A Match Made by Cupid

“Doesn’t concern me what his reasons are. If they concern you, then you should probably ask him.”

Oh, she would. Right before she strangled him. The throbbing vein in her neck calmed while she considered how red she’d let his face turn before she allowed him to breathe again. “There is absolutely no backing out of this?”

“Consider him your other half. If you agree, the two of you will be spending large chunks of time together, so you might as well get used to the idea.” Kurt tossed her a half smile. “Though he does have some ideas about the feature you might like.”

“What? Ten surefire steps on how to entice women into his bed?” she shot back. “And what the hell does Jace know about love? I mean, has he ever been in a relationship that lasted more than three hours?”

“Have you?” Kurt asked, deadpan.

She ignored that and asked, “How am I going to have time for this along with everything else? I have at least twenty hours of work sitting on my desk and the week has barely begun.”

“Give everything to Joanne to redistribute,” Kurt said, referring to his assistant. “Does that mean you’re saying yes, Melanie?”

Well. She really didn’t have a choice, did she? “I accept your terms, even if they are lame and unnecessary. God, Kurt…I can’t believe you agreed to this.”

Kurt laughed, his pudgy cheeks swelling as he did. “Why wouldn’t I? For one, I don’t have to waste time interviewing candidates to replace you. For two, I trust Jace’s instincts.” Lifting his shoulders in a slight shrug, Kurt continued, “Somehow, I have an idea that the two of you will make an excellent team. You could learn a lot from Jace.”

Melanie nodded, swung around on her heel and escaped. She had a neck to throttle.

Chapter Two

Jace swallowed a large gulp of coffee and propped his legs on his desk, trying to display a relaxed, laissez-faire attitude.

All a front, of course.

Indifferent did not, in any way whatsoever, describe his feelings toward Melanie. Or his current mental state, for that matter. Flummoxed was more appropriate, though still not quite right. A word didn’t exist that accurately conveyed the maddening mix of confusion, attraction, yearning, irritation, hope, desire and awkwardness that even thinking about Melanie brought to the surface. So flummoxed would have to do well enough.

Jace figured the woman in question was set to storm into his office at any minute, likely with smoke pouring out of her ears and flames shooting from her tongue. When she did, he wanted to be ready. And that meant keeping his messy stew of emotions under wraps. Melanie needed to see him as calm. Collected. Worthwhile.

Muttering a curse, Jace downed another gulp of his too-weak brew. For sure Melanie was going to be steamed. Not the best way to begin any collaboration, especially one which he hoped to turn into a relationship.

Whoa, he warned himself. Don’t get carried away. He wasn’t prepared to commit himself to the idea of a bonafide relationship with a woman who barely gave him the time of day.

But he wanted the shot. Wanted to see if what he thought was possible actually was. No other woman had ever affected him the way Melanie did. After countless hours of consideration and many sleepless nights, the reason remained a mystery.

Jace, like many men, had a type of woman he normally went for. Melanie wasn’t only different from those women, she was a complete aberration. Stubborn instead of easygoing. Prickly and sarcastic instead of sweet and charming. And, more often than not, an utter mess instead of perfectly put-together. From shirts buttoned wrong to mismatched socks to tripping over air, the woman was a walking disaster.

Traits that shouldn’t, under any circumstance, have proved appealing. But God help him, he found every one of them endearing. Cute. At times, downright sexy.

Today was an ideal example. Singed hair—he had to wonder how she’d managed that—coffee-stained pants and, he’d noticed with some humor, one eye artfully shaded with cosmetics and the other eye bare. It took all of his willpower to keep from pulling her to him for a kiss.

He fantasized about her, for crying out loud. Which would be okay if all of his fantasies surrounded getting her into bed. He was a man, she was a woman. Those types of fantasies made sense, could be expected, even. But mixed in with those delicious imaginings were the mundane. Washing dishes with her, watching TV curled up on the couch together, and the most recent—going to the damn grocery store with her.

And that was only the beginning of the strange, wacko world he’d lived in since first laying eyes on Melanie Prentiss. She drove him crazy. He drove himself crazy thinking about her. And he didn’t have a damn clue what to do about it.

Jace went for another swig of coffee, only to find the mug empty. His eyes landed on the door, which he’d purposely left open, and then at his watch. It had easily been twenty minutes…so, where the hell was she?

A cramp hit his calves. He attempted to stretch his legs while retaining his laid-back, not-a-care-in-the-world pose and managed to shove his chair backward. His ass slid forward as if he’d slicked his jeans with butter, and before he could react, his body—and the mug—hit the floor with a combination crash-bang-thud.

He winced, more in embarrassment than in pain, and pulled himself up. Fast. And looked toward the door, half expecting to see that Melanie had shown up in the nick of time to witness his tumble. She wasn’t there. Partly a relief, partly a worry.

Jace picked up his mug, brushed off his bruised rear, ignored his bruised pride and retook his seat. This time, though, he stretched his legs under the desk. Safer that way.

Aggravated, Jace turned to his laptop and tried to focus on editing his latest article. He had plenty to do until Melanie arrived. Plenty to keep his mind occupied. He read the opening sentence and then glanced at the door. No Mel. He re-read the sentence and continued on to the second before his eyes slid from his monitor, only to see the doorway still vacant.

“Idiot,” he muttered.

He rubbed his hands over his face and returned his attention to doing his damn job. His role at the paper was rather varied. Sure, he was given assignments like any other Gazette employee, but Jace’s main gig was “Bachelor on the Loose,” a biweekly column on dating delivered from a single man’s point of view. In addition, he did a monthly write-up, “Man About Town,” that included Portland and the surrounding area’s hotspots, current events and anything else that caught his fancy.

This particular article wasn’t any of the former. It wasn’t a lighthearted piece. It wasn’t an interview with a local politician or a breakdown of the city’s economy.

No, the focus of this article was personal. The subject being his nephew, Cody, who’d died in a car accident a little over three years ago. Jace’s older brother, Grady—Cody’s father—had taken Cody to see Santa a few days before Christmas. On their way home, they were struck by a drunk driver. Cody had been five.

That first year, the loss had made it impossible to even consider writing about the accident, about Cody. Since then, though, the idea had swirled around in Jace’s brain until he had no choice but to act. Anger didn’t begin to describe how he felt that his sweet, loving, funny nephew had lost his life because someone hadn’t thought.

He wanted people to think. He wanted to do what he could to make people think.

In his efforts to tackle the project, he spoke with various organizations and compiled a boatload of statistics. He didn’t mention Cody at all in the first or second drafts, concentrating instead on laying out the facts in a clear and concise manner. Neither draft made the cut, as they were dry, lackluster and held less emotion than gravel.

He’d set the piece aside for months while his brain and his heart battled it out. Finally, he gave in to his heart and wrote about Cody. That was when the article came alive. So he interviewed other people who’d lost someone they loved because someone else had gotten behind the wheel when they shouldn’t have. And that was when Jace came to grips with what the article was really about.

The piece was truly about Cody. It was about the little girl who was the sole survivor when an intoxicated driver going the wrong way on the highway crashed into the minivan carrying her family. It was about the airline pilot who, upon driving home late one night from the airport, died instantaneously when a car filled with college-age partiers hit his vehicle head-on. It was also about the pilot’s widow, a woman who had proudly shared memories of her husband when Jace had met with her.

It was about them: the people lost and the people left behind. And damn, he wanted to do it justice. Needed to.

But he couldn’t concentrate, so he shut off the laptop. Another day, when his mind was clearer and his heart wasn’t smacking against his breastbone like an overactive puppy. When his ability to create wasn’t hampered by a woman he couldn’t make sense of.

Jace glanced at his watch again and groaned. Where was Melanie? No way should it have taken this long for Kurt to give her the specifics. Panic struck, tightened Jace’s chest and closed his throat. Maybe she’d refused the deal. Maybe she was packing up her belongings now and heading out. No. That was ludicrous. Partnering with him had to be preferable to unemployment.

He pushed his chair away from his desk, ready to stalk out of his office to find out, when she stalked in. Relief punched him solidly in the gut, because, yep—she had flames and smoke. Which meant she’d accepted the deal and he had the time he needed to figure things out.

She’d fixed her makeup and changed into jeans and a T-shirt. The building had workout facilities in the lower level, so he assumed that was why she had an extra set of clothes on hand. But he found it interesting that she’d decided to change before coming to see him.

Kicking his legs up on the desk, he winked. “There you are, darlin’. I was wondering what was taking you so long.”

“Planning your demise,” she said with a flip of her shoulder-length, caramel-colored hair. “But I decided you’re not worth going to prison for.”

“Mmm-hmm” was his only reply. He couldn’t think. Not when he was busy imagining the feel of her hair against his skin. Of having the right to touch it—her—whenever he wanted.

“Instead, I’m going to… What are you staring at?”

“Your hair,” he said instantly, without thought. “It’s—”

“Burned. Yeah, I know. You’re such a jerk.” Whipping her hand to her temple, she tousled her hair. And that little movement just about killed him. “Stop staring.”

His lips twitched, but he kept the grin from emerging. “How did you manage to burn your hair? I envision you doing acrobatics with a flaming torch or juggling lit candles.”

“That is none of your business.”

“I bet you’d look hot. With a torch. Doing cartwheels.”

The barest glint of humor sparkled in her honey-brown eyes. In a snap, she masked her amusement behind the sharp glare of annoyance. “Do you know what you are, Jace Foster?”

“Your hero?” He stretched his arms, gave a lazy yawn and tucked his hands behind his head. “Thanks aren’t necessary. I’m happy to be of service.”

She blinked those fabulous eyes in shock…anger? Hell if he knew. Maybe it spoke badly of him to purposely put her off balance, but he loved getting a reaction out of her. Mostly because those were the only times she seemed to notice him.

“Hero?” she said, her voice low and dangerously even. That surprised him. He’d be a liar if he said it also didn’t worry him. “Where in that thickheaded, egotistical skull of yours do you think I’d consider you a hero for butting into my business?”

“That would be my brain, Mel. The frontal lobe, to be specific.” He almost winked again, but feared that might be pushing his luck. “In case you are unaware, that is where reasoning takes place…along with a whole bunch of other stuff.”

“Well, I’d say your frontal lobe is severely damaged,” she snapped. Bright spots of pink colored her cheeks. “You’re a conceited, know-it-all, cocky, pushy dog of a man who uses his sex appeal and charisma to get what he wants.” She pointed her finger at him and took one long step forward. “And I’m here to tell you that your charm and…and…stupid, sexy smile don’t work on me.”

“You know,” he drawled, going for light and easy. “Somewhere in the middle there were several compliments. I’m flattered you think of me so highly.”

“Compliments?” With two taps on her forehead, she said, “Yep. Your frontal lobe is definitely out of whack. Might want to consider scheduling a doctor’s appointment before you completely lose touch with reality.”

Counting off on his fingers, Jace said, “Sex appeal. Charisma. Charm. Sexy smile. Oh, and cocky. I count that as five compliments. Though I suppose charisma and charm could count as one, but you used both so I say two.”

He watched in part humor, part dread as the pink flush darkened to a scalding red. Embarrassment, temper or both? “I’m curious,” Melanie said. “Were you always this full of yourself or is this attitude a recent change in your behavior?”

“Hey, you’re the one who said I had a sexy smile.” Then, knowing he shouldn’t, but not able to stop himself, he said, “And I did save your job, so perhaps a ‘Thank you, Jace’ might be in order after all.”

“It was my problem to deal with. Not yours.” She stepped forward another few paces. “I don’t appreciate that you took it upon yourself to speak with Kurt about me. About my job. I’m a big girl, Jace. My mistakes are my mistakes. I don’t need a man swooping in to clean up after me.” Her gaze fixed on him. If he hadn’t been watching her closely, he would’ve missed the way her chin trembled. “I don’t need a hero.”

There was hurt there, he realized. The gleam of it trebled in her voice, glittered in her expression. He hadn’t expected that. He didn’t know how to deal with that. “He was going to fire you, Mel. I wanted to help.”

“I don’t need a hero,” she repeated. Oh, crap. Her eyes had a definite watery glow.

Jace swung his legs off of his desk. It was time to reel this in, before she burst into tears. He couldn’t handle when a woman cried. Any woman. If Melanie cried, he was pretty sure he’d give her anything she wanted to make her stop. His car, his house, all of the money in his bank account…his still-beating heart. Whatever it took.

“Look,” he said calmly, “this wasn’t about playing hero. I was planning on talking to you today about doing that Valentine’s Day feature together. And then I read your column.”

Melanie angled her arms across her chest. “So you went to Kurt why?”

“Because I knew he’d be ticked.” Jace shrugged. “I actually like when you go all crazy-man-hater woman in your column, but Kurt doesn’t. We couldn’t do the article together if you were fired, so I stepped in.”

“I don’t hate men. I just don’t—”

“Trust them. Yeah, you’ve made that clear.”

“I have never met a man worth trusting.” Her eyes rounded, as if she hadn’t meant to disclose that information. There was a story there, Jace knew. Come hell or high water, he was going to find out what that story was.

But for now, all he said was “You’ve met him now.”

“That remains to be seen.” She huffed out a breath. “You should know I hate this. I accepted the stipulations because being out of work would cause more problems than dealing with you. But I’m not going to date you. I’m not going to sleep with you. I’m not interested in anything but a professional relationship with you. You need to be clear on that going in.”

Her voice held steel, but her eyes were still too shiny for Jace’s comfort. So he didn’t point out that she sounded as if she were trying to convince herself and not him. “Any other rules before we start earning our salaries?”

She slicked her palms down the front of her jeans. “You understand that I’m serious?”

“No dating. No sex. Yep, I understand.” Opening his top desk drawer, he pulled out two legal pads. With a nod toward a chair, he said, “Take a seat. We have a lot to talk about.”

“And here we go,” she murmured and sat down. “I really hate this.”

“Working with me is really that bad?” He shoved one of the pads and a pencil across the desk.

“Well, see…that’s the thing. I’m not working with you. You’re in charge. Kurt was quite adamant on that front.”

Ah. That was what was bugging her. The frustration bubbling through him eased. “I don’t care what Kurt said. We’re partners…okay? I’m not going to order you around or ask you to answer my phone or get me coffee. As far as I’m concerned, we’re equals.”

“Hmm.” Her right eyebrow arched. “Except you get to review anything I write, and if you decide something should be changed, I have to change it. Doesn’t sound so equal to me.”

Overseeing Melanie’s work hadn’t been Jace’s idea, so he had no problem saying “How about this? We’ll just pretend I’m supervising your damn column. Just stay away from the man-hating verbiage so Kurt doesn’t decide to fire us both.”

Genuine astonishment flickered over her face. Good. It was about time he surprised her. “Serious? You’d risk your job to put us on an even playing field?”

Hell, he’d quit his job if that was what it took. “I’m asking you to trust me. This way, I have to trust you, too.” Jace held out a hand. “So what do you say? Partners?”

She hesitated for a millisecond, but then nodded and reached over to shake his hand. “Okay, Jace. Partners. But no flirting. No sexual innuendo. All business.”

“Right.” He captured her hand in his, and they shook. Her hand, soft and warm, fit perfectly into his. A shot of electricity, awareness, sizzled along his skin, sped his pulse and frazzled his brain. He dropped his grip and picked up his pencil before he said something stupid. Hell, touching her made him want to spout off poetry. If he did, she’d probably clock him straight across the jaw.

In an effort to regain his equilibrium, he angled his head to the side and gave her a megawatt grin. “But, just to get this straight, you think my smile is sexy?”

The corners of her lips wiggled in the makings of a smile. She reined it in, gave him a long look and shrugged. “I’ve seen worse.”

And that, he figured, was the best he was going to get from her. For now, anyway.

Melanie glanced at the notes she’d jotted for the past thirty minutes and tried to dredge up even a glimmer of excitement. Unfortunately, that wasn’t going to happen. Not only because of the topic of the article, but because of the man she had to deal with. Being around Jace made her jumpy, made her obsess about stupid things like how her hair looked.

She didn’t want to think about her hair. She didn’t want to worry if she had coffee breath or if he noticed that she could stand to lose a few pounds. But mostly, she didn’t want to fantasize about what it would be like to sleep with him.

Yeah, he’d surprised her with his willingness to put her at ease, and maybe she felt a tiny bit more comfortable with this ridiculous arrangement than she had when she’d stormed into his office. But she didn’t trust him. Nor, if she was being honest, did she trust herself.

The only solution was to change the scope of the Valentine’s Day article so they wouldn’t have to spend countless hours together. But first she had to get him to agree.

“You know, we don’t have a lot of time to put this article together.” She tapped the eraser end of the pencil against the legal pad. “We might want to consider alternatives. Perhaps go a different route than you’ve suggested.”

Leaning forward, he set his elbows on his desk and his chin in his hands. “You don’t like what we’ve discussed?”

“It isn’t that so much as—” She broke off and gave him the brightest smile she could muster. “We have what—six weeks until Valentine’s Day? So, five weeks of work. That means interviews, compiling notes, writing the piece and keeping up with our normal responsibilities. If anything goes wrong, we don’t have much padding to recover.”

He matched her grin with one of his own. Likely just as false. Because he knew as well as she did that five weeks gave them plenty of time. “I’m pretty sure we’ll be fine, but I’m curious. What do you have in mind?”

“Why can’t we expose Valentine’s Day for what it is instead of perpetuating the myth?”

“The myth being…?”

“The monetization of love and romance, naturally. The pervasive need to spend money on meaningless gifts just because the date happens to be February fourteenth.”

“Interesting concept. And,” he said with a flirtatious wink, “as appealing as the idea of exposing anything with you is, I’m not sure—”

“Seriously, Jace? You can’t stop yourself, can you?”

He looked at her blankly, his expression broadcasting that he had no idea what she was talking about. “I’m confused. I can’t stop myself from…?”

“What part of ‘no sexual innuendo’ do you not understand?” Okay, getting upset wasn’t going to solve this particular problem. Reasoning, however, might. “Think about what you just said. Is it really so difficult to have a straight-up business conversation with me?”

Comprehension replaced confusion. “Whoa, Mel. It was just a joke.”

“Fine. It was a joke. But if you were sitting here with Kurt, and he said what I said, would you have expressed that you’d find exposing anything with him appealing? Would you have joked that way with him?” She shook her head. “I highly doubt it.”

“Okay. Wow.” His jaw tensed. “No, I wouldn’t have.”

“That’s what I’m talking about. You say we’re partners, so that’s what I want. Pretend I’m Kurt if you have to. Call me Kurt if it will help.”

“I can’t pretend you’re a man. But you’re one-hundred percent right and I apologize for giving in to the impulse to tease you.” He raked his hands through his hair in frustration. “I’m sorry. The last thing I meant to do was upset you.”

He sounded so forlorn and, Melanie had to admit, genuinely sorry. A good amount of her annoyance fled. Deciding to let him off the hook—for the good of the article and their partnership, of course—she nodded. “I appreciate the apology. But all this proves is that my earlier statement was correct.”

Blinking, he said, “Now you’ve lost me.”

Like before, she tapped her forehead. “Your brain, Jace. In addition to reasoning, the frontal lobe is responsible for impulse control,” she teased, enjoying the moment way more than called for. “Something you’re obviously lacking in. I bet you eat whatever you want whenever you want. And if I had to guess, I’d say that you’ve purchased many a product from late-night infomercials. Tell me, how many ShamWows do you own?”

“Nice bringing that back around.” His mouth quirked. “For the record, I’ve never bought a ShamWow. But I own a Snuggie…or two.” He blinked again. “Maybe three. And here’s the kicker. I purchased the first one before they were available in stores.”

She tried to imagine Jace snuggled up in a Snuggie watching something manly on the television—like a football game or an action flick. A gurgle of laughter escaped. “One of Portland’s ‘sexiest single men’ in a Snuggie. A picture of that should go with your columns.”

His face contorted into a half scowl, half pout. “A man has a right to stay warm and comfortable in the privacy of his own home. And, I’ll have you know, the Snuggie is a genius creation! I can eat popcorn, drink a beer, work on my laptop, or read a book all without getting…um…a chill.”

She tried to regain her composure but couldn’t. “Jace Foster, the man about town, the man who cycles through women every time the wind changes, drinks beer while in his Snuggie. It’s just so at odds with your public persona.”

“Yeah, well, what can I say? I’m a man of mystery.”

“Hmm. Yes. A man of mystery who owns three Snuggies.” She wiped the tears from her cheeks. “I really need to see a photo.”