It wasn't the first time I'd said such a thing. And it probably wouldn't be the last. But it was the only time I'd said this to Jack.
I waited for him to laugh, or at least smile. But he didn't. Instead, after a long, terrible silence, he said, "No, you won't."
"Oh yeah? Why not?"
"Because I'll get him first." He paused as if thinking. "Or maybe second."
"Sorry, what?"
"I'm just saying, Flynn's local, so…" With a loose shrug, he let the sentence trail off.
I wasn't sure if he was joking or not, but for some stupid reason, it made me feel just a little bit better.
Now I almost smiled for real. "What are you saying? I'm third in line? Behind you and Flynn? That's not fair."
"Fair's for pussies."
"Oh come on," I said. "You don't really believe that. I've read your books, remember? You're big into justice."
He didn't deny it, and his tone grew speculative. "True."
"See?"
"Of course," he said, as if thinking out loud, "if the guy were a character in one of my books, he wouldn't die an easy death. Something like that? Could be stretched out for weeks." He gave a slow nod. "Maybe months."
I stared from the passenger's seat. I didn’t know whether to laugh or shudder, because in that moment, I wasn't quite sure if he was joking. I heard myself say, "And here I thought I'd be the morbid one."
With a glance in my direction, Jack said, "You wanna know what I think?"
"What?"
"I think I owe you a secret."
I bit my lip. "I hope yours is better than mine."
"We'll see."
"So…?" I prompted. "What is it?"
"Hang on," he said.
"For what?"
"I'm gonna pull over."
It was a rural two-lane highway, which meant there was no need to wait for the next exit. Thank God. By now, I was dying to hear what he'd say.
As the car slowed, I admitted, "I can't decide if this is a good sign or a bad sign. I mean, if you have to stop the car…" A nervous laugh escaped my lips. "This isn't where you tell me that I'm going to be walking, is it?"
"Hey, if you're walking, I'm walking." As I watched, he pulled the car off to the shoulder and turned in his seat to face me. "The secret," he said, "it's a two-parter."
I gave him the squinty-eye. "But I do get both parts, right?"
"Hell yeah." His gaze met mine. "Part one. I've never been in love."
I blinked. "Not ever?"
"Not ever."
My breath hitched. "Oh." It didn't sound like a warning. It sounded like something else. I held my breath and waited.
He leaned closer. "Until now."
And just like that, the gloom was gone. My pulse quickened as I said, "Really?"
"Really."
"So…Is that part two?"
He smiled. "What, you think I'm a pussy?"
I shook my head. "What do you mean."
"You think I’m not gonna say it?"
By now I could hardly breathe. "Say what?"
He leaned closer until our lips were nearly touching. "I love you, Becka."
It was exactly what I wanted to hear. Maybe in the back of my mind, I'd known his feelings already. But to hear him come out and say it – it felt like something out of a dream.
And now I couldn’t stop smiling. "I love you, too."
He grinned. "I know."
"Hey!"
His smile faded as his gaze met mine. "I should've said it sooner."
I snickered. "I know."
And with that, I leaned forward and pressed my lips to his. I might've done more if not for the seatbelt holding me back – and yes, the presence of other cars rumbling past.
Still, I laced my fingers around the back of his neck and kissed him with everything I had, even as I gave my wrist a little pinch, just to make sure it wasn't a dream.
Happily, it wasn't – even if the very next week, I was dealing with a total nightmare.
That nightmare had a name.
Imogen St. James.
Chapter 58
Becka
I stared across the crowded book store. Was that who I thought it was?
She was tall with long dark hair and a figure to die for. She was wearing a form-fitting black dress, high black heels, and huge sparkling earrings.
She looked like visiting royalty or the trophy wife of a rich oligarch. But she wasn't either one of those things. She was Jack's ex-girlfriend and yes, a world-famous model.
But even if she weren't famous, she'd stand out like a princess on a pitcher's mound.
The store was located in a working-class suburb in Northern Ohio. According to the local news, the town had seen better days. But that hadn't stopped the bookstore from attracting an impressive crowd to the signing.
Already, Jack had been signing books for nearly two hours. During those hours, the crowd had grown bigger, not smaller. By now, the line of people waiting snaked all the way through the store, taking up several aisles and half of the attached coffee shop.
As for the store's employees, they were too busy manning the coffee bar and cash registers to help with crowd control. That was fine by me. With only a few exceptions, everyone in line had been really nice. And patient, too.
Would Imogen be patient?
I somehow doubted it.
As I stared across the distance, I murmured, "What's she doing here?"
The guy at the front of the line said, "Excuse me?"
I turned to look. "Sorry, what?"
"You said something. Were you talking to me?"
I gave him an apologetic smile. "No. Sorry. It was nothing." As I spoke, my gaze drifted back to Imogen as she wandered to a display table stacked impressively high with thick hard-cover books.
The stack had been even higher when we'd shown up. The books were written by Jack, and they were selling hot and heavy.
Reluctantly, I turned to look at Jack, who was signing a stack of books for a trio of teenagers and their mom. If he noticed Imogen, he gave no sign.
Still, if I were a betting person, I'd put up a decent chunk of money that Jack had spotted Imogen long before I had. During our months of traveling, I'd seen firsthand that Jack saw everything.
Only a week had passed since we'd exchanged those three magical words, and I'd been walking with my head in the clouds ever since.
Over the course of the book tour, a lot had changed – not just during the past week, but also during the past few months.
As far as hotels, Jack was no longer staying on the lower floors. Instead, he was staying in the nicest – and yes, highest – suites they had available. And I was staying with him.
The suites weren't necessary, and I told him so, repeatedly. But Jack had insisted, and I had to admit, it was really nice.
To keep up appearances – Jack's idea, not mine – he'd continued getting me hotel rooms of my own. I never used them, and neither did Jack, who cradled me close every night – or through most of the nights, anyway.
But that was an issue for another time.
Now, I was too busy staring at his ex. Should I say something?
Do something?
Or should I play it cool and pretend to not notice her?
I was still trying to figure it out when the guy at the front of the line said, "So, I can go, right?"
I blinked. "Sorry, what?"
He pointed toward Jack. "His table's free, so…"
"Oh. Yes. Of course. Sorry."
God, how many times had I said that already?
Too many – not because I minded apologizing, but rather because I shouldn't be messing up this badly. Normally I did a pretty good job of keeping the line flowing. But the sight of Imogen had thrown me seriously off my game.
It was time to get back on track – and quickly, too. Plastering a bright smile onto my face, I escorted the guy to Jack's table and announced, "This is Blake."
The guy frowned. "You mean Blain."
I winced. "Sorry," I told him yet again. "I'm not normally this dense, I promise."
When I looked to Jack, he pushed back his chair and stood. He looked to Blain and said, "Hang on. We'll be back in a minute."
And with that, Jack hustled me toward the private storage room, where we'd been keeping our stuff. When we reached it, he shut the door behind us and said, "If you want her to leave, say the word."
"Who? Imogen?"
He smiled. "Unless there's someone else you want me to kick out."
Something about his smile made me feel warm and wonderful all over. "Would you really do that?"
"Hell yeah."
Now I couldn't help but laugh. "But what about the negative publicity? I mean, that would look pretty bad, don't you think?"
Jack shrugged. "Don't know, don't care."
"But wait," I said, "I'm supposed to be the one shuffling people around. And you're supposed to be famous and charming."
"Forget fame," he said, pulling me close. "And if you want, I'll charm you right here."
I stifled a giggle. "Actually, I'd rather be 'charmed' without a hundred people outside the door, thank you very much."
He grinned. "You're welcome." His grin faded as he glanced toward the door. "So, do you want me to get rid of her?"
I gave it some thought. It was so incredibly tempting. Still, I shook my head. "No, but thanks, seriously." I gave him my sunniest smile. "I'm sure it'll be fine."
But guess what?
It wasn't.
Chapter 59
Becka
True to Jack's word, we were back within a minute. At the table, I gave Blain yet another apologetic smile. "Should I say it again?"
"Say what again?" he asked.
"I'm really sorry – for the delay, I mean." I looked to Jack and said, "Anyway, this is Blain, and I'll leave you to it."
And with that, I hustled back to the front of the line, where a couple of teenage girls were clutching paperbacks and grinning at Jack with starstruck eyes.
I could totally see why. Every once in a while, I almost forgot how famous he was. He didn't act famous when we were together. He acted like, well, my dream guy, that's what.
As for his ex-girlfriend, I'd completely lost sight of her. Nervously I glanced around but saw no sign that she'd ever been here at all.
Had she simply left? It seemed unlikely, but hey, anything was possible, right?
Wrong.
Just when I'd decided that I'd dodged a huge bullet, I caught sight of Imogen moving through the crowd, heading straight for Jack.
Her smile was smug, and her hips were swinging. She looked like she was strutting along a fashion catwalk rather than through a crowded book store.
Unsure what to do, I whirled around to catch Jack's reaction.
There was none.
As I watched, he finished signing Blain's book and handed it back like everything was fine.
I whirled back toward Imogen and stifled a curse. Already, she was just a few paces away from where I stood.
Without pausing to think, I lunged toward her and stopped directly in her path, causing her to halt in mid-stride. I planted my feet wide apart and gave her a no-nonsense look. "Excuse me, but where do you think you're going?"
In that English accent of hers, she replied, "Where do you think?"
"Sorry, but he's working."
Her lips pursed. "So am I."
Oh, please. "Doing what?"
"Publicity, not that it's any of your concern." And with that, she made a move to sidestep around me.
Nice try, Psycho. I sidestepped to block her path. "I told you, he's busy."
She smirked. "We'll see about that."
I glared up at her. "Yes. We will."
Before she had time to answer, I heard Jack's voice, cool and steady, directly behind me, saying, "You need to leave."
Imogen frowned. "You don't mean me, do you?"
"Sure I do," he said. "So beat it."
At this, I couldn't help but cringe. Although I appreciated the fact that he wasn't slobbering all over her, I hated the idea of this scene playing out in public – with me in the middle, no less.
Plus, I'd meant what I'd told Jack in the storage room. This was my responsibility, not his. I turned to him and insisted, "It's okay. I can handle this, really."
From the look on his face, he didn't agree. "One," he said, "it's not okay. And two…" His gaze flicked to Imogen. "She's my problem, not yours."
From behind me, Imogen gave a little huff. "Hey! I'm nobody's problem."
I almost scoffed out loud. Oh, she was a problem, all right.
And of course, everyone was staring, not that I could blame them. Cripes, I'd be staring, too, if only I weren't co-starring in this little drama.
I gave Jack a pleading look. "Seriously, will you please let me do my job?"
His mouth tightened, but he made no reply.
Before he could change his mind, I turned back to Imogen and said, "If you're here for the signing, you'll have to wait in line like everyone else."
Okay, I knew darn well that she wasn't here for the signing, but I was looking to make a point.
From the look on Imogen's face, she'd gotten it loud and clear.
And she wasn't happy.
Taking her sweet time, she looked me up and down before saying, "And who are you?"
As if she didn't know. After all, this wasn't the first time we'd met.
I replied, "If you want to know, you'll have to wait in line, just like I said."
"Why?" Her lips formed a sneer. "I'm not here to see you."
"Good," I said. "Because I'm not either." I froze. What? Even to my own ears, that made absolutely no sense.
I was still trying to come up with something a whole lot smarter to say when Jack's voice cut across the short distance. "Forget it. She's leaving." His voice hardened. "Now."
Imogen looked past me, toward Jack. In a low hiss, she replied, "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"
Jack said, "You know it."
She was glaring now. "Has anyone told you, you're a stone-cold bastard?"
"Hell yeah," he said. "I hear it all the time."
Not from me, he didn't, because it wasn't true. But that was hardly the point. I turned and gave him a pleading look. "Seriously, I've got this, okay?"
From behind me, Imogen said, "Oh, stay out of this. Nobody asked you."
Once again, I whirled to face her. "Yeah? And nobody asked you to show up today." I extended my arm and pointed to the rear of the line. "There's the line. Get in, or get out."
This was her cue to leave. But she didn't. Instead, she gave a loud sigh. "All right. Fine. I guess I'll wait."
I blinked. Now that was unexpected. Was she joking? I felt my eyebrows furrow. She didn't look like she was joking.
I turned to Jack and whispered, "Do you think she's serious?"
From behind me, Imogen said, "I never joke about lines."
Huh. Go figure. Apparently, she was calling my bluff.
Even so, it beggared belief. The line was at least three hours long. And this latest delay hadn't helped.
How would this go, anyway? Would she stand around for three hours, glaring at me while I tried to do my job?
But of course, I reminded myself, this wasn't about me at all.
This was about Jack.
When I turned to look at him, he said, "Say the word, and she's gone."
The offer was so incredibly tempting. But I could only imagine how this would play out.
Would Imogen go peacefully?
Not likely.
I envisioned Jack hustling her to the door, or worse, dragging her out while she screamed and hollered. She might even cry.
Talk about a shit-storm.
I could practically see the headlines now. None of them were good, for Jack in particular.
That settled it. As much as I appreciated his offer, there was no way on Earth I could take him up on it. "No," I told him. "I'll
handle this, just like I said."
He frowned. "Becka—"
"Please?" I gave him a desperate look. "I mean, this is my job, right?"
From behind me, Imogen muttered, "Don't you mean blow-job?"
I whirled to look. "What?"
Again, she eyed me up and down, making it painfully clear that she wasn't impressed. And then with a mean little smile, she said, "Oh, honey. I know exactly what you're here for."
Well, that was nice.
I gave Jack a nervous glance. His eyes were hard, and his mouth was tight. He looked like he was two seconds away from tossing her out on her ass.
I summoned up a smile. "All righty then." I made a little shooing motion toward the table where Jack had been signing books. "I guess it's time to get the show back on the road, huh?"
Actually, it was long overdue.
Even though the three of us had been talking for less than five minutes, it felt like forever, especially considering that we had an embarrassingly large audience.
Even worse, Jack still wasn't moving.
With renewed desperation, I looked back to Imogen. She wasn't moving either.
Well someone had to move. I looked back to Jack said, "How about this? I'll sign the books. And you can handle the crowd."
From behind me, Imogen gave a snort of derision. "Who'd want your signature."
I whirled to face her. "No one. That's my point."
And then, I whirled back to Jack. "Please, I'm begging you. Let me handle it, okay?" In a low whisper, I added, "I mean, if you don't, I'm going to get a complex or something. You don't want that, do you?"
His jaw clenched. "All right. You want it? You got it." And with that, he turned and strode back to the table.
I should've been happy. But I wasn't, especially when Imogen turned and started heading toward the line.
To the front.
Not the back.
Damn it.
I scrambled after her. "What are you doing?"
Without breaking stride, she tossed me a confident smile. "Getting in line, of course. That is the protocol, right?"
My fingers clenched. Oh, I'd give her protocol, all right.
At the front of the line, the two teenage girls were still waiting politely. I called out to them, "Go ahead. He's ready."
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