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offhand remark. ‘You said it, not me.’
    ‘You didn’t need to. But, in any case, Claridge’s has had a bit of a remake over the years. You might find it’s the same with me.’ He tossed the keys to the valet and came around to help Emily out of the car, his hand strong and firm as heguided her from the low-slung Porsche—not easy to manage in her stiletto heels and short skirt—and continued to hold her hand as he led her into the restaurant. Emily didn’t protest, although she surely should have. There was something comforting and really rather nice about the way his fingers threaded through hers, his grip sure and strong.
    It reminded her of when she’d been younger, and no matter what she’d done or where she’d gone, she’d trusted implicitly that Jason would be there to save her. Scold her too, undoubtedly, but she’d always known with him she was safe.
    Yet as Jason glanced back at her, his eyes glinting, turning them the colour of dark honey, she had to acknowledge that something about holding Jason’s hand didn’t feel like when she was younger at all. In fact it felt quite different—different enough for a strange new uneasiness to ripple through her, and she smiled and slipped her hand from his as the maître d’ led them to a secluded table in a corner of the iconic restaurant.
    ‘So what’s the occasion, exactly?’ Emily asked as she opened the menu and began to peruse its offerings.
    ‘Occasion?’
    ‘I can’t think the last time you took me out to dinner, if ever.’
    Jason’s lips twitched. ‘There’s a first time for everything.’
    ‘I suppose, but.’ Emily paused, cocking her head as she gazed at Jason; his hair was a little damp and rumpled from the rain and he had an endearingly studious expression on his face as he perused the wine list. She could see the faint shadow of stubble on his jaw, and it made him look surprisingly attractive. Sexy, even, which was ridiculous because she’d never thought of Jason that way—
    Except for that once, and that was
not
going to be repeated.
    ‘Are you checking up on me?’ she asked, and Jason glanced up from the wine list.
    ‘Checking up on you? You sound like you have a guilty conscience, Em. Too many parties?’
    ‘No, it’s just …’ She paused, uncertain how to articulate how odd it was to be here with Jason, almost as if they were on a date. Which was ridiculous, because she knew Jason didn’t think of her that way—hadn’t he proved it on the dance floor seven years ago? Emily was quite sure nothing had changed there.
    Except
she
had changed, of course. She’d grown up and moved long past that silly moment of infatuation with staid, stuffy Jason. And while she was perfectly happy to have dinner with an old family friend, she wasn’t sure she wanted some kind of lecture. Had her father asked Jason to keep an eye on her, now he was back in London for a fair bit? It was quite possible.
    ‘Just no lectures,’ she said, wagging a finger at him, and Jason shook his head.
    ‘I think you’re a little too old for lectures, Em. Unless you misbehave, of course.’ There was something almost wicked about Jason’s smile, his eyes glinting in the candlelit dimness of the room, and Emily felt her stomach dip again. He turned back to the menu and she decided she must have imagined that suggestive undercurrent, that little glimpse of wickedness. There was nothing wicked about Jason Kingsley at all. He was the most law-abiding citizen she had ever known.
    ‘I promise not to,’ she replied, tossing her hair, and Jason beckoned the waiter over to the table to take their orders.
    Emily ordered and then glanced around the room as Jason ordered for himself, a low murmur she didn’t really hear. Most of the diners were businessmen making deals, or well-heeled pensioners. This place really was a little stodgy.
    ‘The chicken? Adventurous, Em,’ Jason said, slanting her an amused look as the waiter left.
    Emily gave him her own