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A Match Made by Cupid
Tracy Madison
Melanie Prentiss doesn't believe in happy endings.So when her latest assignment pairs her with tall, dark, off-the-charts-gorgeous bachelor Jace Foster, she figures it's Cupid's idea of a joke. Collaborate on an article about love with Portland's resident playboy? A man she finds more irresistible than anyone has a right to be?Jace is a changed man. But thanks to his popular Bachelor column, the world still thinks he's happily single. Truth is, he's been bitten by the love bug. He only has eyes for Melanie. And with Valentine's Day around the corner, now's the time to put his newfound settling-down skills to the test and prove to Melanie that they're made for each other!


Bachelor on the loose. But not for long!
Melanie Prentiss doesn’t believe in happy endings. So when her latest assignment pairs her with tall, dark, off-the-charts-gorgeous bachelor Jace Foster, she figures it’s Cupid’s idea of a joke. Collaborate on an article about love with Portland’s resident playboy? A man she finds more irresistible than anyone has a right to be?
Jace is a changed man. But thanks to his popular Bachelor column, the world still thinks he’s happily single. Truth is, he’s been bitten by the love bug. He only has eyes for Melanie. And with Valentine’s Day around the corner, now’s the time to put his newfound settling-down skills to the test and prove to Melanie that they’re made for each other!
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 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.”
She stepped forward another few paces. “I’m a big girl, Jace. I don’t need a man swooping in to clean up after me. I don’t need a hero.” Her gaze fixed on him. If he hadn’t been watching her closely, he would’ve missed the way her chin trembled.
Dear Reader,
I’m a holiday junkie. I will happily admit this to anyone who asks, though those who know me are already very much aware of my addiction to holidays. Valentine’s Day just happens to be one of my favorites. How could it not be? It’s a day meant to celebrate love. Sometimes, though, love can be sticky, confusing and downright painful.
What happens when a woman’s life experiences have taught her that loving a man spells disaster, especially when the man she’s falling for seems to embody every trait she’s learned to shy away from? What if she has to work with this man on—of all things—a Valentine’s Day feature for the newspaper they both work for?
These are the questions that sparked the story you’re about to read, A Match Made by Cupid. In this book, you’ll meet Jace and Melanie, two people who are seemingly polar opposites but still find the attraction between them blinding. While Jace is ready for love, Melanie never wants to tie her heart to a man.
I had such a wonderful time writing this story, and I hope you fall in love with Jace and Melanie just as I did. And of course, happy Valentine’s Day!
Tracy Madison
A Match Made by Cupid
Tracy Madison






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
TRACY MADISON
lives in Northwestern Ohio with her husband, four children, one bear-size dog, one loving-but-paranoid pooch and a couple of snobby cats. Her house is often hectic, noisy and filled to the brim with laugh-out-loud moments. Many of these incidents fire up her imagination to create the interesting, realistic and intrinsically funny characters that live in her stories. Tracy loves to hear from readers. You can reach her at tracy@tracymadison.com.
To my mother: for always believing in and supporting me. I couldn’t have asked for a better woman to guide me through life. Thank you.
Contents
Chapter One (#u27e7e071-b8cb-5936-9c1e-6172232e0210)
Chapter Two (#u440cea35-14f7-528b-8c17-82653a8aaa66)
Chapter Three (#u3567352e-fd97-5e0d-87e9-980b696a5703)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One
Some days start off bad but end up redeeming themselves. Other days simply go from bad to worse. Despite Melanie Prentiss’s best efforts to believe in redemption, today promised to be of the latter variety.
The bad-day vibe began when she lit her hair on fire. Well, more of a smolder than an actual flame. All she’d meant to do was heat up her eyeliner pencil so the color would glide on smoothly. She’d been going for the larger-than-life-eyes look, not the she-barely-escaped-a-burning-building-alive look.
Fingering the singed chunk of hair at her right temple, Melanie sighed. That was the moment she should have taken notice and called in sick. But because her mother had raised her to be tenacious, she’d ventured on—only to spill her grande-size caramel macchiato all over her lap on the drive to work. A little mishap that nearly caused her to rear-end the car in front of her. Not to mention the so-not-fun sensation of steaming hot liquid drenching her thighs.
But did she turn her car around and head toward home like any sane person would’ve done? No. Something she regretted hugely when she entered her office building, rushing because she was already late, and managed to catch her heel on the rubber floor mat in the lobby. She’d flown across said lobby like a bird with an injured wing, landing in a pile of coffee-soaked clothes in front of the bank of elevators. Minus one shoe, naturally.
And now: this.
Melanie scowled as she stared at the hastily scrawled message from her boss stuck to her monitor: Melanie! My office. ASAP!
Why today? She’d hoped for a longer reprieve before being summoned by Kurt, the editor she worked for at the small newspaper in Portland, Oregon. How likely was it that he wanted to see her about something other than her latest column? Not very, she admitted to herself. Heck, she couldn’t even blame him. She’d crossed a line she shouldn’t have. Again.
Shrugging off her coat, she plopped down in her chair. No, the blame could only rest on her shoulders. Her emotions had gotten the better of her. Mostly because of her mother’s latest broken heart. Loretta Prentiss had at least three of them per year, and it was always up to Melanie to help bandage together the pieces. Her mother was intelligent, attractive, the owner of a successful business, and ferociously devoted to finding her “one true love.”
Too bad she had terrible taste in men.
Loretta’s men, as Melanie called them, all fell in the “too” category: too suave, too handsome and too charismatic. They laughed too hard and too loud, and the far majority of them bleached their teeth a little too much. Basically, they were too good to be true.
At least the latest heartbreaker had waited until after Christmas to commence with the wreckage. But with Valentine’s Day less than two months away, Melanie wished he’d put it off for another seven weeks. That he’d wined and dined Loretta and gifted her with some roses and chocolates before waltzing off into the sunset.
Yeah, that would have been perfect, and so much easier on Loretta and Melanie.
Melanie’s gaze landed on the note again, and she groaned. Giving advice that stayed on the right side of the line shouldn’t be so difficult. And now… Well, there was a better-than-average chance she was about to be fired.
Maybe she’d be lucky and Kurt would assign someone else as the advice columnist and let her focus on her other tasks. It wasn’t as if becoming the next Dear Abby was her lifetime goal. In truth, the only reason she’d accepted the position was to get her foot in the door. It had taken her nearly five years after earning her degree to get this job.
She’d considered herself fortunate to receive any offer. Especially with the undeniable fact that newspapers were laying off more people than they were hiring. So yes, she’d jumped at the position, even though her duties were mostly administrative in nature. Other than her column, she spent her time researching information and fact-checking for other staff members.
Swearing under her breath, Melanie grabbed the bright yellow Post-it and crumpled it in her fist. What would she do if Kurt fired her? She had little to no savings—not because she spent money carelessly, but because she didn’t earn that large of a paycheck to begin with—and between her car payment and rent, she barely managed to make ends meet.
She could ask her mother for a loan, but that might squeeze her an extra month at most. Her mom’s salon was successful, but not successful enough to support both of them for very long. Melanie tossed the balled-up note into the trash, leaned back in her chair, and closed her eyes in an attempt to ignore her building panic. In all likelihood, she was screwed.
“Out partying too late last night, Mel?”
The rich, melodic voice eased into her like sunshine on a cool day. The fact that such a voice came from such a man only served to irritate her more. Without opening her eyes, she said, “Not hardly. That’s your game, Jace.”
“That’s where you have me wrong. I don’t play games.”
She cracked one eye open and immediately wished she hadn’t. She’d never before come across a man who got to her the way Jace Foster did. Broad shoulders, narrow waist, tight hips, long legs, chiseled cheekbones and dark-chocolate eyes that promised long, sultry nights filled with tantalizing sex. She’d wanted him—no, she corrected herself, she’d yearned for him—from the moment they met. But dipping her toe into the water of the office’s resident playboy was a mistake she refused to make. Tenacity wasn’t the only lesson she’d learned from her mother, and Jace definitely fell in the “too” category.
“Go away,” she said, closing her eye again. “I’m thinking.”
“Go ahead and think, darlin’. I’m happy to wait…and watch.”
Melanie felt him approach, heard him slide himself up on her desk, but she ignored him. Well, she tried to. She did okay until she heard the rat-a-tat-tat of a pencil tapping. Damn it!
“I know you don’t see women thinking very often, so while I understand the appeal, I’d prefer to be left alone,” she said.
He laughed, a deep rolling sound that unhinged something tight inside of her. And how frustrating was that? “I’m supposed to tell you that Kurt wants to see you posthaste,” Jace drawled. “Did you do something to irritate the head honcho?”
Her eyes snapped open. “Since when did you become Kurt’s assistant? Are you bringing him his coffee now, too?”
“Just passing the message along, like he asked.” Glints of humor, and something else, shone brightly in Jace’s eyes. As if he had a secret. He knew something, and he couldn’t wait for her to find out what that something was. She was sure of it.
“Spill it. What’s going on?”
Jace tucked the pencil behind one ear, his longish black hair covering most of it. Holding both hands in front of him, as if giving up the fight, he said, “Go talk to the boss. We’ll talk when you’re done.”
Standing, she planted her hands on either side of Jace and leaned in close. The spicy scent of his cologne began a curl of heat deep in her belly. “What’s going on?” she repeated.
“I said—” his head tilted forward “—go talk to the boss first.” He brought one hand up, his fingers touching her temple, and the heat of it forced a tremble that began at her toes.
“Wh-what are you doing?” she stammered. A series of shivers stole over her, and for a breath-stealing second, she thought he was going to kiss her. Here. In the middle of the workplace. And why in Heaven’s name was that idea so appealing?
Full lips turned upward at the corners in a smile that had surely charmed dozens, if not hundreds, of women before her. His fingers brushed back until they tugged gently at her hair. “I’m wondering when singed hair became the newest fashion statement, Mello Yello.”
In an instant, the desire she’d began to feel evaporated. Pushing herself away, she centered herself by crossing her arms. “Bad morning. Is it about to get worse?”
“Depends on your definition of worse.”
She angled her head toward Kurt’s office. “What do you know that you’re not telling me?”
Jace blinked long, sooty lashes in feigned innocence before shoving himself off her desk. “I’ll be waiting for you,” he said over his shoulder as he sauntered away.
Without fully realizing it, she watched him as he walked off, his long-legged gait one of lazy sexuality. How many women had been lulled into his bed by the look of those legs in tightly fitted denim? By the crazy, heart-pumping want of unbuttoning his jeans and stripping them off of him, one leg at a time? Far too many, she was sure. And all of them had likely believed in happily-ever-afters and all too easily had visualized Jace as their knight in shining armor. Well, not her. She would never become a notch on Jace Foster’s belt.
Battling the annoyance rising up, she inhaled a mouthful of air. The sound of a throat clearing caught her off guard.
“You want to have this discussion out here, or shall we go to my office?” asked Kurt, now standing in front of her desk. “Either works for me, but you might appreciate some privacy for this conversation.”
Yep. She was going to be fired. “Your office. I was just on my way,” Melanie replied, nervous all over again. “Just let me grab my notebook—”
“Don’t need it.” He turned on his heel with the confidence of a man in charge, knowing she’d fall in behind. Not that Kurt Winslow was a bad guy, because he wasn’t. But he was most certainly the boss, and the people who worked for him respected and feared him in equal measures.
Well, except for Jace. He respected Kurt well enough but seemed to fear nothing.
She waited two beats before following, trepidation existing in every step. She’d learned within her first week of employment that the best way to deal with Kurt was to stand behind her work. He didn’t like simpering. He despised wishy-washiness. She took a careful step into his office and sent a silent prayer upward that this would be quick and relatively painless.
Kurt glowered at her from behind his desk. His too-small-for-his-face blue eyes narrowed when he saw her hovering. “Close the door behind you.”
“Can we do this later? I have to—”
“Now, Melanie. You’ve gone too far this time.”
With a sigh, she stepped farther into his office and shut the door. “I’m almost done with next week’s column,” she said, hoping if she started with the positive, she could derail the negative. The advice column was due each Friday, to appear in the following Tuesday’s edition of the Gazette. Of course, she knew her boss was ticked about today’s edition, not next week’s.
“Can’t wait to see it,” he said with more than a note of sarcasm. “But, Mel—”
“I know why you’re mad,” she interrupted. “If you’ll just let me explain.”
“What’s there to explain? You’re supposed to be giving good advice. If you can’t, then you tell them to get advice from a professional. Stating that love doesn’t exist, and women who believe in love are deluding themselves, is not the type of advice we hired you to give.”
“I didn’t say love doesn’t exist! Not exactly, anyway.”
Kurt grabbed the newspaper sitting to his right. Leafing it open to the correct page, he read, “I’ve been with my fiancé for over six years. He keeps stalling on setting a date for our wedding but says he still wants to get married. I’m getting tired of waiting around. What can I do to get him to set a date once and for all? From, Never a Bride.”
“I know what it says,” Melanie hedged. “You don’t need to read it back to me.”
Kurt continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “Dear Never a Bride, If your fiancé has waited this long and still refuses to set a date, then I’m sorry to tell you, a wedding will never happen. Wake up from your delusions and take a good hard look at your relationship. You’re better off becoming a nun than waiting around for this loser to seal the deal. Throw him away like yesterday’s trash and go it alone. You’ll be happier.” Kurt slapped the newspaper on top of an already toppling stack.
“See? Told you I didn’t say love doesn’t exist. And come on, that man obviously doesn’t want to get married.” Even to her own ears, the argument sounded weak. “I’m not going to lie!”
Kurt leaned back in his chair and glowered some more. His bushy eyebrows scrunched together, looking very much like a caterpillar had taken residence on his forehead. “Then you tell her to talk to him, you suggest counseling, you express how important communication is.”
“Yeah, but—”
“I explained to you what we want from this column. We want sound advice, Melanie. Advice that will perhaps actually help your readers, not make them feel like crap.”
“You said to go for humor,” Melanie pointed out, trying to grasp on to something.
“Gentle humor. But this—” he swiped at the paper, causing it and two others to fall to the ground “—isn’t funny. We’re not out for sarcasm or snappy one-liners.”
“Well…there are a lot of people who enjoy edgy sarcasm. And that style is certainly valid.” She huffed out a breath. “Jace uses it in his columns! So, maybe—”
“There is no maybe here.” Kurt shook his head in frustration. “Your audience isn’t Jace’s. The majority of your readers are women who are looking for relationship advice.”
“Okay, but—”
“Melanie! Stop trying to cover the real issue here.” He ran his hands over his eyes. “Do you think you’re particularly good at this job?” He waited a second, and then, “Because I don’t.”
She winced. “Ouch, Kurt. Maybe I’ve made a few mistakes, but—”
“I like you, Mel. You are capable of doing a good job.”
A tiny amount of optimism fizzled in. “Thank you,” she said softly. “I promise—”
“But I’ve given you a long rope, and you’ve gone and hung yourself with it. I don’t want to babysit you, and I shouldn’t have to. I need to be able to trust you.”
“I get that.”
“I told you last time I was going to fire you if this happened again.”
She mentally added the twenty-two dollars in her wallet with the less than one hundred in her bank account and somehow managed not to groan. “But…um…you’re not going to, right?”
The resounding silence was deafening. After what seemed an eternity, Kurt did sort of a half shrug. “That’s up to you. I’m willing to give you one more chance. But that chance comes with stipulations.”
“I can do stipulations! What are they?”
He gave her a hard stare. “From now on, everything you write is to be reviewed by someone else. If that someone says you change it, you change it. No questions asked. Got it?”
“Whatever you want,” she blurted, happy to still be employed. But then a sudden whisper of intuition made her stomach cramp. He wouldn’t—couldn’t—do that to her, could he? “Well, wait a minute. Who is the ‘someone else’ you’re referring to?”
“Jace.”
Shock coursed through her. “Jace Foster? Forget it. I’d rather be fired.”
“All righty, then. You’re fired. Clean out your desk and get out of here.”
Okay. Not a bluff.
Melanie inhaled a breath, counted to ten and then pushed it back out. The only way she handled her absurd attraction to Jace was by keeping him at a distance. This new scenario would force them together way too often for her liking. “You’re serious? You’re really going to fire me unless I let that egotistical playboy babysit me? I promise I won’t make this mistake again.”
“That’s what you said when you instructed one woman to replace the man in her life with a dog for companionship and a vibrator for pleasure.” Kurt pounded one fist against the surface of his desk, causing another stack of papers to topple. “No dice, Mel.”
She’d forgotten about that one. She still felt it was good advice. “I mean it this time.”
“What about when you blithely told a reader that if her husband was staying late at work every night, then he was most certainly cheating, and she should go talk to a good divorce attorney and take him for everything he had?”
“That could have been true! That husband hadn’t been home on time in over a year!”
Kurt’s mouth straightened into a taut line. “The problem,” he said in a monotone voice, “is that you’re giving advice based on your issues with love and your distrust of men. It can’t continue. Simple as that.”
She coughed to cover her surprise at her boss’s words. At the truth of them. “I don’t distrust all men. But come on, Kurt—Jace? Stick me with someone else. Anyone else.”
“Really, Mel? You think you’re in a position to make demands?” Kurt swept his beefy fingers through his curly mop of hair. “Besides which, it isn’t all bad. You’ve been begging me for an assignment, and I have one for you and Jace to work on together. If you decide to stay.”
She was all set to argue her case—weak as it was—when she realized what Kurt had said. “An assignment? As in an actual, honest-to-God, my-name-on-the-byline assignment?”
“I thought that would interest you.”
Yeah, well, loathe as she was to admit it, she was interested. The Portland Gazette was small, but Jace had a wide readership. Wide enough that he’d been offered positions with larger papers. But for whatever reason, he continued to stick it out here. So an assignment with him might give her a platform to build on.
“What’s the assignment?” she asked through gritted teeth.
“A Valentine’s Day feature.” Kurt grinned at her. “You might actually learn something about love that you can apply to the advice column. A win-win situation, if you ask me.”
“Are you kidding? You want me to write a fluff piece with Jace?”
“I do, and you get to keep your job to boot. You might not like the terms, but I’d say they’re worth considering. Of course, it’s your choice.” Kurt’s chin was set, his gaze firmly planted on hers. He was not going to change his mind.
She should be grabbing on to this with both hands. This was a chance to prove herself. She should feel excited. Instead, every part of her tensed with panic. “Why is Jace even willing to do this? Doesn’t he have more important things to take up his time?”
“Strangely, working with you was his idea. You owe him a thank-you, because if it wasn’t for him, you’d be out of a job.”
Jace’s idea? She silently counted to ten before freaking out. Maybe Jace had a heart. Maybe she was jumping to all the wrong conclusions regarding his motivation. She gave herself a few seconds to consider that. “How did this conversation take place, Kurt?”
“One word at a time,” Kurt said, completely straight-faced. “Other than that, I have no idea what you mean.”
“I mean, how did you and Jace happen to discuss the fact that you might be firing me in the first place? Isn’t that sort of a breach of confidence?”
Kurt looked at her for so long she began to wonder if he’d even heard her, but then he laughed. Loudly. “Breach of confidence. Nice one, Mel. Nah, all that happened was Jace read your column and knew you’d be up to your eyeballs in hot water. He approached me, I listened and we made the deal I offered you.”
“Right. Because he’s so friggin’ kindhearted.” She backed up and braced herself against the closed door. Knowing Jace, this deal was more about seducing her than helping her. He’d flirted with her relentlessly almost from the day she was hired, had asked her out repeatedly and hadn’t even tried to hide his interest. “Did you ask him what he expects to gain from this?”
“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.”
“Not in this century.” His scowl became full-fledged. “And I do not ‘cycle through women every time the wind changes.’” Pushing an unopened bottle of water toward her, he said, “Feel like calming down so we can get back to work?”
He couldn’t really be upset, could he? She hadn’t lied. His dating escapades were discussed in some depth twice a month in his freaking column, “Bachelor on the Loose,” weren’t they? And that was another thing: she hated the name of his column. It made her think of wild animals running free in the city, creating havoc wherever they went.
Another bubble of humor crawled up her windpipe as the ridiculous image of a lion wrapped up in a Snuggie appeared in her head. She took a sip of water to combat the urge to laugh. When she was sure she had her laughter under control, she inhaled a deep breath. “I’m sorry if I somehow offended you. But come on, you know it’s a little funny.”
“Snuggies are nothing to laugh about,” he said in mock seriousness. “However, I get your take on it. You see me as the epitome of masculinity, so learning about my soft side disarmed you and made you question everything you think you know about me.”
“Sure. We’ll go with that.”
He regarded her silently for a moment. With no warning whatsoever, the air changed and a spark of something passed between them. A tingle teased along her skin, shimmied down her spine, and a crop of goose bumps exploded on her arms.
“Um…so…we should probably get back on track.” Her voice came out all weak and wobbly and breathy. Focus, she told herself. “Work. The article. My ideas.”
Jace sort of shook himself, as if waking from a deep sleep. “Absolutely. Back to business. What, exactly, are you proposing we expose in the article?”
She had to reorient herself, remember what they were discussing before the conversation turned a corner. “Valentine’s Day is the biggest con job going. It’s a gold mine for greeting card companies, chocolate manufacturers, florists and jewelry stores. If we go that route, focus on the monetization of the holiday instead of the lovey-dovey crap, we’ll be able to do most of our research from our desks.”
“How is that different from any other holiday?” Jace tapped his fingers against the surface of his desk. “They’re all a boon for the businesses you mentioned, and then some. Following that mentality, Christmas would be the worst of the lot.”
“You’re right,” she replied instantly. He had a valid argument. Luckily, so did she. “Partially, anyway. Every holiday is highly commercial, but you can’t really put Valentine’s Day in the same column as Christmas or Mother’s Day or Father’s Day.”
“Still not seeing the difference,” Jace said. The deep brown of his eyes darkened to a near black. If she allowed herself, she could drown in those eyes.
“It’s simple.” She dropped her gaze downward. She couldn’t look at him when he was staring at her with such intensity. “Mother’s Day is about celebrating mothers. Moms exist. They’re fact. Father’s Day is about fathers, so the same deal applies.” Not that she’d had a reason to celebrate Father’s Day for a couple of decades. “Both have a basis of fact. Valentine’s Day sticks out like a sore thumb.”
Jace let out a long sigh. “Maybe I should’ve eaten my Wheaties this morning, but I still don’t see what you’re getting at.”
A sarcastic retort sat on the tip of her tongue, but she resisted. “Okay, let me try it this way. Valentine’s Day is a holiday based on an intangible emotion. Not a fact.”
“Ah, but you’re forgetting the fact that Valentine’s Day—St. Valentine’s Day—began as a celebration for a saint, and was—”
“Right. I know the history,” Melanie interrupted. “But that isn’t why the holiday is celebrated today. At least,” she amended, “by the majority of people.”
“Fair enough.” Jace cleared his throat. Twice. “So, should I take this as your way of saying you don’t believe in love? Or in…I don’t know…the idea of celebrating love?”
“I love my mother. I have friends I care enough about that you could say I love them. But,” she said slowly, “romantic love is a whole different animal. I mean, you don’t believe in that type of love, do you?”
“Actually, I’m a card-carrying member,” he said in complete seriousness. “I’ve seen how love can heal, how it can survive incredible odds. And I hope to experience it myself someday.”
She stared at him in stunned silence. A minute passed, maybe two. Finally, she said, “Even supposing romantic love is real, Valentine’s Day is a forced celebration. The media hype is so overwhelming that men and women are suckered into spending money for gifts to prove their love. I…guess I think that’s ridiculous.”
“Wow, Melanie. Some guy must have done quite a number on you.”
Her mouth went dry. She took another drink of water, gathered her thoughts and said, “Gushy, feel-good articles about everlasting love are expected at Valentine’s Day. Why can’t we cater to the readers who prefer to be single and are sick of the happily-ever-after mentality being shoved down their throats everywhere they look?”
“I’m curious,” Jace said softly, but with an edge that made her sit up and take notice, “about what happened that soured you on the idea of love. And I’d like his name and address, please.”
Her throat closed and her heart picked up speed. The nonsensical urge to walk around the desk, to smooth away the rigid line of Jace’s jaw came over her. In an attempt to make light of the matter, to ease the overwhelming tension saturating the air, she joked, “Why? Are you going to show up with a baseball bat and knock him over his head?”
“Nah,” he said, holding her gaze with his. “Violence doesn’t solve anything. A conversation isn’t a bad idea, though. Point out he’s an idiot for…doing whatever he did to you.”
“Well.” A wave of heat, strong and scorching, radiated through her body. This was crazy. They were having a conversation about an imaginary relationship gone bad. “Sorry to say, there’s no one to talk to. I’ve never suffered from broken-heart syndrome.”
Disbelief lit Jace’s expression, but he didn’t press the issue. She counted her lucky stars for that one. “Here’s the thing, Mel. We can’t really change the article so drastically. Kurt’s approval is based on the way I explained it. But feel free to tangle with him if you want.”
“Wait a minute. You let me go on and on knowing that nothing I said would make a difference?” Tossing her pencil on the desk, she said, “Why? You could’ve said that right off and saved me the hassle and us the time.”
“That wouldn’t have been fair. We’re partners. Your viewpoint is important.” Damn him for making sense when she wanted to be mad. “Besides, until I heard your thoughts, I had no way of knowing if we could work them in or not. But maybe we can do a short lead-in about the monetization of the holiday, and play that against the rest of it.”
So she was stuck working hip to hip with Jace with no means of escape. She didn’t want to like him. She didn’t want to think about him. God, she was so screwed. “I guess all that’s left is to decide how we’re going to find the lovey-dovey couples to interview.” She rolled her eyes. “Talk about finding a needle in a haystack.”
“Love,” Jace said with a smug grin, “is everywhere. It certainly will be easier than finding a needle in a haystack.”
“No. We’ll find couples who profess they are in love, but none of them will be honest with us about their relationships.” Melanie was getting a headache just thinking about it. “We’ll hear how their lives are like a fairy tale, how life without the other would be painful and empty. They will probably be gooey-eyed and hand-holding and all of it will be fake. Bleh.”
Jace chuckled. “I can’t wait to prove you wrong.”
“Won’t happen. Impossible.”
“You never know. You might walk away a changed woman with a completely different opinion on Valentine’s Day and love.” He shrugged. “Stranger things have happened.”
Her mother’s romantic disasters made even the possibility of that nil. “Sorry. What you see is what you get,” she said, mimicking Jace’s earlier statement. “Accept it, Jace. Otherwise, you’ll only end up disappointed.”
Leaning back in his chair, Jace gave her a considering look. “Feel like gambling on that, Mel?”
What was he up to now? “What do you mean?”
He squeezed his fingers together. “A little bet between coworkers. I’m willing to gamble that your mindset on love—romantic love, that is—will change at some point during the course of this project. If I’m right…you’ll agree to go out on a date. With me.”
She almost laughed. There was a greater chance of the weather turning wonky and snow falling in mid-July than there was of her losing her marbles and jumping on the I-will-love-you-forever bandwagon. Especially in a six-week timeframe. “Um. That’s not a bet, Jace. Not when there is zero possibility of that happening.”
“I’d say you’re afraid the possibility does exist. Otherwise, you’d have already agreed.”
“If I agree, and I’m not saying I do, what do I get if I win?”
His brow furrowed. “How about you get a romantic evening with me?”
Now, she did laugh. “Nice try, but let’s go with ‘no’ on that one.”
“All right,” he said easily. “What do you want?”
The answer came to her immediately. “A picture of you in your Snuggie. And if Kurt agrees, the picture runs for a full month alongside your columns.” Placing both hands on the desk, she angled her entire body forward. “I choose the pose and the setting of the photograph. I’ll promise the shot will be tasteful, but anything else is up to me. What do you say to that?”
The slightest flicker of apprehension sifted over Jace. Truly, she didn’t think he’d go for it. After all, he had his playboy image to maintain. She started to pull away, when his hands came down on hers. “I don’t like to lose. Be sure you’re up for the challenge, Mel, because I won’t make it easy on you.”
Ha. This wasn’t a challenge. “Oh, I’m up for it. The question is, are you?”
“I’m not only in, I can’t wait to get started.” Lifting his hand, he tugged gently on her hair. “In the meantime, I’m going to start planning our date. And I can promise you a night you’ll never forget.”
“Uh-huh. You do that, Mr. Confident. I’ll start thinking up fun and interesting Snuggie poses.” Finally, it was her turn to wink. “You are so in trouble.”
“Maybe,” he agreed, seeming all too pleased with himself. “But then again, maybe I’ll win. There is at least a fifty-fifty shot of this going my way. Pretty decent odds.”
Just that quick, some of her confidence evaporated. A wary signal bleeped in her brain, reminding her that she had to be very, very careful around Jace Foster. He was a man who made her want what she didn’t believe in. And that, she knew, could lead her down a road she’d prefer to avoid. At all costs.
Chapter Three
Hours later, Melanie let herself in at her mother’s house and went to start dinner. They’d developed a routine over the years, one that included eating a meal together at least once a week. More often when one of them needed extra support.
Sure, the weight of that “extra support” landed more often on Melanie’s shoulders than vice versa. But that didn’t matter. They were a team. Had been ever since the day David Prentiss decided that family life didn’t agree with him and walked out on his wife and daughter, never to look back. Melanie had been seven. Old enough to have memories of her father but young enough to get used to life without him.
In her mother’s seventies-era kitchen, Melanie grabbed a box of dried pasta and a jar of tomato sauce from a cupboard. She’d found her mom in here that morning, she recalled, sobbing over a half-eaten toaster waffle. Loretta had cried for the better part of a year, though after that first morning, she’d attempted to hide her tears from Melanie.
But closed doors, running water and a loud television weren’t enough to cover the sounds of grief. Nor did the layers of carefully applied cosmetics mask swollen eyes.
Late one night about eight months into it, Melanie crawled into bed with her mother. She’d wrapped her arms around her, holding her tighter than she ever had before, and they’d cried together. As far as Melanie knew, that was the last time her mother had shed a tear over David Prentiss. She knew for certain it was the last time that she had.
Melanie glanced at the clock. It was Tuesday, which meant Loretta closed shop at six and would be home by six-thirty. After filling a large pot with water, Melanie set it on the stove to boil. She unscrewed the jar of sauce and dumped the contents into a saucepan before preheating the oven for the garlic bread. A few minutes later, she was chopping vegetables for a salad.
She wasn’t expected to prepare dinner, but sitting around and waiting for her mother to come home and cook seemed wrong. With the salad ready and in the fridge, the pasta boiling and the sauce simmering, Melanie dropped into a chair to relax. Hopefully, the evening wouldn’t be another rehash of her mother’s newest failed relationship.
Melanie had lied to Jace earlier when she said she’d never suffered from broken-heart syndrome. Her heart ached every time her mother’s did. It killed Melanie to see the pain her mom went through. Maybe, she thought, this would be the last for a while. Maybe she’d be able to convince Mom to take a hiatus from dating.
Lost in thought, she jolted when her cell phone rang. Probably Mom, calling to see if she needed to stop and pick anything up. Without looking at the display, Melanie said, “We’re all set unless you want dessert. And dinner should be on the table in like ten minutes, so I hope you’re on your way.”
The words were barely out of her mouth, when she heard the front door open.
“Dinner, eh? I thought you’d never ask, darlin’.” Jace’s deep voice emanated through the line. “Sounds great. Where at?”
Ugh. What was he calling her about? “Obviously, I thought you were someone else. And you’re not invited to dinner. Sorry for getting your hopes up.”
Loretta entered the kitchen and smiled in greeting. “Who wants to come to dinner? Is it Tara?” she asked, speaking of Melanie’s best friend. “Have her join us!”
Before answering, Melanie gave her a quick once-over, searching for any signs of distress. Her gray-blue eyes were clear, so she hadn’t cried on the way home. And, Melanie noted, she’d had her medium-brown hair cut into a wispy sort of bob that suited the fine features of her face. She looked good. Happy, even. Which meant she was well on her way to recovery.
“Hello?” Jace said loudly. “Did you hang up on me, Mello Yello?”
Loretta appraised Melanie with a speculative gleam. “That very masculine-sounding voice can’t possibly be Tara. Who’s on the phone, dear?”
Uh-oh. Sensing a danger zone rapidly approaching, Melanie covered the phone with one hand. “It’s no one. Just a guy I work with.” Into the phone, she said, “I haven’t hung up on you. Yet. You’ve got five seconds, Jace. What do you want?”
“That’s a leading question, Mel,” Jace said in a light, almost teasing tone that caused her heart to skip a beat. “But seeing how I promised to avoid any and all types of sexual innuendo, I’ll get right to the point.”
“Jace as in Jace Foster? I read his columns all the time,” Loretta said from Melanie’s left side. “Why does he want to come for dinner? Oh! Are you two dating?”
“No,” she said to her mother. To Jace, she said, “Yes, please. Getting right to the point would be—” The sizzling sound of water boiling over stopped her midsentence. “Actually, hold that thought.” Slamming the phone down on the table, Melanie raced to the stove and pulled the pot of pasta off the burner.
“Is this Jace Foster?” She heard Mom say behind her. “This is Loretta Prentiss. Melanie’s mother? I’m a huge fan of your ‘Man About Town’ column.” She gave a delighted laugh. “Really! I’ve always read the Gazette—even before Melanie started working there.”
And there she goes, Melanie thought with a great deal of humor. Mom, she knew, would chatter about anything and everything if given the chance. That was fine. Mom could talk to Jace while Melanie cleaned up the pasta mess and finished getting dinner ready. If she was lucky, he’d beg out of the conversation and Melanie wouldn’t have to talk to him until tomorrow.
“You should come for dinner, Jace,” Loretta all but gushed. “I’ll give you the address. Do you have something to write with?”
“Mom! No!” Melanie said loudly. Maybe too loudly. “Give me the phone back.”
“Please excuse me for a second, Jace. My daughter is trying to talk with me. Yes, I know she can be quite stubborn.” Turning toward Melanie, she said, “What is it? And why didn’t you tell me you were involved with someone?”
“Because I’m not. Did he tell you we were? We are not dating.” She held her hand out palm-side up. “The phone, Mom.”
Disappointment gathered in her mother’s eyes. “I guess I should’ve known better, but you can’t blame a mother for hoping. And I don’t see why he can’t join us for dinner.”
Melanie lowered her voice in the hopes that Jace wouldn’t hear her. “I spent all day with him. I don’t want to spend the evening with him, too. Besides, this is supposed to be time for you and me. Remember?”
Loretta gave her a considering look, but nodded. “I think there’s more to it, and you’ll explain every bit of it to me later.” Pressing the phone back to her ear, she said, “I’m very sorry, Jace. It seems my daughter requires some mother-daughter time tonight. Perhaps we can plan something for the future?”
“Thank you.” More relieved than she ought to be, Melanie removed the garlic bread from the oven and turned off the stove burners. Then, ready to discover why Jace had called to begin with, she went to reclaim her phone.
Her mom was pacing the length of the kitchen as she talked. Melanie waved to get her attention. Mom gave her the “one more minute” sign, saying, “Isn’t that sweet of you? If that’s the case, you’ll definitely have dinner with us.”
This couldn’t be happening. “Mom? I thought we agreed—”
“No, no, don’t worry about that. We’ll keep everything warm until you get here. It isn’t a problem at all, especially with you going out of your way and all.” Mom shot her a warning glance before rattling off the address. “Okay, Jace. We’ll see you soon.”
Melanie stared at her mother in disbelief. “What just happened?”
“Don’t you look at me that way, Melanie Ann. I didn’t have a choice.” She walked around Melanie and returned the bread to the oven. “But I’m sorry if you’re upset.”
“What just happened?” Melanie repeated through gritted teeth as her mother stirred the sauce, turned the burner on again and covered the pan with a lid.
“He’s doing you a favor,” Loretta said briskly. “The least we can do is offer him dinner for his troubles.”
“Uh-huh. I’ve had enough of Jace Foster’s favors for today.” And somehow, he’d talked her into a ridiculous bet that she wished she’d never agreed to. “What is it this time?”
Pouring the pasta into a large bowl, Loretta said, “He’s returning your laptop, which you apparently left in his office today.” She let the weight of that sit for a good thirty seconds. “What was I supposed to do? Tell him he could drop it off but not invite him in? And if he’s going to visit for a while, we might as well feed him.”
Oh, hell. Melanie couldn’t fault her mother’s logic. Or, for that matter, Jace’s actions. Even if she hadn’t remembered until now that she had forgotten her laptop. “Yay, we’ll hold dinner for him. How thrilling,” she muttered under her breath.
Leaving the dinner preparations, Loretta came forward and pulled Melanie into a hug. She smelled like the salon. A combination of fruity and floral shampoos, hair sprays and the chemicals from the hair treatments she’d given that day. In other words, she smelled like Mom.
“You seem really upset over this, sweetheart. I don’t understand why, but how bad can one little dinner be?” Mom said as they separated. “How about if I plead exhaustion after we eat? That will have him on his way in no time.”
The balls of stress that had begun to tighten in Melanie’s muscles relaxed. “That would be perfect. Have I told you lately how much I love you?”
“Yesterday, as a matter of fact. But I can never hear it too often. And I love you, too.”
Taking three plates and three bowls out of the cupboard, Melanie started to set the table. Jace. Here. For dinner. She almost felt as if the entire universe was working to put them in the same room as often as possible. “Please don’t take this the wrong way, but I have a professional relationship with Jace. Could we keep anything too personal out of the dinner conversation?”
“What constitutes as too personal?” Loretta asked with more than a tinge of humor. “Be exact, dear. You know how I am.”
“Anything that has to do with Dad, for one thing.” Dumb, maybe, but Melanie did not want Jace in on the whole “my father abandoned us and never looked back” story. “Oh, and anything to do with your love life or my dating history.”
With a snort, her mom said, “What dating history? The boy I had to bribe you to go to senior prom with? Or the blind dates that Tara convinced you to go on? Or—”
“Right. All of that.”
“Because I don’t know about anyone else you’ve dated.” Her mom’s razor-sharp gaze zeroed in on hers. “I don’t even know if you’ve ever had sex!”
“Mom! Jeez, that’s what I’m talking about. Don’t you think that’s a little too much information between mother and daughter? Even as close as we are?”
“I’ve never had an issue discussing sex with you,” Mom pointed out. “You’re the one who shies away from any talk of intimacy.”
“Because for most people, intimacy is private. But for the record, so we never have to have this discussion again, I’ve had sex.” Melanie grabbed a handful of silverware. “And why are you bringing this up now, moments before my…um…coworker arrives?”
Her mother, naturally, ignored that question and asked a new one. “Well, have you ever had really great sex?”
Melanie gurgled a non-reply and continued setting the table. She was not, under any circumstances, going to answer that question.
“That’s a no,” Mom said, adding a drinking glass to each of the place settings. “Oh, sweetie, I’m so sorry. Every woman deserves a few nights filled with great sex.”
“It is not a no or a yes,” Melanie countered. “More like an ‘I don’t want to talk about this, so I’m not going to.’”
“How did I raise a daughter so afraid of intimacy?”
And that was another question that Melanie was not going to answer. Ever. “I’m not afraid of intimacy, Mom.” She didn’t consider herself afraid, anyway. Careful, maybe. And intelligent. There was nothing wrong with either of those traits. “I like my life the way it is. Whether or not I’ve had great sex has nothing to do with my life. It is a nonissue for me.”
“Hmm,” Mom murmured. “That, my darling daughter, is how I know you’ve never had great sex. Because if you had, you wouldn’t be so quick to call not having it a nonissue.”
It was at times like this that Melanie wished desperately for a sibling. She wasn’t picky. Either a brother or a sister would do. All she needed was someone to divert Mom’s attention every now and then.
“You know what we should do?” she asked in an effort to change the subject. “We should visit a few animal shelters this weekend and find a lovable dog or cat for you. It must get lonely here sometimes.”
“Don’t be silly, Melanie. I’m not home enough to properly care for a pet.” Leaning over, she plopped a kiss on Melanie’s cheek. “And I have you.”
“Just think about it, okay?”
“Sure. If you think about getting yourself some great sex.” The doorbell rang, announcing Jace’s arrival. Mom nodded in the general direction of the front door. “And perhaps you should consider having that great sex with him. He seems like the type of man who knows—”
Melanie grasped her mother’s shoulders lightly, interrupting her. “Mom, I need you to stop talking about sex right now. Especially sex with Jace. Okay? Please? I’m begging.”
“I knew it! You like him.” Her mother smiled and patted her cheek. “Stop worrying, Melanie. I’ll behave. We wouldn’t want to scare him off, now would we?”
“There is nothing to scare him off from.” Melanie turned on her heel and went to let Jace in. Never again, she promised herself, would she ignore a bad-day vibe. The next time a day began with something as foretelling as burning her own hair, she’d jump back into bed and hide until the sun rose again.
Her ill-fated decision not to do so that morning had led her from one fiasco to another, and she had a feeling that the ramifications were going to keep on coming until she put Valentine’s Day—and working with Jace—behind her.
But first, she had to get through dinner. And, thanks to her mother, try to have a normal conversation with Jace without thinking about sex. Great sex, at that.

Melanie opened the door, and the earth shook beneath Jace’s feet. Metaphorically speaking, of course. He hadn’t yet decided if the sensation appealed or scared him witless. Maybe a bit of both, depending on the day.
She wore the same jeans and T-shirt from earlier, but the muddied orange-red stain blobbed beneath her collar was new. Judging by the scents emanating from the house, he put his money on spaghetti sauce. Her shoulders were tense, her mouth firm. Signs that clearly said the lady was not happy to see him.
Oh, well. What else had he expected?
“Your laptop,” he said as he handed it over. “You left it on, so I saved your file before shutting it down.” Lifting the bakery box he held in his other hand, he offered that to her, as well. “You mentioned no dessert, so I stopped on the way and picked up a pie. Apple.”
“Why, Jace Foster, my hero as I live and breathe,” she drawled in an excellent Southern belle imitation. “I think I’m in love.”
“Gee, Mel, that was the easiest bet I ever won.” He stuck his thumbs in his pockets and leaned against the doorjamb. “And all it took was an apple pie. Good thing I already have our date planned. Free this weekend?”
Her tongue darted out to lick her lips. “You’re a funny man.” Tilting her head to the side, she said, “You might as well come in. My mother is beyond excited to meet you. Apparently, you’re the main topic of conversation at the salon she owns.”
“I got that impression.” He almost mentioned that his mother was just as excited to meet the “mystery woman from work that her son was interested in,” but chose not to. That information probably wouldn’t go over well. He started to walk forward, but stopped midstride. “Tell your mother I said thank you for her gracious invitation, but I’m going to take off. You don’t want me here, and despite what you seem to think, my goal is not to make you uncomfortable. I’d be happy to show Loretta around the paper, though, if she were to happen to come by.”
Melanie gave him a long, searching look and sighed. “Okay, that’s sweet of you, and I haven’t exactly been welcoming. I apologize. It’s been a long day, and I’m… Well, let’s leave it there.” Hefting her laptop under her arm, she continued. “But thank you for bringing this over. I’d have been worried once I remembered. It was a nice gesture.”
“I’m a nice guy.” Not that she believed that. But he was bound to prove it to her. “So, you have a good night, and we’ll get together tomorrow. I’d like to start interviews next week.”
“Oh, to hell with it.” She glanced over her shoulder, as if to make sure they were alone. “If you want to stay for dinner, I suppose that would be okay. And,” she said with a hesitant grin, “you’ll save me from endless questioning if you’re here.”
“Mothers love asking questions. Mine does, anyway. But she’s sneaky about it. Half the time, you don’t realize you’re being grilled until she’s sated her curiosity.”
Melanie laughed, and his heart sort of popped in his chest. “Mine doesn’t bother being sneaky. She puts whatever she wants out there and expects to be answered. I love her for that, though. I tend to be more restrained.”
He blinked. “Um, Melanie, I hate to point this out, but you’re the least restrained woman I have ever met.”
Shock and uneasiness washed out her complexion. “I…guess it depends on the topic. And maybe the medium.” She shrugged, as if doing so would dismiss the subject as meaningless. Jace wasn’t fooled. Melanie saw herself in a far different way than he saw her. He wanted to know why. “You should come in before I change my mind.”
Curiosity raged, but he set it aside. “You’re sure?”
“No. But come in anyway.”
He followed her in and glanced at his surroundings. The ranch-style house was small, so the front door led directly into the rectangular-shaped living room. Straight ahead, he guessed, was the kitchen, with the bedrooms and bathroom down the hall to the right. A simple home, but one that looked lived-in and comfortable.
The room they stood in held a long, country-blue-patterned sofa against the back wall, with a matching love seat on one side and two overstuffed chairs on the other. By the variety of plants scattered throughout, he’d say Melanie’s mother had a green thumb. Framed photos were clustered on the sill of the bay window, on the end tables, and a few hung on the walls.
“Did you grow up here?” he asked Melanie, giving in to his need to know more about her. “Or are you a Portland transplant?”
“Not a transplant. I’ve lived here all my life. Well, I have my own place now, but you know what I mean.” Walking into the kitchen, she deposited the laptop and the bakery box on the counter. “So,” she said from the kitchen doorway, a tiny frown marring her expression. “I’d say let’s eat, but I’m not sure where my mom went. I’m warning you, the pasta has been done for a while. It might not be all that appetizing by the time we get to it.”
“With enough sauce, anything is edible.”
“True enough. I should go check on her, see if she’s okay. Do you mind?”
“Of course not,” Jace assured her. Striding toward the sofa, he picked up a magazine from the coffee table. “I’ll look through this while I wait. Take your time.”
The worry lines in her forehead melted into tickled amusement. “Okay, Jace. You enjoy that copy of Cosmo while I track down my mother.”
He started to reply but stopped when a woman with the most dazzling smile he’d ever seen floated into the room. Even if he wasn’t in her house, he’d recognize her as Melanie’s mother. They had the same shape to their eyes, their mouths. Even the way they held their bodies was reminiscent of each other, though Loretta had a solid two inches of height on her daughter—even taking her high heels into consideration—and her hair was a full shade darker.
“Mom, what’s going on?” Melanie asked in a worry-laden tone. “You’re wearing a dress. We never…um…dress for dinner.” She shot Jace an apologetic look.
Loretta, ignoring her daughter, rushed over to Jace. Without an ounce of self-consciousness, she studied his face with complete and utter thoroughness. Strangely, he didn’t find it disconcerting in the least.
“I knew you were a handsome devil, but your photo in the paper doesn’t do you justice.” Reaching into her purse, she pulled out a business card and pressed it into his hand. “One of my customers is a photographer. Call her and get a new publicity photo taken. But first—”
“Ah…okay. Thanks.” Jace tucked the card into his pocket.
Squinting her eyes in continued appraisal, she gripped his jaw lightly. “Turn to the side, so I can see your haircut better.”
Not about to argue, he turned to the side. While Loretta fluffed and fluttered with his hair, he winked at Melanie. She held up her hands in the universally known gesture of “What can I do?” while mouthing the word “Sorry.”
Loretta clicked her tongue against her teeth, making a tsk-tsk sound. “Who styles your hair?” she asked in a disgusted huff. “And do they use scissors or a dull knife?”
“Scissors,” he replied cautiously. “As to who… Different people, I guess. I just hit a QuickCuts every so often.”
Melanie snickered from across the room. “Ooh, wrong answer. That’s about to change,” she said. “But Mom, as much as I hate interfering here, we did invite Jace to dinner.”
“That’s right, we did.” Backing off from Jace, Loretta placed her hands on her hips. “I’ll be doing your hair from here on out.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied instantly, knowing better than to argue with the mother of a woman he was interested in. “Whatever you say.”
“However, you two will have to get through dinner without me.” Loretta slung her purse over her shoulder and faced Melanie. “I got a phone call while you were talking with Jace, dear. It seems I have an unexpected date for the evening. Lock up when you leave, but keep the living room lights on. And don’t worry.”
Melanie darted a glance toward Jace before focusing on her mother. “You’re going out? Already? Don’t you think you need a little more time to recover?”
Jace couldn’t see Loretta’s face, but when she spoke, he heard the anticipation sparkling in her voice. “You’ve always been such a worrywart. But this is going to be a good night, so you can stop fretting. I promise I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow.”
Every part of Melanie’s face crumpled. In concern or anxiety or a mix of both, he couldn’t say. “Be careful, Mom. I’ll… Call me when you get home if you need an ear.”
Mother and daughter hugged. Loretta whispered something that Jace couldn’t hear, but a scarlet flush appeared and spread like wildfire across Melanie’s cheeks. “You two have fun!” Loretta said before letting herself out.
Visibly rattled, Melanie sort of wobbled, sort of fell into a chair. “I can’t believe she’s putting herself through this already.”
“Putting herself through what? She seemed happy and excited.” Jace closed the distance between them and took a seat in the other chair.
“Love,” Melanie said with an extra-large helping of venom. “Not only is it the theme of our article, but it’s the theme of my mother’s entire life. A life that she’s spent searching—” Then, as if realizing she’d said more than she intended, she clamped her jaw shut. Hard.
Jace stared at her while warring with himself. Push Melanie into sharing whatever was going on in her head, or keep his mouth closed? If he could get her to open up anywhere, it would be here, in a place where she felt comfortable. And she was obviously distressed. He’d like to think he could be of help. On the other side of that, it should be up to Melanie to decide where—if anywhere—this conversation should go.
Every one of his muscles thrummed with the potent need to do something. But he didn’t know what something was the right something. What was his goal? Getting information or helping Melanie feel better? Both if possible, but if he were forced to choose? The answer hit him like an arrow to the chest.

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