Perfect Partner. Кэрол Мортимер
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twenty-four she was simply enjoying her life. She had Ben and Stephen, enjoyed her work, and most of all she enjoyed her freedom from emotional entanglements. She dated Ben and Stephen on a casual basis, both of them knew about the other, and so far it had worked out just fine.
Melanie and Michael had been married for three years, and were always advocating the cause of marriage, hence these constant invitations to dinner, the different men she met there. Melanie assured her that if she went to enough of them she was sure to eventually meet a man she was attracted to. So far she hadn’t found one of them worth a second meeting.
The man who finally entered the lounge with Michael was completely different from anyone else Melanie had ever introduced to her. He was younger than most of them, for one thing, late thirties, possibly early forties, with thick dark hair tinged with grey at the temples, giving him a distinguished air. His face was strong and a little harsh, the dark blue eyes now narrowed on the other occupants of the room, his nose long and straight, a mocking twist to the firmness of his mouth, and there was a deep cleft in the squareness of his chin, his jaw was firm. He was very tall, powerfully built like an athlete, and yet he had long artistic-looking hands.
The dark brown suit he wore fitted perfectly across his broad shoulders, tapered to his narrow waist and tautly muscled thighs. He was a handsome devil, ruggedly so, and he seemed aware of his own attraction, if only subconsciously, his self-assurance unmistakable, his expression faintly contemptuous now.
He seemed vaguely familiar, the arrogant angle of that dark head, the determination in the broad shoulders, the mockery in deep blue eyes. Yes, he was very familiar to Juliet, and yet she felt sure she would have remembered that leashed air of excitement, the magnetism that could never be overlooked. No, she had never met this man before, but she did know him. At that moment she just couldn’t remember where from.
Michael was introducing him to Melanie now, the other girl blushing prettily as he obviously made some complimentary remark to her. And now Melanie was bringing him over to her.
His gaze was frankly assessing as it passed from the auburn gleam of her hair, down over the figure-hugging black dress, and even further down the length of her long legs to her sandal-clad feet. His gaze finally returned to her face, and Juliet met that gaze unflinchingly, seeing the flicker of interest in his expression.
Even though she was tall herself this man towered over her by several inches, putting him at about six foot two or three, close to the smell of his tangy aftershave pleasant to the senses.
Melanie smiled happily at them both, obviously relieved to at last have all her guests together. ‘Juliet, I want you to meet Jake Matthews. Jake, this is my good friend Juliet Chase. Now I’ll leave you two to get acquainted while I go and check with Cook about dinner. I do hope it isn’t ruined,’ and she moved away with a worried frown.
Juliet had stiffened as soon as this man’s name was revealed to her. Jake Matthews! No wonder he seemed so familiar to her—he hosted a book review programme once a week on television, and wrote a weekly column in one of the more outspoken newspapers. She should have recognised him, his arrogance was unmistakable, his air of mockery.
She only hoped he didn’t talk as caustically as he wrote, or criticise the way he did on television, otherwise she was in for a more unenjoyable evening than usual. This man could ruin a book’s sales with just one word of criticism from him, just as he could make it number one on the bestseller list, and she could only wonder at Michael’s apparent friendship with such a man. Still, perhaps he considered it better to be friends with one’s critics than to have them for an enemy. Michael was an astute enough businessman to have realised that.
‘Mr Matthews,’ she acknowledged curtly.
‘Miss Chase,’ he drawled, taking a swallow of the whisky in his glass. ‘I hear your dinner partner let you down.’
Sherry-coloured eyes widened with indignation. ‘I didn’t have one,’ she bristled at his tone. ‘One of Melanie’s guests is ill and can’t make it. I’m sorry if you feel you’ve had me foisted on you, but I can assure you—–’
‘I didn’t say that, Miss Chase,’ he cut in softly. ‘And I didn’t imply it either. As a matter of fact, I was just congratulating myself on my luck.’
Juliet looked startled. He didn’t appear to be the sort of man to throw out idle compliments, so she had to assume he meant this one. Her expression was cold, her reason for disliking this man too deep-rooted for it to be charmed out of her by a few meaningless compliments.
‘Thank you,’ she accepted tightly. ‘Your programme is—interesting, Mr Matthews.’
‘Thanks. And if I can call you Juliet you can call me Jake.’
The wording of that statement made it impossible for her to refuse. ‘Please do.’ She looked over to where Melanie was frantically trying to attract her attention. ‘I think we’re being summoned to eat.’
As she had known, and dreaded, Melanie had seated them next to each other at the table, and Jake Matthews made it very clear he intended taking full advantage of the fact.
He held her chair out for her before lowering his tall frame into the chair next to her. ‘So,’ he turned to look at her, his closeness curiously intimate, ‘how do you fit in among these famous authors, television stars, exclusive barristers, and—My God, a cricket player!’ He gave a soft laugh as he looked at the leading player in the English team. ‘How do you suppose he got in here?’ he mocked.
‘He’s an old friend of Michael’s,’ Juliet supplied stiffly.
He quirked one dark eyebrow. ‘And you?’
‘An old friend of Melanie’s. And as you’re a famous book critic, the most famous book critic, it’s obvious how you got in,’ she said cattily.
‘Do I sense criticism of your own?’ he taunted.
She gave him a cool look from eyes that should have been the colour of warm sherry—only there was no warmth to them at all. ‘I don’t know, do you?’
‘I think so,’ he said slowly, his expression thoughtful. ‘Why is that, Juliet? You don’t even know me.’
And she didn’t intend to either, self-opinionated, arrogant fool! ‘Maybe I just don’t agree with some of your opinions. Your remarks can be very cutting at times.’
Jake Matthews shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘If the authors can’t take it then they shouldn’t write. A book is there to be criticised.’
‘It’s there to be enjoyed, surely,’ she disagreed heatedly, two bright spots of angry colour heightening her cheeks.
‘If it’s good I enjoy it, if it’s bad I say so,’ he told her in a bored voice.
‘I’ve noticed,’ she snapped. ‘A couple of months ago you ripped Devil’s Dare by Gregory James to pieces. I found it totally spoilt my own enjoyment of it.’ And as Gregory James happened to be one of the best-selling thriller writers in the world, and a particular favourite with her, she had found this man’s criticism infuriating. ‘All the time I was reading the book I kept looking for the loopholes in the plot that you’d outlined in your programme,’ she added disgustedly.
‘Well, if they hadn’t been there you wouldn’t have found them. Did you?’ he drawled.
‘You know I did,’ she revealed resentfully.
‘Yes,’ he acknowledged, as if his point had been proved. ‘Devil’s Dare was simply a rip-off. The man’s made his name now, and so he thinks he can dish up any old—rubbish to the public, and that they’ll buy it. The irony of it is that a lot of people went out and bought the book simply because I criticised it.’
Her mouth twisted. ‘What’s it like to be disliked so much?’
He smiled, a completely relaxed smile. ‘I can assure you that not everyone dislikes me, in fact I have quite a fan-club of