The Couple Behind the Headlines (19 page)

‘When do you leave?’

‘August. To give me time to settle in and things.’

As something in his chest tightened Jack turned his back on her before his expression of careful neutrality cracked, and dropped a handful of linguine into the pan of boiling water.

‘I see,’ he muttered.

And he did, because it was blindingly clear. There he’d been, tentatively thinking he might like something more with her, and all along Imogen had been making plans to leave.

Wishing he could kick himself, Jack felt a strange kind of numbness seep through him. How the hell could he have been such a fool? How could he have ignored the one rule he’d sworn to live by, and made the disastrous mistake of confusing sex and emotion?

And what on earth made him think he was entitled to even a sliver of happiness anyway? Had he learned
nothing
from the past? He’d been nuts to even allow himself to go there.

Well, whatever, he thought grimly, throwing the bowl of marinated prawns into the frying pan and focusing on the sizzle instead of the thousands of tiny sharp arrows stabbing at his chest. At least he hadn’t made a complete idiot of himself and spilled out his news first.

Feeling his blood freeze at the thought of how close he’d come to doing just that, he buried all the blossoming thoughts he’d foolishly and recklessly let poke their way through his defences. He wouldn’t be letting them out again. Ever.

And just in case they dared try when he wasn’t paying attention, he’d do what he’d done when as a child he’d begged his mother to spend time with him and she’d told him to go and bother someone else. He’d do what he’d done every time his grandparents had shot him one of their disapproving looks,
every time one of the au pairs he’d come to adore had left and never come back.

He’d shut himself down.

‘So what was it you wanted to say?’ said Imogen, leaning over, peering into the pan and sighing appreciatively, her breast brushing against his arm.

Blocking out everything apart from his body’s physical reaction to her proximity, Jack shrugged, shook his head and gave her the kind of smouldering smile he’d spent years perfecting. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ he said coolly, as if nothing had changed even though it irrevocably had. ‘It can wait.’

Until hell froze over.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

‘G
OOD
afternoon, can I help you?’

Now there was a question.

Imogen stood in front of the reception desk at Jack’s Mayfair office and looked down at the receptionist who was regarding her with a pleasant but neutral expression.

She definitely needed help of some sort, because lately she’d been at a complete loss as to what was going on between her and Jack, and if the situation continued she’d go nuts.

The only thing she knew for certain was that over the past few months things between them had changed. She couldn’t put her finger on what exactly, but ever since she’d told him she was off to the States he’d become sort of cold. Distant and withdrawn. It was as if he’d closed off the fun, warm part of him, and nothing she did—and she’d tried everything—seemed to be able to open it up again.

They’d carried on seeing each other, but a lot less frequently than in the beginning. In fact, they’d gone from meeting up two or three times a week to once, if she was lucky. In the past month they’d got together four times, and every one of those had been at her suggestion.

To her increasing distress and confusion there’d been no romantic dinners, no laughter and no warm teasing. Just sex. It was still explosively intense sex, but it had been becoming increasingly soulless—at least to her mind—and she couldn’t work out why.

It had briefly occurred to her that given the timing it might have had something to do with her leaving, but the minute the thought had popped into her head she’d deemed it ridiculous and had discarded it. Jack had told her that he could promise her nothing but sex, and she saw no reason why he’d have changed his mind. So she’d assumed it must be something else. Something to do with his work, maybe. A friend. Or even his mother.

But whatever the cause for it, Jack was freezing her out and she didn’t like it one little bit. She missed the warmth and the laughter. She missed their conversations. The more he retreated, the more she missed him, and, although she knew it shouldn’t, it hurt.

The last straw had been his reply to the email she’d sent him earlier asking if he wanted to meet up this evening. ‘Fine’ had been his one-word answer, and she’d suddenly had enough of being on the receiving end of such icy indifference without knowing the reason for it. Which was why the minute she’d finished work she’d walked out into the warm sunshine and headed straight here. Whatever was going on she had an all-consuming need to know. Right now.

‘Is Jack Taylor available?’ she asked.

The professional smile and cool expression remained in place. ‘Do you have an appointment, Miss—?’

‘Christie. Imogen Christie.’

‘Oh, yes,’ said the receptionist, her smile brightening as the cool facade vanished. ‘We’ve spoken on the phone. It’s nice to meet you in person.’

‘Likewise. Hannah, isn’t it?’

‘That’s right. Jack’s out at the moment, but he shouldn’t be long,’ she said, glancing at the clock on the wall behind her. ‘You’re welcome to wait in his office if you’d like.’

Imogen nodded and smiled. She most definitely would like. ‘Thank you.’

Jack was in a filthy mood. He was tense, on edge and the lousy meeting he’d just screwed up hadn’t helped.

There was no point whatsoever wondering what the matter was. This time he didn’t bother asking himself if he was coming down with a cold. Or the flu. Or even pneumonia. He knew perfectly well what was wrong with him. As much as he’d struggled against it, as much as he might wish for anything but, he’d come down with a bad case of Imogen.

Climbing out of the taxi and striding up the steps to his office, he shoved his hands through his hair and scowled.

Why the hell was it so hard to cut her out of his life? God knew he’d tried. The morning after she’d revealed her plans he’d ruthlessly wiped all her contact details from his phone and his computer. He’d removed every trace of her from his flat and told himself he couldn’t care less what she did or where she went. That in fact he’d had a narrow and extremely lucky escape.

For a day or two it had worked beautifully, helped by some unexpected news coming out of Asia that sent the markets into a spin and demanded every ounce of his concentration.

As Imogen hadn’t crossed his mind once, he’d assumed he’d got over her and had congratulated himself on a job well done. But then she’d called him. She’d asked if he wanted to meet up, and with the way his pulse had leapt and his resistance had caved in he might as well not have bothered going to all those lengths to forget her.

None of the precautions he’d taken had made a scrap of difference on any of the other occasions she contacted him, either, because the minute he heard her voice, images of her, conversations they’d had and the laughter they’d shared slammed into his head and he couldn’t help wanting to see her again.

He’d told himself that as long as he kept things strictly to sex he’d retain control and he’d be fine. But he wasn’t fine, because keeping things strictly to sex, seeing the permanent
bewilderment on her face at his deliberately cold demeanour, was just about killing him.

He hated it, he realised, pushing through the revolving glass door, his head pounding. All of it. He hated the fallibility of the will power and inner strength he’d always taken for granted. He hated the loss of control and the volatility of the stuff churning around inside him and the fact that he couldn’t seem to stay away from her. Most of all he hated the indisputable truth that she was leaving and there wasn’t a bloody thing he could do about it.

‘Ah, Jack …?’

He stopped, halfway across the lobby, and glared at Hannah. ‘Yes?’ he snapped.

Her eyebrows shot up at his tone and a pang of remorse thumped him in the gut. Whatever was going on inside him it wasn’t his receptionist’s fault. ‘Sorry,’ he muttered. ‘What is it?’

‘Imogen’s here.’

Jack froze as the blood roared in his ears. Imogen was here? Why? She’d never visited before. And how the hell was he supposed to cut her out of his life if she took to invading his space like this?
Hell
. ‘Where is she?’

‘I told her she could wait in your office.’

‘Thanks. Make sure we’re not disturbed.’ He gave Hannah a dazzling smile to make up for the way he’d growled at her and swivelled on his heel.

As he strode down the corridor, his heart thumping with who knew what, Jack realised that for the first time in his life he had absolutely no idea what to do. He was all at sea, most likely on a collision course with disaster, and it was terrifying.

He stopped stock still in the middle of the passageway, his pulse racing. Terrifying?
Terrifying?
Since when had he ever been terrified—or even remotely scared—of anything? He frowned and with great effort pulled himself together. This was getting ridiculous.

Shoving his hands through his hair, he told himself to calm down, because the notion that he was all at sea was absurd. He was blowing what was really nothing more than a niggling little problem completely out of proportion. All he needed to do was find out what Imogen wanted and then send her on her way. Simple.

Reminding himself that this was
his
turf and that
he
was in control, he sprang forwards, continued down the corridor and opened the door to his office. As he shut it behind him and closed the blinds to give them privacy he was aware of Imogen jumping up from the sofa and spinning round.

Deliberately not looking at her, Jack strode across the wide expanse of carpet and perched on the edge of his desk. And only when he was sure he was fully prepared, only when he’d braced himself against the mind-boggling effect she always seemed to have on him, did he do so.

He folded his arms across his chest and regarded her with a steely coolness because the last thing his mind needed right now was boggling. ‘So to what do I owe this honour?’ he drawled.

He watched her throat move as she clearly swallowed back a bunch of nerves and told himself he didn’t care how nervous she was, nor why. Then her eyes, filled with the bewilderment and uncertainty he’d seen a lot over the past few weeks, locked onto his and he set his jaw, because he didn’t care about that, either.

‘You said you were up for meeting,’ she said.

‘I assumed you meant later.’

‘Do you have a moment now?’

The rest of his afternoon was free, but nevertheless Jack glanced at his watch. ‘I can give you ten minutes.’

Imogen frowned and gave a little nod, then she pulled her shoulders back and lifted her chin. ‘I’d like to know what’s going on,’ she said coolly.

Jack arched an eyebrow. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, with us.’

‘I’m afraid I’m going to need a bit more to go on than that.’

She tilted her head and stared at him as if trying to work out whether he was being deliberately obtuse or genuinely didn’t know. ‘Haven’t you noticed things are different?’

Jack wasn’t sure he could work it out, either, so he shrugged as if he genuinely didn’t have a clue. ‘Different how?’

‘I don’t know,’ she muttered. ‘Just strange.’ She frowned, bit her lip and then fixed him with a fierce look. ‘I don’t get it. What happened? What changed? Did I do something wrong?’

Jack felt his jaw tighten but he was pretty sure that was his only reaction to her string of questions. He knew his expression was unreadable and his eyes were flat because it was a look he’d become adept at adopting over the years. ‘Does it matter?’

‘It shouldn’t, but strangely it does.’

‘Why?’ he drawled, stamping down hard on the hope that surged through him at that. ‘You’re leaving. What do you care?’

She took a quick, deep breath. ‘Look, if you want to finish things, Jack, then all you have to do is say. I’m a big girl. I can take it.’

‘I don’t.’ The words were out before he could stop them, and as he watched the tension in her body ease a little, it struck him that if he wanted to remain in control of this conversation he was going to have to be very careful.

‘So you want to carry on?’ she asked.

‘Do you?’

‘I still have a while before I have to leave, so, yes, of course I do. But not like this.’

‘Like what?’

Imogen let out a sigh. ‘Well, the sex …’ she began and then tailed off, her cheeks reddening.

Jack went cold. Of course. That was what this boiled down to. Sex. It always had and he’d been an idiot to think that she
might have come here for anything else. To think she might actually be missing him or something. ‘What’s wrong with it?’ he said flatly.