Page 46 of The Couple Behind the Headlines

What if she’d had a point when she’d queried his assertion that history would undoubtedly repeat itself? What if he’d been denying himself something deep down he’d always wanted just because of some ancient misplaced feelings of inadequacy?

As those defences he’d spent years fortifying cracked and wobbled, Jack’s heart pounded and his head swam. If Imogen was right about that, what else might she be right about and he be wrong about?

Maybe it wouldn’t hurt if he opened up and let her in a bit to see what she had to say about things. And then if that turned out to be relatively painless, maybe he could open up and let her in a bit more.

Noticing the hand that was holding the wine glass was trembling, he set the glass down and rubbed his chest to ease the tightness that was suddenly gripping it.

He’d never thought he’d get the chance to have a relationship, but it seemed that whether he’d planned it or not that was exactly what had been going on with Imogen.

So maybe now was the time to give it a proper shot, he thought, his mouth going dry as his pulse raced. Put things on a firmer footing. See where things went. She might have told him that first time that she wanted nothing more than sex, but as far as he could make out she was as into this as he was.

Would it really be such a terrible idea to suggest they give it a go? Yes, he’d be putting more on the line than he had for years but maybe this time, this time, it would be OK. Maybe more than OK even …

At the sound of the buzzer, J

ack jumped. Adrenalin raced along his veins and a thousand different emotions suddenly thundered through his body as he leapt to his feet and strode to the intercom in the hall to buzz Imogen in.

He’d suggest it the minute she arrived, before either his nerve failed him or one of his many hang-ups kicked in and demanded to know what the hell he thought he was doing.

Assuming she didn’t have something else in mind, of course. Unzipping her dress in the lift after the Valentine’s Day Ball seemed to have sparked her imagination, and he never knew quite what vision he’d be presented with when the lift doors drew back. If she was wearing as little as the last time she’d come over, his proposition might be delayed a while.

Jack waited and counted the seconds with fidgety anticipation. He tried leaning casually against a wall, but as he stood there rigid and tense, he realised that doing anything casually when he’d come to such an earth-shattering decision was hopeless. So he marched over to the console table to rearrange the pile of post he’d tossed there earlier.

And stopped. What the hell was he doing? Since when did he fidget like this? And what was this jittery feeling? Surely it couldn’t be nerves. He’d never experienced a moment of nervousness in his entire life. It was impatience, he told himself. That was all. Now he’d made his mind up he wanted to get on with it.

He really had to calm down, he thought, shoving his hands through his hair and ignoring the bead of sweat trickling down his spine. Now, before she came in and asked if there was anything wrong.

He heard the lift arrive and managed to pull himself together seconds before the doors opened and Imogen burst into his apartment, wearing all her clothes and a beaming smile. For a moment he didn’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved, but then it was all immaterial anyway because she was dropping her bag, shrugging off her coat and sidling up to him and he was busy being bamboozled by a surge of heat and longing.

His heart banged against his ribs as she wrapped her arms around his neck and gave him a hot, hard kiss that blew his mind. He was on the verge of tumbling her to the floor when she pulled back and grinned up at him.

‘You look happy,’ he said, smiling down at her.

‘I am.’

‘Me too.’ And possibly for the first time in his life he genuinely was. ‘I have news.’

‘Oh? So do I.’

Whatever hers was, his definitely needed the buffer of alcohol. ‘Would you like a drink?’ he asked.

‘I brought champagne.’ She twisted back, bent down and dug around in her bag.

Jack arched an eyebrow at the very expensive bottle she held aloft. ‘Are we celebrating?’

‘We are.’

‘Excellent,’ he said, heading for the kitchen and unable to stop himself wondering if by any possible chance she’d come to the same conclusion he had.

Imogen leaned against the counter while Jack took a couple of glasses from a cupboard. He popped the cork, then deftly filled each glass and handed one to her.

‘So what are we celebrating?’ he asked, his pulse racing as he geared himself up to tell her about the momentous conclusion he’d come to.

Her eyes sparkled and shone and his chest ached. ‘My news.’

‘Which is?’

‘I got in,’ she said, grinning and punching the air with a little ‘Yay’.

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