Page 44 of The Couple Behind the Headlines

Jack shrugged and she could see shutters slamming down over his eyes, instantly masking anything of importance. ‘My grandparents did their best.’

‘And the au pairs?’

‘Marginally better.’

Imogen frowned. ‘What about your father?’

‘What about him?’

‘Do you know who he was?’

His mouth twisted into a humourless smile. ‘Oh, yes. He was a fellow pupil at my mother’s very expensive but surprisingly lax boarding school. He was shipped off to the States the minute the pregnancy became apparent, and stayed there.’

‘Do you see anything of him?’

‘No.’

That seemed a shame. Her father and brother got on brilliantly and, she knew, deeply valued their relationship. ‘Why not?’

‘Why would I? I’m the product of an accident. A reckless mistake.’ He shrugged as if it was all neither here nor there. ‘Anyway, he married years ago and has his own family now.’

And that was quite enough of that, thought Jack, not liking the note of resentment that tinged his voice one little bit.

He might not have a crystal-clear idea of why he’d dropped by this evening, but it definitely hadn’t been for a discussion about his childhood. Never mind that it was remarkably easy to talk to Imogen. Careless talk could cost him an emotional fortune and he had the deeply uneasy feeling that all she’d have to do was probe a bit further and he’d end up horizontal on the sofa spilling it all out while she made sympathetic noises and took notes on an imaginary clipboard.

Which meant it was time to change the subject, he thought, stifling a shudder at the image, because he had no intention of spilling anything out. There was no way in hell he was going to elaborate on the trauma of the years of maternal neglect that had been inflicted on him when he’d been young. The aching loneliness. The constant awareness that he didn’t matter. That his mother was more interested in the social scene than her son and that somehow the blame for her indifference must lie with him. That he simply hadn’t been good enough.

No, he had no desire to dwell on the past. No desire to go into the strict and critical attitude of his grandparents, who’d been terrified that, if they weren’t, genes would out and th

at he’d grow up to be as flighty and irresponsible as his parents.

And he certainly had no desire to let in all the old feelings of inadequacy and hurt and confusion that had coloured his childhood and were now banging at the door of his conscience.

So he did the only thing he could under the circumstances and went in search of distraction.

He let his gaze run over Imogen, and as his body tightened with need, Jack leaned forwards and set his glass down on a pile of magazines on the coffee table. ‘I didn’t come here to talk about families,’ he murmured, shooting her a smouldering smile and not taking his eyes off her for one second.

Imogen swallowed and her breath caught. ‘No?’ she said with a huskiness that scraped across his nerve endings. ‘Then why did you come?’

In one fluid move, Jack was on his feet and came down on the sofa right next to her. Her mouth dropped open with a little O of surprise and the banked flames in her eyes flared to life.

‘I came for this,’ he muttered, pulling her into his arms and reaching for the zip of her top as his mouth captured hers.

As his hands slid over her body, his heat and strength wrapped around her and his mouth devoured hers, Imogen closed her eyes. Part of her thought she ought to be outraged at the admission that he’d only popped by on the off chance of a booty call. Another, far greater part, was so pleased he’d decided to put a stop to her interrogation that she didn’t care.

Because her heart had started twisting and aching for the lonely confused boy he must have been and she didn’t want it to. She didn’t want to want to seek out his mother and shake her by the shoulders until she acknowledged what a wonderful man her son was. She didn’t want to envy her brother or think about marriage and family or Jack in that context. All she wanted was more of this. More of the incredible way he made her feel and spectacular sex.

So she shut it all off and gave herself up to sensation. To the hands roaming over her skin and deftly removing her clothing. To the weight of his body pressing her back into the sofa and the feel of his muscles beneath her hands. To the heat of his mouth on her throat, her breasts and then blissfully lower. To the sound of his harsh breathing and the thundering of her heart. And then to the glorious feel of him sliding into her and casting her into a fierce whirlpool of pleasure.

The following morning, as dawn filtered through the curtains, Imogen watched Jack pull on his clothes and considered her dilemma. After the long, hot night they’d just had, she was convinced more than ever that a fling was what she wanted. The problem she had was that time was fast running out and she didn’t have a clue how to go about asking if he was up for one.

‘Well, that was fun,’ she said lightly, wondering how on earth to broach the subject.

‘It was.’ Jack snapped on his watch and prowled around her bedroom in search of his belt.

‘I think it’s on the floor by the sofa.’

‘Thanks,’ he muttered and disappeared into the sitting room.

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