A Match Made by Cupid (Harlequin Special Edition)

by Madison, Tracy

  “I’ve read each of these a dozen times,” she said slowly, methodically. Almost as if she’d rehearsed these words repeatedly before coming to him. “Possibly more. Now, this is going to sound stupid. What I’m thinking doesn’t make a lot of sense. But I can’t get this out of my head, so I have to ask.”

  “You’re wondering how I could—” He stopped, gulped for air and prayed that she would believe him. “Sleep with you and then do…go out with another woman. I can explain.”

  She held up a hand. “Let me talk. Then you can say whatever you have to say.”

  He nodded even as his gut tightened, even as he waited for the condemning accusations to slip from her mouth. For revulsion to seep into her gaze. What had he been thinking? Waiting for her come to him, to question him on the column was asinine. Hoping for it to happen? Downright idiotic. How could he expect her to believe what he said over what he’d written?

  Figuring they were truly at the end now, he sat up straight, steeled himself, and said, “Go ahead. I’m listening.”

  She gestured toward the Cody piece. “When I read this, the beautiful and powerful words you’ve written about your nephew, about other families who have gone through the same tragedy as yours, I…recognize you.” Her eyelashes fluttered in one blink. Two. A light, almost soundless sigh whispered out of her throat. “I guess what I’m trying to say is that I see you in this, Jace. I see your heart. I hear your voice, feel your feelings. I recognize you.”

  He swallowed. “That was the goal. For people to see…to feel.”

  Her slender fingers rustled the Gazette’s pages, in search of his hated column. When she found it, she shook her head and a tiny frown appeared. “But when I read this, I don’t understand how the same man who wrote that touching, powerful article could have authored this. I don’t recognize this man. I don’t see you here at all.” Another blink and she lifted her chin, settled her soft, searching gaze on his. “I don’t see you in this role. I used to. But that was before we…before I got to know you. And this is the stupid part, but when I read this, I think ‘he’s putting on a show, playing a part, this isn’t him.’ But you’ve written this column for years.”

  “What, exactly, are you asking, Mel?” He’d heard what she said clear enough, but he wasn’t quite there yet. Couldn’t quite believe that she saw him. Really saw him. Knew him. Maybe…maybe even believed in him. “What do you need to know?”

  “Am I right?” Without warning, she leaned over and grasped his hand. Her touch, the soft glide of her skin along his, sent a shudder of longing through him. Other than accidental brushes, they hadn’t touched since that last kiss, the one he’d given her the night he left her alone in her kitchen. “Which man are you, Jace? You can’t… I don’t see how you can be both.”

  “I used to be a man who reveled in the attention of women. I loved the notoriety, Mel. I can’t lie and say that I didn’t.” Oh, hell. What in blazes was he doing? His brain hollered for him to shut up, to answer the questions she’d asked and not give her any other reason to doubt him. But once he started, he couldn’t seem to stop. “I was that man for years. For a long time, I thought I would always be that man. So, if you’re asking if the same man wrote both of those pieces, then the answer is yes. But…”

  “But what? Which man are you now, Jace?” she pushed, her voice neither soft nor hard. Insistent, though. Demanding, even. “Answer me, please.”

  “I haven’t written a true word in that column in over a year. Fiction, all of it.” Admitting the truth was akin to the weight of a dozen semitrucks being lifted off of his shoulders. “I haven’t been that man for even longer. I’m ashamed to admit I ever was.”

  “People grow and change. You shouldn’t be ashamed of that.” Fine lines marred her brow. “A year? I’ve only been working here since September.”

  “True.”

  Dropping his hand, she tapped the offending column. “But you started fictionalizing your…dates before that, before we met. Is that right?”

  “I wish I could say that meeting you instigated the change, sweetheart,” Jace said, slipping into the term of endearment without thought. “But the truth is, I don’t know the cause. I just got tired of it, I guess. Bored, maybe. And I started thinking about settling down, about having a family.” He jerked his head toward the column. “And that seemed counterproductive to what I wanted.”

  And then he’d met Melanie and seen what—who—he wanted.

  “My instincts were right.” Her head dipped in a quick, short nod. “Okay. Thank you for telling me.”

  “Do you…ah…believe me?” It wasn’t as if he had any way of proving the truth to her if she didn’t. But he had to know.

  “Yes,” she said instantly. “I think I knew the truth when I came in here.” A small, choked-sounding laugh escaped. “Which doesn’t make any sense at all, but yes, Jace. I believe you.”

  Her belief in him, the fact she hadn’t doubted him for even a second, was a gift like none he’d ever received. He felt strong. Invincible. And enormously lucky. Going out on a limb, he said, “I’ve missed you like crazy, Mel.”

  “You’ve seen me almost every day.”

  “Doesn’t mean I haven’t missed you.”

  Aiming her vision toward the ceiling, she sucked in a huge breath. “I’ve missed you, too. But, Jace…I’m still—”

  “That’s fine,” he said briskly. He couldn’t hear her absolute refusal of him again. Not now. She was softening; he knew that. More time wouldn’t kill him. “I’ll keep waiting.”

  “I don’t expect you to wait,” she said as she stood, prepared to leave. “That isn’t fair.”

  “It isn’t about fair. It’s about you and me. About us.” Whoever said patience was a virtue surely hadn’t lived through anything like this. “I’ll wait,” he repeated.

  A slow sigh emerged. One of relief or exasperation? Hell if he knew. She nodded and turned to leave.

  “Wait, Mel. There’s something else you need to know,” he said quickly, before he chickened out. “Something I should have given you weeks ago.”

  Her body stopped midmotion. “What?” she asked.

  “Okay, look. You’re going to be angry.”

  She narrowed her eyes, clueing in to his hesitation. Maybe even his dread. “What did you do, Jace?”

  He reached into his top drawer and pulled out the file folder, hoping like hell he wasn’t signing his death sentence. But if she was going to choose him, if he could be that fortunate, then he couldn’t keep hiding this. “Right after you told me about trying to find your dad, I asked one of my contacts to…look into him.”

  Disbelief and temper colored her cheeks red. Well, he’d expected that, hadn’t he? “You did what?” she whispered. “I told you not to. I was specific in that.”

  “I tried to cancel the request,” he said hurriedly. “Right after we had the I-am-not-king speech, but I was too late.” Standing, he rounded the desk and offered her the file. “Here. His address is in here.”

  Her chin trembled as she absorbed that information. “His address? Is in there?”

  “Sweetheart, I’ll tear this to shreds if you don’t want it.”

  “I stopped looking,” she said, her voice now faint and wobbly. “With everything going on…the article, you, my mom…this didn’t seem important. But now, now I—”

  His concern grew as he watched her struggle. Damn it. Why hadn’t he just tossed the file in the trash? “You don’t have to take this. There is no law that says you have to move forward, Mel. I can throw this away. You can pretend you never knew it existed.”

  “But I do know.” She grabbed the file and opened it in one fast move. Her eyes scanned the top page, and her cheeks drained of color. “He lives in Gresham? So close. And yet…he never thought about stopping by, seeing h
ow we were?”

  “Which is why you should forget about him.” Was that good advice? “Or not. You need to decide what’s right for you.”

  “I don’t know what’s right.”

  She was silent for a while. Long enough that Jace asked, “Are you okay? Talk to me.”

  “I wish you hadn’t done this.”

  “I wish I hadn’t, either. Hell, if you only knew how much. I’m sorry for overstepping, for putting you through this. I’m sorry for causing you pain.”

  “Okay. You’re sorry.” She nodded but didn’t lift her eyes from the report. “How can he live so close?”

  Jace closed his hand in a tight fist to stop himself from touching her. From invading her physical space at a time she likely didn’t need it. “Are you going to go see him?”

  Now she looked up. Her eyes were dark and haunted. Distant. “I don’t know.”

  “Do you—” Jace cleared his throat. “Can you forgive me?”

  Sighing, she closed the file. “I understand you did this because you care. So, yes, Jace, I’ll probably forgive you. Later. But damn it, now I have to figure out what to do about this.”

  He ached—literally ached—to comfort her. “Can I help?”

  “No.” The expression on her face clearly said he’d done more than enough in that regard. What she said though, was, “This one is on me.”

  Then, with another sigh, she stepped out of his office and walked away. And all he could do was watch her leave.

  “Over a year, eh?” Kurt plopped his elbows on his desk and frowned. “What about the lemon gal who took you out on her boat and tied you up?”

  “Fiction.” Jace had waited until the end of the workday before coming to Kurt, wanting to be in his office in case Melanie returned. She hadn’t.

  “And the snooty rocky road who met you at the door naked with a whip in one hand and a blindfold in the other?”

  “Fiction, as well.”

  Scratching his jaw, Kurt said, “Oh, I got one. What about the—”

  “Fiction, Kurt,” Jace interrupted, not relishing the thought of going through every last column he’d written over the past year. “All of them are fiction.”

  “That’s disappointing.” Kurt gave a tired shake of his head. “Maybe you should consider writing a novel, because if all of that was pure fiction, you’ve got some undiscovered talent.”

  “It wasn’t that hard. I played the game for long enough that I had…plenty to draw from.” Jace cleared his throat. “But it stops now. It has to.”

  Averting his gaze, Kurt said, “Ending ‘Bachelor on the Loose’ might not be in the cards. Not now, anyway.”

  “Then shuffle it in. I’m dead serious here.”

  “Ain’t that easy, Jace. Maybe in a year, we can talk about it.” Kurt strummed his fingers on the surface of his desk. “See, it’s like this…the Gazette’s no longer for sale.”

  “Well, hell, Kurt. That’s good news.” And Jace was happy to hear it. “But that has nothing to do with this decision.”

  “Good news, yes. Except the owners have hired a team of nosy-ass consultants. One of their tasks is to increase our, ah, visibility or some crap like that. They’re talking blogs, forums, all sorts of social-networking garbage that makes my head hurt.” Kurt returned his focus to Jace. “You and that damn column of yours are the star of their show.”

  “Then the star quits.” Jace spoke quietly but firmly. He knew this would come as a low blow to his boss, but his decision was set. “I hate to do this to you, but I mean it. My life is changing and that column no longer fits with who I am or what I want.”

  “You can’t quit.”

  “I can.” Jace fished the resignation letter he’d prepared out of his jacket pocket and slid it across the desk. “There, it’s official. Four weeks’ notice is fair, and I’m happy to do that. But I’m done with the column as of now.”

  Kurt glowered at the folded sheet of paper but didn’t reach for it. “You’re not quitting.”

  Knowing this could go on for hours, Jace stood and extended a hand. “You’ve been an incredible friend and mentor. I respect the hell out of you, Kurt.”

  “Sit your ass back down in that chair.” Kurt pounded on his desk like he was a judge and his fist was a gavel. “Give me a freaking minute to think about this, will ya?”

  Jace nodded and returned to his seat, fighting the urge to smile. Quitting wasn’t a bluff he’d used as leverage, but damn, he’d far prefer to stay with the Gazette. “Take your minute. I don’t have to be anywhere.”

  Kurt slouched back in his chair and closed his eyes. He stayed that way for a good five minutes, maybe longer. Long enough that Jace began to wonder if his boss had somehow managed to doze off. But then he opened one eye. “Do you have any issues with reprinting some of your older columns until I can find a new writer to take over?”

  Huh. Jace hadn’t considered handing the reins to someone else. It was a good idea, though. A good compromise. “I’m fine with that,” he said slowly, “As long as the material is labeled as being reprints.”

  Kurt opened his other eye. “What about writing a few transition columns to explain to your audience why you’re moving on? Say three, maybe four?”

  “Two. They can appear in between the reprints and when the new guy—whoever that turns out to be—takes over.” The boss started to argue, so Jace offered, “I can maybe write a short lead-in to each of the reprints, as well.”

  Kurt nodded and sat up straight. “We’ll need to come up with something else. Another column.” He rubbed his jaw with one hand. “Something that will interest your current audience—or a percentage of them, at least—and keep the owners happy.”

  “I’m willing to discuss that. Have any ideas?”

  “Only one, at the moment. I was thinking about this anyway, before you came in here with your demands,” Kurt said, his tone more light than gruff. “You and Melanie worked out okay, doing that Valentine’s Day piece, right?”

  “Work went well, yes.” Jace leaned forward now, curious. “What’s the idea?”

  “How about if you two keep this up? Pick a topic you disagree on, come up with some type of a bet—silly or serious, I don’t care, and run with it?” Sliding his chair to the left, Kurt grabbed a few sheets of paper he’d clipped together and flipped through them. “Would need a shorter format, and biweekly would be too often. Monthly would work well, I think.”

  A shared column with Melanie? Jace let the idea sink in, considered what it might mean to work together on a consistent basis, as well as that the focus of the column would be, at the bottom of it all, conflict-based. First, though, he had to ask, “So I take it Melanie’s job is safe?”

  Kurt appeared surprised. “She didn’t tell you?” Jace shook his head. “Yeah, her job is safe. She’s managing her column fine, and—” he waved the papers in his hand “—her work on this feature is excellent. I told her yesterday that she’s impressed me.”

  Pride settled around Jace. He knew she could do it. “Good. That’s real good. So, about this idea of yours. I like it, but we need to run the whole thing by Melanie first.”

  Now, Kurt fidgeted. “I already did. She said the same, that we’d have to run it by you. At the time, I was thinking we’d have to drop your ‘Man About Town’ column, not the other. You’re sure you’re done with that? Nothing I can say to change your mind?”

  “I’m sure. But Melanie likes the idea of this new column?”

  Kurt gave him an odd look, one filled with questions. “She does.”

  Just that fast, Jace’s optimism returned. Foolhardy, perhaps. After all, Melanie had already proven her ability to keep work separate from personal. Her willingness to continue to work with Jace really didn’t mean a damn thing. Somehow, though,
it felt positive. Like a step in the right direction. “If she’s good with it, then so am I.”

  Kurt rubbed his hands together. “Then it looks as if we have a plan I can work with. Maybe you two can even start a blog. That should keep the consultants happy.”

  “Sure.” Jace shrugged. “I suppose we could post updates about the current month’s bet and little extras that wouldn’t make it in the column.”

  “Yeah, yeah. That’s good.” Kurt leveled his gaze with Jace’s. “So be sure to take a few photos on your date with Melanie. We’ll kick off the blog with the Valentine’s Day bet.”

  Jace felt his brow furrow. “Uh…you mean the Snuggie photos, right? Mel won that bet.”

  “No, no.” Flipping through the papers he still held, Kurt stopped at the last page. “She says right here, ‘While I began this assignment with the clear and unwavering conviction that I would never believe in the romantic version of love, I can now state with the same conviction that I am, indeed, a true believer.’”

  “Give me that.” Jace yanked the pages out of Kurt’s grip, found the entry and read it himself. He shook his head and read it again. And then yet again. She was a believer? No. She was a true believer. He looked up, saw Kurt watching him with bunched-together eyebrows. “I, ah, she didn’t mention she’d changed her conclusion. I thought I lost that bet.”

  “Well, you damn near gave me a heart attack.”

  The way his heart was jumping around, Jace figured he might be heading down that road any second. She believed. “Sorry about that,” he mumbled.

  Kurt picked up the resignation letter and waved it in the air. “Can we call this nonsense over with?”

  “With what we’ve discussed? Yeah.” Today was Friday. Valentine’s Day a mere four days away. That was when the feature would appear in the Gazette, when Melanie would assume he’d see it for the first time. So…three days to plan his next move.

  “One more question and then I gotta run,” Kurt said as he ripped the resignation letter in half and tossed it on top of his already overflowing trash can. With a half sad, half hopeful look on his hangdog face, he said, “Earlier in the year, you wrote about a gal who dressed up like Princess Leia, and—”