Page 59 of The Couple Behind the Headlines

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.

Jack glanced at her and gave her the glimmer of a smile. ‘Flying to New York, I should think.’

Her heart slowly turned over. ‘But why?’ Surely it couldn’t be a coincidence. Surely fate wouldn’t be so cruel.

‘Why don’t you sit down?’

Imogen stayed standing, mainly because she was so thrown by his presence she didn’t know what to do. ‘I’m not sure I want to spend the next eight hours sitting next to you,’ she said, and it wasn’t entirely a lie.

But to her astonishment Jack merely grinned and folded himself into his seat. ‘No?’ he said, glancing up at her and then turning his attention to his seat belt. ‘Oh, well, if you want to go back to economy be my guest.’

How did he know where she’d intended to sit? Imogen frowned. ‘Are you responsible for my upgrade?’

‘Yes.’

Telling herself not to read anything into it because what with the way her brain was disintegrating she’d only get it wrong, she said, ‘Thank you. I think.’

‘You’re welcome. I was hoping to have the pleasure of your company for the flight, but if you really don’t want to sit here, that’s fine.’ He flashed her a smile. ‘After all, what’s eight hours when we have the rest of our lives?’

For a moment Imogen thought she must have misheard because Jack had turned his attention to a magazine and was now idly flicking through it as if he had no idea he’d just rocked her world. ‘What?’ she said, sinking into her seat when her legs finally gave way. ‘What did you say?’

‘Shh,’ he murmured as a faint whirring noise came from the flickering screens embedded into the seat backs in from of them. ‘It’s the safety demonstration. Pay attention.’

Pay attention, thought Imogen dazedly. Pay attention? How could she possibly pay any attention to anything when bewilderment and shock were taking up every molecule of her brain? She’d thought that the terrible effect relentless misery had had on her heart and her appearance was bad enough, but it appeared that her reason had also suffered because for the life of her she couldn’t work out what Jack could possibly mean.

Or could she?

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