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"Hey!"

His smile faded as his gaze met mine. "I should've said it sooner."

I snickered. "I know."

And with that, I leaned forward and pressed my lips to his. I might've done more if not for the seatbelt holding me back – and yes, the presence of other cars rumbling past.

Still, I laced my fingers around the back of his neck and kissed him with everything I had, even as I gave my wrist a little pinch, just to make sure it wasn't a dream.

Happily, it wasn't – even if the very next week, I was dealing with a total nightmare.

That nightmare had a name.

Imogen St. James.

Chapter 58

Becka

I stared across the crowded book store.Was that who I thought it was?

She was tall with long dark hair and a figure to die for. She was wearing a form-fitting black dress, high black heels, and huge sparkling earrings.

She looked like visiting royalty or the trophy wife of a rich oligarch. But she wasn't either one of those things. She was Jack's ex-girlfriend and yes, a world-famous model.

But even if she weren't famous, she'd stand out like a princess on a pitcher's mound.

The store was located in a working-class suburb in Northern Ohio. According to the local news, the town had seen better days. But that hadn't stopped the bookstore from attracting an impressive crowd to the signing.

Already, Jack had been signing books for nearly two hours. During those hours, the crowd had grown bigger, not smaller. By now, the line of people waiting snaked all the way through the store, taking up several aisles and half of the attached coffee shop.

As for the store's employees, they were too busy manning the coffee bar and cash registers to help with crowd control. That was fine by me. With only a few exceptions, everyone in line had been really nice.And patient, too.

Would Imogen be patient?

I somehow doubted it.

As I stared across the distance, I murmured, "What's she doing here?"

The guy at the front of the line said, "Excuse me?"

I turned to look. "Sorry, what?"

"You said something. Were you talking to me?"

I gave him an apologetic smile. "No. Sorry. It was nothing." As I spoke, my gaze drifted back to Imogen as she wandered to a display table stacked impressively high with thick hard-cover books.

The stack had been even higher when we'd shown up. The books were written by Jack, and they were selling hot and heavy.

Reluctantly, I turned to look at Jack, who was signing a stack of books for a trio of teenagers and their mom. If he noticed Imogen, he gave no sign.

Still, if I were a betting person, I'd put up a decent chunk of money that Jack had spotted Imogen long before I had. During our months of traveling, I'd seen firsthand that Jack saweverything.

Only a week had passed since we'd exchanged those three magical words, and I'd been walking with my head in the clouds ever since.

Over the course of the book tour, a lot had changed – not just during the past week, but also during the past few months.

As far as hotels, Jack was no longer staying on the lower floors. Instead, he was staying in the nicest – and yes, highest – suites they had available. And I was staying with him.