Panther Corporation's country house in Hertfordshire. They use it for training and conferences and creative brainstorming days, none of which I ever get invited to. So I've never been here before, and as I get out of the taxi, I have to admit I'm pretty impressed. It's a really nice big old mansion, with lots of windows and pillars at the front. Probably dating from the … older period.
'Fabulous Georgian architecture,' says someone as they crunch past on the gravel drive.
Georgian. That's what I meant.
I follow the sounds of music and walk round the house to find the event in full swing on the vast lawn. Brightly coloured bunting is festooning the back of the house, tents are dotting the grass, a band is playing on a little bandstand and children are shrieking on a bouncy castle.
'Emma!' I look up to see Cyril advancing towards me, dressed as a joker with a red and yellow pointy hat. 'Where's your costume?'
'Costume!' I try to look surprised. 'Gosh! Um … I didn't realize we had to have one.'
This is not entirely true. Yesterday evening at about five o'clock, Cyril sent round an urgent email to everyone in the company, reading: A REMINDER: AT THE CFD, COSTUMES ARE COMPULSORY FOR ALL PANTHER EMPLOYEES.
But honestly. How are you supposed to produce a costume with five minutes' warning? And no way was I going to come here today in some hideous nylon outfit from the party shop.
Plus let's face it, what can they do about it now?
'Sorry,' I say vaguely, looking around for Jack. 'Still, never mind …'