A Match Made by Cupid (Harlequin Special Edition) Read Free Page B

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