Page 48 of The Couple Behind the Headlines

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

‘GOOD 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 Distant and withdrawn.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.

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