Jade (Perfect Match Book 4)

by Rachelle Ayala

  Without emotion, there are no stakes.

  Emotion is that small voice whispering between sleep and waking up.

  Even in a thriller? He had asked, shrugging her off as only a romance writer.

  Especially in a thriller. The plot keeps the tempo, but without engaging the emotions, there is no reason. No meaning.

  “Reading your favorite book again?” Aiden’s buddy, Flint, sauntered up while they set up camp. “Mind if I borrow one?”

  “I’m not done,” Aiden grumbled, unable to stomach letting another man touch and feel the notes Jade wrote on the title pages.

  She hadn’t emailed or accused him of stealing the books. The more he thought about her rushing back to the villa after him and the happiness she had on her face when he’d first opened the door—crap.

  He’d screwed up big time.

  “Why the ugly face?” Flint punched his shoulder and set his rifle down. “Gimme one of them books. You sure you don’t got porn tucked inside somewhere?”

  “I don’t,” Aiden said. “And these are personal.”

  “Personal?” His buddy’s eyebrows tented. “Sounds like you’re hung up on a girl back home.”

  “I’m not hung up on any woman.” Aiden snapped the book shut and stuffed it into his pack.

  “I need another vacation,” Flint said. “Got me a hot mama back home.”

  It would be almost Christmastime before Aiden was due back home. Besides, he wasn’t supposed to look Jade up stateside. Even though she lived in San Francisco, they hadn’t exchanged addresses—not even cell phone numbers.

  He was screwed. There would be no hot woman anywhere waiting for him.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Jade sat at her desk staring out the window from the top of her Nob Hill penthouse. From her building, she could see the Coit Tower, the Transamerica Pyramid, as well as look down over the rooftops of Chinatown.

  Aiden’s mother lived there and ran a gift shop. It wouldn’t be hard to ask around and find her, but Jade wasn’t a stalker, and she had nothing to say to Mrs. Lin.

  She couldn’t even blame her for filling out Aiden’s Perfect Match dating form.

  It was a mother’s job to dream and plan, and even though she didn’t know it, she’d succeeded in winning a daughter-in-law wannabe.

  Except it wasn’t going to happen—or last.

  The divorce rate for Navy SEALs was a whopping ninety percent.

  Ninety percent!

  So, why was it so many were heroes in romance novels? Were they all defying the odds?

  Jade chewed on a pen and let her eyes trace over the pagoda-shaped tile roofs down Chinatown’s main street. Strings of bright-red Chinese lanterns danced among the colorful signs of shops and restaurants, bringing back childhood memories of lion dances and firecrackers.

  She and Aiden lived so close. Only a few blocks separated her swanky neighborhood from his working class one.

  Had they passed on the street unbeknownst on the few outings she took to get in touch with her Chinese side? The wok shop, the tea shop, the bakeries and the grocery store.

  No matter. Jade had a deadline, and the words were not coming. It had been this way ever since she returned from Ile d’Amour.

  Her writing was dull, listless, and dry. She spent more time deleting words than putting down new ones. Everything was lacking, and she couldn’t feel a thing. Her descriptions were stale, and her characters wooden.

  About the only thing she was productive on was research. With Aiden’s help, she’d jotted down information on all sorts of weapons and tactics, survival skills, and hand to hand combat.

  Jade took a sip of her tea and checked her Josh Ridley email. She’d gotten in touch with a Krav Maga instructor who’d worked with Aiden before, and she was eager to interview him for fighting techniques.

  The great thing about using her Josh Ridley account was that the fans thought she was a man. She didn’t get the “come-on” emails from stalkers, and she was free to talk to her fans about guns, drugs, human-trafficking, terrorism, and other adventurous topics.

  She chuckled at some of the guys trash talking women they met and harassing her for always including a female who had brains in addition to being kickass in every way.

  She opened an email from Cutthroat, a fan who always had some criticism or corrections for her. He was a military man who saw warfare on sea, land, and in the air—a generalist. Obviously, he didn’t give away his real name, rank, or theater of operation. He also didn’t pull punches, telling her he hated certain plot lines or unrealistic situations.

  To: Josh Ridley

  From: Cutthroat

  Subject: Lady Death

  I bet you’re wondering if I have a list of errors and plot holes for you. I’m sorry to disappoint.

  Recently, I met a person who taught me not to miss the forest for the trees. She showed me that novels were meant to be an emotional experience, not a textbook on trivia. Yes, it’s true that bad information might kick the reader out of the fictional dream, but at the same time, a willingness to suspend disbelief brings the reader more enjoyment.

  I’m writing to tell you that I thoroughly enjoyed your Death Trilogy: Face, Shadow, and Heart. Maybe I’m getting old or more mature, but I found them to be deep, rich, and emotional.

  I could feel everything Slade went through, especially when he first faced off against Jada. I never noticed it before, but it wasn’t just that they hated each other at first sight, but the underlying attraction and sexual tension made their comments and gestures even more biting.

  What I’m saying is that I never paid attention to the love-hate story running like an underground river behind the main story. It was always about the mission, the action, betrayal, and the fight to the death. But now I realize, without emotions causing motivations, desires and passions, love and hate, all you have is a bunch of stick figures running around or having a car chase.

  I’m so glad I met this friend who taught me to look underneath the surface story and mine it for emotional gold.

  Oh, one plot hole.

  If Jada is Lady Death, then why did she give the antitoxin to the Shadow Guard?

  When is your next Lady Death book coming out? It might be neat to have Jada be the star of your next series.

  I’d hate to see her killed off so Slade can go onto another adventure without her. How about a happy ending where they can stay together?

  Your fan, Cutthroat

  Jade chuckled to herself, amused. Since when did a guy like Cutthroat get soft? He was one of Josh Ridley’s biggest critics about her petite, feminine female character rescuing the hero.

  She dashed an email back.

  To: Cutthroat

  From: Josh Ridley

  Subject: Re: Lady Death

  I can neither confirm nor deny that Jada is Lady Death. However, thank you for your support. I’m surprised you want to see more of her.

  Didn’t you used to say she was a ball-buster?

  Jada does have her lady-like side, but since this is not a romance, I can’t guarantee a happy ending.

  Even though I don’t have more Lady Death books planned, don’t be surprised if Jada appears in another book or series. She’s a badass and refuses to vacate my brain.

  Why don’t you try your hand at writing? If you’d like, I can critique for you, or you can post at one of the online critique groups and let me know your user name.

  Thanks for writing,

  Josh

  ****

  Rejected.

  Aiden moved yet another email to his Rejection Folder.

  Months had gone by since he completed his novel about the nun and murderer, and he’d submitted it to every agent and publisher he could think of.

  “If Josh Ridley can get his stuff published, so can you,” Flint said, lifting his nose from a Josh Ridley paperback. “Of course, yours is better since you have more detail on ammunition and murder weapons.”

  “I’ve already sent it to Josh
Ridley’s publisher and gotten rejected,” Aiden said. “Maybe this story about a nun and murderer is stupid.”

  Flint set the paperback down and gaped at him as if he had two heads. “Keith Kirkland’s latest bestseller is about a nun and murderer getting together to expose a plot to kill the President. It’s a bestseller, and they’re making it into a movie.”

  “Where?” Aiden brought up the web browser to check out Keith’s latest releases.

  Sure enough, a title by Keith Kirkland, The Killer and The Nun, shot up to number one on the most prominent bestseller’s list.

  Aiden read the description, and he slapped the side of his head. “That’s my story.”

  “The one you’ve been submitting?” Flint looked over his shoulder at the screen. “Oh, wow, it’s almost the same. No wonder you’re getting rejected. What if Keith Kirkland accused you of plagiarizing?”

  “No way,” Aiden said, glancing at the article congratulating Keith on his accomplishments. “It says here he got the idea while on vacation with his ex-girlfriend, Jade Reed.”

  “Isn’t Jade the woman who’s supposed to be your Perfect Match?” Flint gave Aiden a noogie, ribbing on him.

  The two of them were in the comm tent, after surviving a grueling mission in the no-man’s-land of the Korean peninsula, and this was their first chance to check email and Internet.

  “Could she have sold me out?” Aiden asked, browsing to Jade’s social media page.

  “You talked to her about your idea, didn’t you?” Flint shook his head and put a consoling hand on Aiden’s shoulder.

  “I also told Keith and gave him a synopsis when I tried out to be his cowriter,” Aiden said. “I can’t pin it on Jade, although it looks like they spent the rest of the week together.”

  This pissed him off big time. He couldn’t truly believe Jade stole his story. After all, she wasn’t listed as a cowriter, and she hadn’t been seen with him on social media. But then, there was always private email.

  “Women,” Flint huffed.

  “What happened to your hot mama?”

  Flint pointed to an email entitled, “Dear Flint.”

  “Oh, sorry, man. That sucks.”

  “Yep, it does. I’m going to the Perfect Match website. Maybe I’ll win one of those tropical vacations. What are you going to do this Christmas?”

  Aiden’s gut clenched at the thought of going back to Chinatown and being grilled by his mother and sister on how he’d screwed up with Jade.

  “I know how to test if Jade is the thief or not.” He clicked on her website where she had a contest to find a cowriter to help her write a romantic thriller.

  “Why do you care? Or are you looking for an excuse to hook up with her again?” Flint quirked and eyebrow. “She’s a hot-looking babe.”

  Aiden hated his buddy checking her out, hated that after he returned from Ile d’Amour, his entire platoon had become Jade Reed fans, teasing him about the hot, steamy love scenes, and ogling her pictures on social media.

  “I have my suspicions,” Aiden said as he prepared his writing sample. “Let’s go for a badass female doctor and a Navy SEAL busting a human trafficking ring operating out of a tropical island resort where a beauty pageant takes place. I’ll keep an eye out and see if this is her next book.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Aiden checked his tie at the entrance to the Gilded Ballroom in a Nob Hill luxury hotel. The hotel was swanky and reminded him of the Age of the Robber Barons.

  But Aiden wasn’t here to admire the golden mirrors and ornate crystal chandeliers. He had one important mission in mind as he walked into the Romance Writers Fantasy Night.

  Jade had a table in this vast ocean of readers, writers, and a surprising number of men. Many of the women were dressed in outlandishly stylish outfits, some with slits up to their hips, a plethora of shiny off the shoulder gowns and dresses long and short. Another contingent wore fantasy costumes, ranging from witches to fairies to princesses to warriors.

  Most of the men were musclebound and wore tank tops, muscle shirts, and cowboy hats. A group of bikers showed off their tattoos while women snapped pictures of them and took selfies.

  “Are you a model?” a woman wearing cat ears and a black furry cape asked. “Can we take a picture with you?”

  “I’m not a model,” Aiden said. “I’m here looking for a friend.”

  “You should be a model,” an imperious-looking woman pronounced. “We need more Asian cover models. Take off your jacket.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I said, take off your jacket.” The woman raised a large camera.

  “Open your shirt, we want to see,” the cat woman said. “You should be on the cover of my next dragon shifter romance.”

  “Dragon shifter?” Aiden fended off two more women who felt his muscles like he was cattle at an auction. “Ladies, I’m not interested.”

  “You could make good money,” the woman with the camera said while snapping pictures of him. “There aren’t a lot of male Asian cover models.”

  “I’m looking for Jade Reed’s table,” Aiden said. “Not looking to be a cover model.”

  “Maybe you should,” the voice he’d been dreaming about said.

  Aiden swiveled around and his heart took flight as Jade took his arm and fended off the other females.

  Possessive.

  He liked that.

  “He’s giving me an exclusive,” Jade said to the photographer, waving her off. To Aiden, she said, “Have you been online lately?”

  She didn’t seem flustered or even particularly excited about seeing him. Had the infatuation always been one-sided? While he’d spent his entire deployment fantasizing about her, her life had moved on from that week in the tropics.

  She’d written several more books, adding more to her Island Boys After Dark series, and won awards and bestselling status across several lists with her new Island Lover series. None were about beauty contestants.

  “Online? Why? I just got off the transport,” Aiden said, wondering why that was the first question she asked.

  “Keith Kirkland got caught plagiarizing your book. They stripped his bestseller status, and his publisher delisted his title.” Her eyes sparkled like shiny black gems. “I heard they’ll pay damages and republish with your name on it, if you’re willing.”

  “Wait, how?” Aiden’s voice bellowed as his jaw dropped.

  “A certain thriller author in your critique group showed Keith’s publisher your posts, including the dates. It blew up this morning,” Jade said. “Care to guess who?”

  Sizzles of electricity sparked and danced inside Aiden’s veins as everything clicked into place.

  “Could she be the writer who’s looking for a male cowriter to write a romantic thriller?”

  She arched an eyebrow sky high. “Have you submitted your scenes?”

  Even though her demeanor looked unchanged, a tinge of blush crept up her cheeks, making them rosy.

  “I did, but not with my real name,” Aiden replied. “I didn’t want you prejudiced against me.”

  “Why would I be against you?”

  He walked with her around the crowded room to the center where she had a table. Her banner hung above it with a large picture of the two of them on top of the volcano.

  “Why am I up there with you?” he asked, staring into her luminous eyes.

  She rolled her eyes and laughed. “You’re my new cowriter. Cutthroat, I believe?”

  “How’d you know?”

  “How’d you think you could run and hide from me?” She tugged at his tie, and his heartbeat shot to the sky. “The emotions in your writing gave you away.”

  “Did I slip in some detail only you would know?”

  “You might have.” She pulled him closer, using his tie as a leash. “Do you accept? It will mean another tropical island to do research on.”

  Her face shone like the brilliant autumn moon, and her sweet fragrance, so reminiscent of that tropical island, had
him intoxicated.

  His lips hovered over hers, closing in, but before he could accept, he had to make his point.

  “Only if Jada lives and gets her own series.”

  “Cutthroat,” she purred. “I already knew.”

  “Josh,” he answered. “So did I.”

  She reached for him, and he pressed his lips over hers. Passion ignited, splashes of color, and fireworks over their heads. He pulled her tight against him and poured his emotions into her and at the same time, drinking her feelings off the tip of her tongue.

  Joy, happiness, fulfillment, acceptance.

  Love.

  Could he trust her not to let go? Not to turn off the spigot and put up walls? Was the romance author who didn’t believe in romance now the most zealous convert?

  He cradled her face with both hands and pulled back with a few pecks and tugs.

  “This is it, right?” he asked. “You’re not going back on me, are you?”

  “No, the past is past, and I’m only looking forward.”

  “Even if you believe love ends in death or betrayal?”

  “It won’t matter.” Jade clasped his hand and lifted her eyes, gazing deep into his. “Walk with me, and our love will live forever.”

  “You’ll never let me go?”

  “I can’t let you go, Aiden.” She blinked those lovely eyes at him, a smile glowing over her face. “I won’t let you go, because I want to know what happens next.”

  “We happen next,” Aiden said, kissing her. “And next, and next, and next.”

  ~ The End ~

  AUTHOR BIO

  Rachelle Ayala is a USA Today bestselling author of dramatic romantic suspense and humorous contemporary romances. She is the winner of multiple awards, including the 2015 Angie Ovation Award for best Multicultural Romance with Knowing Vera, the 2015 Readers’ Favorite Gold Award for A Father for Christmas, the 2016 Readers’ Favorite Gold Award for Christmas Stray, the 2016 Readers’ Favorite Finalist for A Pet for Christmas, and the 2017 Readers’ Favorite Gold Award for Playing for the Save.