The Couple Behind the Headlines

by Lucy King

  Steeling herself against the pain, Imogen shoved her things in her bag and slung it over her shoulder and left.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  OF COURSE it would be a damn sight easier to make a start on getting over Jack if he weren’t parked outside her house, leaning against the bonnet of his car with his arms crossed, looking dark and haggard and utterly gorgeous.

  Imogen stood frozen to the spot a few feet from her front door, her pulse leaping all over the place as she stared at him. Wow, she thought dazedly, if she’d needed any confirmation that she was in love with him she had it. Her heart was almost bursting with it, and she was suddenly feeling hotter and more breathless than she had during her workout. Every inch of her itched to race up to him and hurl herself into his arms, which only went to prove how very vulnerable she was right now. With her recent self-discovery—and all its implications—so fresh in her mind, she felt raw and exposed and deeply unsettled.

  Why was he here? What did he want? And why was she just standing there like a lemon?

  This was a situation she’d imagined a dozen times but now it was actually happening she found she had no idea how to handle it. Swallowing back the ball of panic that lodged in her throat, Imogen tried to figure out the best approach. In the absence of anything else she settled for doing nothing and willed herself to calm down. Let him make the first move, she thought firmly. She might be crazy about him but he was the one in the wrong.

  After what felt like aeons, Jack pushed himself off his car and slowly walked towards her. With every step he took everything around her—the row of mews houses, the cobbled street, the faint rumble of traffic—became increasingly blurry until he stopped in front of her and everything but him disappeared completely.

  ‘Hi,’ he said, and her stomach flipped at the lopsided smile he gave her.

  ‘Hi.’ Imogen shifted her weight from one foot to the other and resisted the urge to give herself a good kick as she did so, because, lopsided smile or no lopsided smile, her stomach had no business flipping. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘I wanted to talk.’

  ‘Haven’t you said enough?’

  At her cool, detached tone, Jack flinched and she made herself ignore it because as far as she was concerned, cool and detached was an excellent way to handle this.

  ‘Not nearly,’ he said. ‘May I come in?’

  And have him invading her space and scrambling her senses once again? ‘I don’t think so.’

  He rubbed a hand along his jaw and nodded briefly. ‘OK, well, I guess here is as good a place as any.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘The apology I owe you.’

  Imogen shrugged as if she didn’t have a clue what he was talking about. ‘An apology? What for?’

  Jack frowned. ‘What I said about your father pulling strings to get you into university … It was unforgivable.’

  And despite her best efforts she couldn’t help her pathetically weak heart softening a little. ‘Oh, that,’ she said and then jutted her chin up in an effort to counterbalance the melting that was going on in her chest. ‘He didn’t, you know. I had to write three essays, take a couple of exams and get endless references. It wasn’t easy.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Why would you think he had?’

  Jack sighed. ‘I didn’t. Not really.’

  ‘Then why say it?’

  ‘I asked you to stay. You said no. I didn’t like it.’

  She stared at him in surprise. Had her refusal hurt? Had it really mattered that much? She reran their last conversation, this time from his point of view, and felt an instant stab of shame. She’d been so busy concentrating on how she’d been feeling that she hadn’t considered his feelings at all, had she? In all honesty she hadn’t thought he had any. But of course he did. Who didn’t? So if her rejection of his request that she stay had hurt, then that certainly made sense of his reaction. And if that was the case, then what other feelings might he have?

  Imogen’s heart began to pound as her fragile steeliness crumpled and a kernel of hope cracked open inside her. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said.

  ‘Don’t be.’

  ‘I had no idea.’

  ‘Why would you?’

  ‘I should have thought.’

  ‘It was selfish of me to ask you not to go. But anyway, I overreacted.’ He gave her a funny little smile that made her heart squeeze. ‘As you may have guessed, I have a slight issue with rejection.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘People I care about have a habit of leaving me.’ He took a deep breath and shoved his hands in his pockets. ‘My mother, all those nannies, and now you …’

  Imogen’s breath caught in her throat and her heart skipped a beat. ‘You care about me?’ How much? she was desperate to know, but didn’t dare ask.

  ‘Of course.’ He smiled and looked so deeply into her eyes that she went dizzy with hope. ‘Which is why I’ve come up with a solution that I think could be workable.’

  A solution that could be workable? As his words sank in Imogen blinked and her heart rate slowed right down. The phrase ricocheted around her head and rearranged itself in a dozen different ways. But whichever way she looked at it a workable solution didn’t sound like the answer to all her recently acknowledged dreams and it didn’t sound like the declaration of love she’d secretly been longing for.

  Bewilderment and disappointment ripped through her with such force that her knees nearly gave way. ‘Oh?’ she said, because that she was all she could manage.

  ‘Yes,’ he said, completely unaware of the tumultuous effect his words had had on her if the dazzling smile he gave her was anything to go by. ‘I’ve been thinking about this. You won’t be studying all the time. There are long weekends. Holidays. And I often have to travel to New York on business. We might rack up the air miles and our phone bills would probably be astronomical, but we could make this work.’

  For a moment all she could do was stare at him. Helplessly gaze into those gorgeous blue serious eyes as something inside her fractured.

  Oh, what an idiot she was. Had she really expected a declaration of undying love? A heart-wrenching profession he couldn’t live without her? How could she be so deluded? Jack might have thought he’d upped his game and presented her with the ideal solution, but really all he was proposing was a fling on equal terms.

  Agreeing to it would be the mark of insanity. It would mean having to live with the emotional turmoil of dizzying highs and crushing lows. There’d be the rush of the novelty of it in the beginning, but then gradually when other things began to crop up—as they surely would—and they stopped crossing the Atlantic so often, she’d have to deal with the distressing fizzling out of it and the inevitable agonising end. And she’d be left heartbroken.

  As Jack would never be able to give her what she wanted and as she wasn’t prepared to accept anything less than everything, there was nothing to be done, she realised with depressing finality. The only consolation she had was that at least he didn’t know how she felt.

  ‘So?’ he asked, giving her a smile that looked surprisingly uncertain.

  With self-preservation now uppermost in her mind, Imogen took a deep breath and said, ‘No.’

  For a second he just blinked at her, as if unable to believe she’d turned him down again. ‘No?’ he echoed, the smile vanishing and his jaw tightening. ‘Why not?’

  ‘I’m sorry. I just can’t.’

  ‘I think I deserve a bit more than that, don’t you?’ he said, suddenly looking so aloof that she wished she could box away all her concerns, say yes to his suggestion, and make him smile that gorgeous smile again.

  But she ignored the temptation and said coolly, ‘Look, Jack, let’s face it. It’s a nice idea, but it wouldn’t work.’

  ‘What makes you so sure?’

  ‘If we did embark on a long-distance affair, we’d be apart more than we’d be together.’ She paused, then looked him straight in the eye and went for the easy way o
ut. ‘And I don’t know if I could trust you.’

  Long seconds of silence passed. ‘What?’ he said softly, his air of detachment vanishing as his expression turned thunderous. ‘What the hell makes you think you couldn’t trust me?’

  Imogen forced herself not to flinch at his anger, and hardened her heart. ‘Well, for one thing, you’re not exactly known for your staying power when it comes to relationships.’

  ‘I’ve never had one,’ he snapped.

  ‘Precisely.’

  ‘What’s your point, Imogen?’

  ‘Do you really think that absence makes the heart grow fonder? Because I don’t. Don’t forget,’ she continued doggedly, ‘I went out with Max for months, Jack, and he was having an affair with my best friend right under my nose. With what you’re suggesting we’d be thousands of miles apart for days on end and that means that there’d be even more of a risk.’

  ‘I’m not Max,’ he said, sounding as though he were gritting his teeth.

  ‘Maybe not, but give me one good reason I could trust you.’

  Even though she’d only brought up the whole trust thing as a way to hide what she really had an issue with, it now seemed of paramount importance. All she needed was one tiny glimmer of proof that he was serious about this. That he more than cared about her. That she was good for more than an extended fling and that he could be in this for the long haul.

  But he blinked. Hesitated.

  And in that brief nanosecond of uncertainty, as she saw the shadow that flitted across his face, everything inside her shattered.

  ‘You can’t, can you?’ she said, her voice breaking beneath the pain and disappointment flooding through her.

  ‘Do you see me demanding proof that I can trust you?’ he said flatly, and then his voice turned colder, harder, infinitely more cynical. ‘You know, you really need to get over the whole Max thing. It’s pathetic.’

  ‘And you need to get over your phobia of commitment,’ she fired back, all the emotions churning around inside her surging up to voice what was really at the heart of this. ‘History doesn’t have to repeat itself.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  As they stood there bristling at each other it struck her that they were at a stalemate. Jack had taken as many steps forward as he was able to, and she certainly wasn’t going to take any when it would achieve nothing but her own humiliation.

  ‘Well, you can rest assured that for me it won’t,’ she said, and then added with a bitter laugh, ‘Who knows? When I get to the States, I might find a nice American who can give me what I want. Who I can trust.’

  Jack’s expression was stony, his eyes unreadable, his body tense. ‘Then they’re welcome to you.’

  And with the devastating knowledge that this was it and there really was nothing left for her here now, the fight and the hope drained out of her. ‘I think you’d better go,’ she said dully.

  He stepped back, so icy and distant that she wondered if she’d ever known him. ‘Don’t worry. I’m going. I must have been mad to come here in the first place.’

  ‘Then I doubt you’ll be wanting an invitation to my leaving party.’

  ‘I can’t think of anything I’d want less,’ he said, and with that he threw her one last unfathomable glance, swivelled on his heel and strode back to his car.

  Around the corner, and out of sight and earshot, Jack killed the engine and punched the steering wheel. Hard.

  Damn it all. What had just happened there? And what had happened to his decision to put things right? Put things right? Hah. Things had imploded so spectacularly they couldn’t have gone any more wrong.

  With hindsight he should never have acted on the reckless desire to sort things out with Imogen once and for all and head straight here after his drink with Luke. He should have gone home and given himself the evening to perfect his plan.

  Although, while it might have been a bit hastily cobbled together, in all honesty he didn’t think the proposal he’d put forward could be much more perfect. Imogen had made it clear that despite not wanting anything permanent she’d wanted more than just sex, so his suggestion should have been ideal.

  So why had she turned it down? Why did he get the feeling that he’d somehow disappointed her? And how had things descended into that ridiculous argument?

  Jack raked his hands through his hair and scowled out into the darkness as he tried to figure it out.

  Had her objection really only been down to trust? Because if it had then why hadn’t he simply told her he loved her? She’d asked for a reason to trust him, and surely that was an excellent one. Why had he hesitated? Had it simply been the fact that he’d been stung she’d even had to ask, or was it that he’d realised that perhaps she had a point because how could she trust him when, having never been in this position before, he had no idea if he could trust himself?

  But that was absurd. Of course he could trust himself. He loved her. Insanely. So insanely that the idea of going off with another woman made him shudder with revulsion. Although not as much as the idea that she might meet someone else did. That concept made him feel as if he’d swallowed a bucket of battery acid.

  A nice American who could give her what she wanted? Hah.

  And then Jack’s heart stopped and he froze in the darkness.

  He played back what Imogen had said about her nice American word for word and his head went fuzzy. What she’d said would imply that he could never give her what she wanted. Which was nuts. If he only knew what it was she wanted, he’d willingly give it to her.

  But perhaps he did.

  He went even stiller as the look he’d seen in her eyes just before he’d told her about his workable solution, the one he hadn’t been able to identify, hammered at his brain. What had it been? Resignation? Frustration? Anger? Or had it been hope?

  He snapped up straight as the penny finally dropped. Hell. It had been hope. But for what? More? Had Imogen in fact wanted more from him than he’d assumed?

  His head pounded and his heart thumped as questions battered him on all sides, followed swiftly by a thundering stream of answers. He’d been a blind, stupid fool. Imogen hadn’t wanted things to be over. She’d wanted everything. And what had he done? Suggested a long-distance affair. And he was an idiot, because he’d thought he’d offered her exactly what she wanted, but in truth he hadn’t offered her nearly enough.

  Right, thought Jack, suddenly straightening and firing up the engine. Enough was enough. Imogen wanted more from him? She wanted a reason to be able to trust him? Well, he’d give her plenty.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  TAKING an eight-hour flight when she was feeling so miserable was the last thing she needed, thought Imogen numbly, stepping onto the bridge that led to the plane and the next three years.

  It had been two weeks since Jack had stalked off, and time hadn’t healed a thing. If anything time had simply made things worse. She missed him terribly and, even though she’d been frantically busy making arrangements to leave, she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him. She hadn’t been able to stop wondering if she’d made a colossal mistake and whether she should have taken what she could from him when she’d had the chance.

  As she’d expected, he hadn’t been in touch—although that hadn’t stopped her foolishly hoping he might—and he hadn’t shown up at her leaving party. Which was no great surprise seeing as she’d stuck to her guns and hadn’t sent him an invitation, but even so, she’d still harboured the secret pathetic hope that he might gatecrash it, if for no other reason than to say goodbye. All night she’d waited and hoped, the revelry going on around her a cruel contrast to the growing despair inside her, but to no avail. He hadn’t come and she’d felt miserable. Since then it had only got worse.

  But now she was about to board, Imogen didn’t know why she hadn’t just cancelled the flight altogether. Every minute of the journey to the airport had felt as if she were on her way to the gallows. Every step was like wading through treacle and she had to force hersel
f to carry on and not give in to the urge to turn round and go home.

  Even being told at the boarding gate that she’d been bumped up to first class hadn’t made her feel any better, because what was the point of first class if you didn’t have anyone to drink champagne with? What was the point of having plans and dreams if you didn’t have anyone to share them with?

  In fact, without Jack in her life, what was the point of anything any more?

  Blinking rapidly against the sudden sting of tears, Imogen pulled herself together. It would get better, she told herself firmly, glancing down at her boarding pass and then checking the numbers above the seats. It had to. She just had to be strong. That was all.

  Stopping at the seat she’d been allocated, she tightened her grip on her suitcase and hauled it up, her vision blurring at the thought that there really was no going back now.

  ‘Would you like a hand with that?’

  At the sound of the deep, dry, achingly familiar voice, Imogen froze and dropped her case, suddenly feeling so weak that all thoughts of strength evaporated.

  ‘Jack,’ she murmured, thinking dizzily that if her imagination had resorted to conjuring him up—which it must have done because he couldn’t possibly be here—she was in a worse state than she’d thought.

  But just in case it hadn’t, he could and she wasn’t, she blinked away the tears and focused on the man getting to his feet from the seat beside hers. And nearly passed out because there he was, real and solid, looking serious and gorgeous and definitely not a figment of her imagination.

  With her stomach in free fall, she could only stare at him in shock as he bent his head and brushed past her, then took her suitcase and deftly stowed it in the overhead locker. ‘What on earth are you doing here?’ she said hoarsely.