The Couple Behind the Headlines (6 page)

‘You know I could prove you wrong, don’t you?’ he murmured.

‘You could try,’ she said, arching a challenging eyebrow. She did
not
want to know what his mouth would feel like on hers. Definitely not. She’d focus on the button beneath that
wedge of chest instead. ‘But I wouldn’t fancy your chances of success.’

‘I would.’

Barely able to believe his cheek, Imogen snapped her eyes to his face, all thoughts of focusing on his shirt button vanishing. It was the smile playing at his lips that did it. A knowing, confident smile that acted like a match tossed onto the smouldering embers of her indignation.

Forget that he was probably right. This wasn’t about rightness. This was about him and those like him. Anger suddenly raced along her veins and her head went fuzzy with the intensity of everything she’d thought she’d packaged away but evidently hadn’t.

But then, just as she was about to lean over, jab him in the chest as she told him exactly what she thought of him, something made her pause. Made her ask herself what losing her temper would get her. She’d already exhibited more emotional volatility in the last six hours than she had in her entire life, and a further display would simply reinforce the impression, on both herself and Jack, that she was seriously unstable. And recent events aside, she wasn’t. Much.

Losing her temper now, getting all hot and fiery while he sat there as cool as an ice sculpture, would merely give Jack more ground. She’d be far better off staying calm and collected and in some sort of control.

Closing her eyes, Imogen inhaled deeply and went to her happy place where the sun warmed her skin and Martinis flowed.

How hard could it be?

CHAPTER FOUR

N
OW
what was she doing?

Jack frowned as he stared at Imogen, who was sitting with her head bent, pinching the bridge of her nose and muttering to herself.

She really was peculiar. Intriguingly peculiar, but peculiar nonetheless. He didn’t think he’d ever met anyone so mercurial, who smouldered and sizzled one minute and bristled and bridled the next. No wonder he found himself caving in to the compulsion to needle her; her mood swings were enough to drive a man to drink.

Was she meditating? Or mentally preparing herself for battle?

Whatever it was, maybe he ought to cut his losses and leave her to it, because intentions were all very well, but forgetting about the frantic urge to run his hands over her curves when she was sitting a couple of feet away was proving harder than he’d anticipated. Especially now that, thanks to the taxi driver’s desire to get going, he knew what she felt like.

But when she eventually opened her eyes and gave him a serene smile his senses tumbled into such chaos that any idea he’d had of cutting and leaving completely vanished.

‘You really want to know what my problem is?’ she said silkily.

‘I do,’ he said, vaguely wondering why he was so keen to
know when every instinct was telling him it wasn’t going to be good.

‘Well,
this
is exactly it.’

‘Exactly what?’

She gave him another beguiling smile and his stomach clenched. ‘There’s so much I barely know where to start.’

‘You could always try the beginning.’

‘You’re right. I could.’ She nodded and he had the unsettling feeling he’d just handed her a knife with which to eviscerate him. ‘OK, well, for a start you have a seriously over-inflated ego.’

An over-inflated ego? Jack felt his eyebrows shoot up. Of all the accusations she could have hurled at him that was the most inapplicable. ‘What makes you think I have an over-inflated ego?’

‘Outside the realm of this evening’s conversation, you mean?’

Now why did that sound as if she knew something he didn’t? Jack tilted his head as he regarded her, and racked his brains. ‘Have we met before?’

‘No.’

‘I thought not.’ If they had, he’d definitely have remembered. And come to think of it— ‘Why not?’

‘Oh, just lucky I guess.’

‘Ouch,’ he said, muttering and rubbing his chest. ‘Tell me, what precisely do you have against me? Or do you have it in for men in general?’

‘No, no,’ she said with a dazzling smile. ‘At the moment, just you.’

‘I’m flattered.’ He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. ‘So?’

Imogen arched an eyebrow.
‘Greatsexguaranteed?’

‘What?’ His jaw dropped and his pulse spiked. ‘Are you offering?’

Her eyes flashed for a second and relief spun through him
because all that cool detachment had been faintly disconcerting. ‘No, of course I’m not offering,’ she said witheringly. ‘I’m referring to the eBay incident.’

Ah, that. Four years ago he’d prodded Luke into getting over the death of his first wife by entering into a bidding war over the woman who eventually became his second. Interesting how, of all the things Imogen could have started with, she’d chosen to focus on the user name he’d chosen in a moment of flippancy. Almost Freudian. ‘Oh, yes, I remember.’

She sniffed. ‘An over-stated claim if ever I heard one.’

Jack grinned, fascinated despite himself. ‘What makes you so sure?’

He’d never received any criticism of his performance in bed and Imogen was just too easy to wind up. Steam was whooshing out of her ears and she was rolling her eyes.

But that didn’t stop the blush creeping into her cheeks. Nor did it stop his gaze dipping to her mouth, where the tip of her tongue darted out to sweep along her lower lip.

His body contracted with a sudden powerful wave of desire. The air inside the taxi thickened and vibrated with an almost tangible tension and a series of X-rated images slammed into his head. Of Imogen panting and writhing as he moved on top of her, with her, buried deep inside her. Having sex. Great sex.

His head went fuzzy, his mouth went dry and his pulse thundered. The urge to haul her into his arms and set about making the fantasy a reality took him completely by surprise and he had to curl his hands into fists to stop himself from reaching for her.

‘Which only goes to prove my next point.’

As the cool tone of her voice filtered into his head, Jack blinked and willed his pulse to slow down.

Point? What point? He could barely remember his own name, let alone think about any point. He was rock hard and aching. He’d never felt such an overwhelming need to possess,
such a primitive urge to claim. And it scared the living daylights out of him.

Telling himself not to be absurd, that physical attraction—even when it involved someone who had it in for him—was nothing to worry about, he cleared his throat. He ran his hands through his hair. Went to adjust the knot of his tie before remembering that he’d already removed it.

‘Which is?’ he said, eventually folding his arms across his chest and hoping he sounded calmer than he felt.

‘I’ve heard that you’re arrogant and presumptuous.’

What?

Jack frowned as Imogen paused and raised her eyebrows, evidently waiting for some kind of response. What was she expecting him to do? Apologise? Deny it? Or confirm she was right?

‘Oh, please don’t hold back on my account,’ he said dryly, having no intention of doing any of that and deciding to see what else she threw at him before responding.

She smiled a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. ‘I wasn’t going to.’

‘Then do continue.’

‘I’ve also heard that you’re callous, cold and emotionally bankrupt.’

Jack kept a neutral expression fixed to his face but behind it he was reeling. Forget knife in the singular. Imogen was attacking him with an entire kitchen drawer full of the things, and to his surprise her accusations stung.

Being called
arrogant
and
presumptuous
he could just about deal with. There might even have been a smidgeon of truth in the charges, although he’d have preferred ‘confident’ and ‘spotting an opportunity and taking it’.

But callous, cold and emotionally bankrupt? That was going too far. He wasn’t either callous or cold. And so what if he kept his emotions to himself? Not everyone liked flaunting them left, right and centre.

‘I didn’t realise dinner called for much emotional depth,’ he said, his voice not betraying a hint of what he was thinking.

‘I doubt anything you do calls for much emotional depth,’ she said with faint amusement that did nothing to soften what sounded rather like an insult.

And where had she got this stuff from anyway? ‘You don’t even know me.’

‘I know men like you.’

‘Men like me?’ The idea he was a type was oddly distasteful. And wrong.

‘OK,’ she conceded. ‘Men with your reputation.’

Jack went still. ‘That’s what you’re basing your accusations on?’ he said deceptively mildly. ‘Gossip, rumour and hearsay?’

She shrugged. ‘It’s as good a place to start as any.’

No, it wasn’t. He wasn’t nearly as notorious as his reputation liked to make out. Not that he’d ever done anything to contradict it. Most of the time it suited him to have people—women especially—think the worst of him. Then unattainable expectations were less likely to arise. On either side.

Now, however, having people—Imogen—think the worst of him didn’t seem appealing at all.

‘You seem to have judged me exceptionally quickly,’ he said, unaccountably irritated by the notion because it had never bothered him before.

Imogen bit her lip and frowned. ‘Possibly. But I do have grounds.’

Oh, this he’d love to hear. ‘Which are?’

‘Amanda Hobbs, for one thing.’

Amanda Hobbs? He frowned as he racked his memory. Oh, yes. ‘What about her?’

‘You broke her heart.’

‘Did I?’ he said, knowing perfectly well he hadn’t because he never let things ever get to the stage where hearts became involved.

Her jaw dropped and she stared at him. ‘You mean you don’t
know
?’

‘I mean I really don’t know.’

Imogen spluttered in outrage, her grip on her control clearly unravelling. ‘I can’t
believe
you could be so callous as to not even acknowledge what you did.’

As far as he was aware he had nothing to acknowledge, but Imogen’s outrage and the way it made her eyes flash was utterly absorbing, and besides he was intrigued by what fresh rumours the mill had been grinding. ‘So enlighten me.’

‘Are there really so many women you can’t remember them?’ she said scathingly.

Not nearly as many as rumour would have it. But she didn’t need to know that right now, so Jack merely shrugged and smiled in a ‘what can I say?’ kind of way, which made her eyes flash even more.

‘OK, fine,’ she said, nodding and pushing herself upright. ‘You went out together. For three months.’
Three months?
Jack’s eyebrows shot up. ‘You were about to move in together but then you ditched her. By text. Of all the rotten, lousy things to do.’ She glared at him, her chin up and her body quivering with emotion.

‘Anything else?’ he said.

‘Isn’t that enough?’

‘I’m sure you have more.’

‘Did you even
care
that the poor girl was heartbroken? That she was a complete wreck and had to flee to Italy to recover?’

Well, no, he didn’t. Why would he? And what was it to her anyway? Why was she so offended? Were they friends? They certainly shared the same melodramatic tendencies.

‘So you’re some sort of avenging angel? Getting your own back for all the crimes I’ve supposedly committed?’ he said. Was that really why she’d flung the ‘victim devouring’ comment
at him? ‘Because let me assure you, sweetheart, there’s absolutely no need.’

‘Really,’ she said witheringly, obviously not believing him for a second.

Right. That was enough, Jack decided, twisting round and giving in to the increasingly pressing desire to set her straight. ‘Look, here are the facts. The facts,’ he repeated, fixing her with a stare, ‘not some twisted third-hand gossip.’

She opened her mouth to say something, but he was fed up with the accusations and the scorn so he uncrossed his arms and clamped a hand over it. ‘Quiet.’

Ignoring the feel of her soft skin and her mouth beneath his palm and the way her eyes were widening with shock and something else, Jack made himself focus on the facts.

‘Amanda and I went out two or three times,’ he said. ‘Four at the most.’ And even that was several times too many. Although beautiful, Amanda had been a drama queen with a penchant for flouncing, which was one of the reasons he’d stopped seeing her. ‘We didn’t have a relationship and we certainly never discussed moving in together.’