The Couple Behind the Headlines

by Lucy King

  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.

  ‘Well,’ she began again, and then her courage clearly failed her because she gave him a shaky kind of smile and made a lame stab at humour. ‘Nothing apart from there being not enough …’

  ‘I see,’ said Jack, nodding slowly and letting his gaze drift over her. Her hair was down and tumbled over her shoulders. The jacket she was wearing fitted her as if she’d been stitched into it and her skirt was tight and short. Her endless legs were bare and he could see her red-varnished toes peeping out of her very high, very sexy shoes. As the memory of how those legs felt wrapped around him flew into his head, desire surged though him, and he pushed himself off the desk. ‘Then I suppose I’d better see what I can do to remedy the situation.’

  Reaching out, he caught her by the waist. Imogen jerked her gaze to his and gasped, but he merely pulled her tight against him and twisted her round to press her against the edge of the desk. And before she got it into her head to demand to know what the hell he thought he was doing, before she could protest about the dozens of people on the other side of the door, and certainly before his common sense could wake up and object, he slammed his mouth down on hers, hot and hard and furious.

  To his grim relief, Imogen put up no resistance. As their tongues met and tangled she moaned and melted against him. Her hands whipped up to bury themselves in his hair and his shot down to the hem of her skirt. Pushing it up, Jack gripped her thighs and lifted her onto the desk.

  She let out a soft whimper and he reminded himself that this was what she’d come here for. This was what she wanted from him. All she’d ever wanted from him, would ever want from him and it would be the last time.

  Imogen tore her mouth from his. ‘You know, I really didn’t come here for sex, Jack,’ she panted.

  ‘Are you sure about that?’ he muttered, slipping his fingers beneath her knickers, stroking her between her legs before thrusting them inside her.

  ‘One hundred per cent,’ she gasped, and as he felt her muscles instantly clench around his fingers another great wave of desire slammed into him.

  ‘Do you want me to stop?’ he said, his voice rough and unsteady with every volatile thing churning around inside him.

  She pressed herself closer. ‘Don’t you dare.’

  As he rubbed and stroked her hands shot to the buckle of his belt and wrenched it open. She yanked his zip down and then shoved his trousers and shorts down and wrapped her hand around the hot, hard length of him.

  Jack inhaled sharply, lurched to one side to grab his wallet, which lay on the desk, and pulled out a condom.

  And then he was tugging her knickers to one side, holding her hips in place and driving into her. He crushed his mouth to hers to swallow her hoarse groan.

  As he pounded into her she clung to his shoulders and wrapped herself around him and his mind blew. It was frantic and raw, her desperation matching his own, and he couldn’t hold himself back. His thrusts became increasingly harder and faster, and then she was whimpering and moaning and letting out a harsh muffled cry and he was coming with a scorching rush of pleasure while she shattered and convulsed around him.

  In the aftermath, with his head buried in the crook of her neck, her body shuddering against his and their ragged breathing the only sounds in the room, Jack shook and something inside him cracked open and fell apart. The vestiges of his crumbling defences vanished, and, with his pulse thundering and drowning out the voice in his head telling him he was insane, he heard himself mutter, ‘Stay.’

  Imogen stilled in Jack’s embrace, her heart slowing right down and the heat and pleasure dissipating like a warm breath in cold air. Something told her he wasn’t talking about right now, and that something made her shiver, despite the heat of the body still plastered against her.

  And come to think of it how the hell had that happened anyway? One minute he’d been all steely calm and icy control while she’d waffled and dithered and generally floundered in bewilderment at his attitude, and the next he’d been grabbing her and ravishing her right here on his desk. While she assisted.

  But whatever the reason for it the intensity of his kisses and the frantic desperation of his movements had been irresistible. It hadn’t been soulless and she couldn’t regret it.

  ‘What?’ she asked, although she wasn’t at all sure she wanted clarification.

  ‘Stay,’ he muttered again.

  ‘I can’t,’ she murmured, fervently hoping that, as she had on so many other occasions, she’d got it wrong and he was only asking her to stay here now. ‘I have to go. Besides, what must your staff be thinking?’

  Jack reached out and tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear. ‘I don’t mean now,’ he said with a crooked little half smile. ‘I mean, don’t go to the States.’

  Briefly, Imogen’s heart sank at the knowledge she’d been right. And then she froze, because to her utter shock it was on the tip of her tongue to throw everything she’d worked for aside and say OK.

  But no, she thought, setting her jaw as she put her hands flat on his chest and gently pushed him back. That wasn’t an option. She’d let her head be turned all her life and it wasn’t going to happen again just because the sex had gone back to being soulful. ‘I have to.’

  With a frown, Jack stepped away and fixed his clothing. ‘No, you don’t.’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘Why?’

  Imogen wriggled off the desk and pulled her skirt down. ‘You wouldn’t understand.’ How could he?

  ‘Try me,’ he said flatly.

  She moved away from him to give herself room to breathe and sat on the arm of the sofa, watching him tuck his shirt into his trousers. ‘Do you have any idea what it’s like to wake up one morning and realise how pointless everything you’ve done is? How little you’ve achieved, despite all the privileges you’ve had?’

  Jack glanced over at her. ‘I guess not.’

  ‘Well, I do. I’ve had pretty much every advantage going and what have I done? Absolutely nothing.’ She ran her hands through her hair and then crossed her arms. ‘I messed up at school, partied my way through my early twenties, the only jobs being a bit of modelling and writing the occasional article. It’s shameful.’ She tilted her head and regarded him thoughtfully. ‘You know, you were right when you accused me of being shallow and vacuous.’

  ‘I wasn’t, and you’re not,’ he muttered and stalked over to a cabinet in one corner of his office.

  ‘I have been. But I’m not going to be any more.’

  Whipping round, he held up a decanter of what she presumed was either whiskey or brandy. ‘Want one?’ he said.

  ‘No, thanks.’

  He poured himself a large measure and knocked it back in one. ‘Fine,’ he said curtly. ‘So study here.’

  Imogen blinked and fought back the urge once again to give in. ‘I’m going to the States, Jack, where I can live and study without the scrutiny of the press.’

  ‘Stay and I’ll protect you from it.’

  ‘You can’t. You know what they’re like. Over there I’m a nobody. They won’t give a toss about my past or who I am. They’ll leave me alone. That would never happen here.’


  His jaw tightened. ‘I’ll think of something.’

  Imogen sighed and sat up straighter. ‘Look, Jack,’ she said, deciding she needed to be firm, more for her sake than his, ‘this has been fun, could still be fun for another couple of months if we go back to the way things were before, but I’m not going to throw this opportunity away. This may be my only chance and I’m not going to blow it. Certainly not on a whim.’

  For a moment there was silence as Jack simply stared at her. He went still, his face draining of all colour so swiftly that she wondered if he was all right.

  And then it was as if he sort of exploded. The glass he’d been gripping flew across the room, crashed against the wall and shattered. Imogen jolted, her heart thundering with shock.

  Colour slashed across his cheekbones. Fire blazed in his eyes and waves of anger rolled off him. He took a step towards her, then stopped and thrust his hands in his pockets as if not trusting himself not to throttle her. ‘You think this is a whim?’ he said roughly. ‘You think asking you to stay is easy for me to do?’

  Imogen blanched in the face of his fury and struggled to work out the reason for it. ‘Why wouldn’t it be?’ she said, genuinely baffled. ‘Things come easy to you and you’re used to getting your own way.’

  He glared at her. ‘Things don’t come easy to me and nothing since I met you has gone my way. Nothing.’

  At his scathing tone, through all the shock and the bafflement, Imogen felt her own anger begin to stir. ‘And that’s my fault?’

  He let out a harsh, humourless laugh. ‘Oh, no. Don’t worry. It’s all been entirely my own fault. Everything from getting involved with you in the first place to the foolish hope that you might want to stick around.’

  She flinched. ‘Did I ever give you the impression I would?’

  ‘No. It was stupid of me. Incredibly stupid. But then that’s nothing new when it comes to you.’