Perfect Partners

Also by Jayne Ann Krentz

Absolutely, Positively

Deep Waters

Eye of the Beholder

Family Man

Flash

The Golden Chance

Grand Passion

Hidden Talents

Perfect Partners

Sharp Edges

Silver Linings

Sweet Fortune

Trust Me

Wildest Hearts

Written under the name Jayne Castle

Amaryllis

Orchid

Zinnia

Published by POCKET BOOKS

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

An
Original
Publication of POCKET BOOKS

POCKET BOOKS, a division of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
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Copyright © 1992 by Jayne Ann Krentz

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
For information address Pocket Books, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

ISBN-13: 978-0-7434-9644-5
ISBN-10: 0-7434-9644-2

POCKET and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

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With love to Frank, my perfect partner

C
harlie, you son of a bitch, you always did have a warped sense of humor. How the hell could you do this to me
?

Joel Blackstone stood at the back of the tiny church and surveyed the cluster of mourners gathered in the front pews. September sunlight filtered down through the stained-glass windows illuminating the inside of the A-frame structure with a glow. The minister's voice was strong and surprisingly cheerful, given the fact that he was officiating at a memorial service.

“Charlie Thornquist was the most dedicated fisherman I ever knew,” the minister said. “And that's saying something, because God knows I've done a pretty fair job of dedicating myself to that noble pursuit. But for me it was an avocation. A hobby. For Charlie it was nothing less than a true vocation. A calling.”

At the minister's right, an urn rested on a wooden stand. The small brass plaque that hung on it was engraved with the words
GONE FISHING
. Inside the urn were the last earthly remains of Joel's eighty-five-year-old boss, Charlie Thornquist. Several photographs of Charlie with some of his prize catches were displayed around the urn. The most impressive was the one of Charlie with a marlin he'd landed off the coast of Mexico.

Joel still could not believe that the old bastard had ripped him off in the end. After all that talk of letting Joel buy him out in another year, Charlie had stiffed him. The company Joel had built from the ground up had gone to the daughter of Charlie's nephew. Ms. Letitia Thornquist was a librarian at some little midwestern college in Kansas or Nebraska or some equally foreign locale.

The hell with it. Thornquist Gear belonged to him, Joel Blackstone, and he was damn well not going to allow it to fall into the grubby little palm of some ivory tower type who didn't know a balance sheet from an unabridged dictionary. Joel's insides tightened with anger. He had been so close to owning Thornquist free and clear.

The company was his in every way that really counted. It was Joel who had poured everything he had into the firm for the past ten years, Joel who had single-handedly turned it into a major player in the marketplace. And it was Joel who had spent the past eight months plotting a long-awaited vengeance. But to carry out his revenge, he needed to retain complete control of Thornquist Gear.

One way or another, Joel thought, he was going to maintain his hold on the company. The little librarian from Iowa or wherever could go screw herself.

“We have gathered here today to bid Charlie Thornquist farewell,” the minister said. “In some ways it is a sad moment. But in truth we are sending him into the loving hands of the master fisherman.”

We had a deal, Charlie. I trusted you. Thornquist was supposed to be mine. Why the hell did you have to go and die on me
?

Joel was willing to concede that Charlie probably had not intentionally collapsed from a heart attack before changing his will as he had promised to do. It was just that Charlie had a way of letting business slide in favor of fishing. He had always been good at that. This time good old Charlie had let things slide a little too far.

Now, instead of owning Thornquist Gear, the rapidly expanding Seattle-based company that specialized in camping and sporting equipment, Joel had himself a new boss. The thought was enough to make him grind his back teeth. A librarian, for God's sake. He was working for a librarian.

“For most of his adult life Charlie Thornquist enjoyed one driving passion.” The minister smiled benignly on the small group. “And that passion was fishing. For Charlie Thornquist, it was not the actual catch that counted, but the communion with nature that accompanied each and every fishing trip. Charlie was happiest when he was sitting in a boat with a pole in his hand.”

That was true enough, Joel reflected. And while Charlie had gone off to fish, Joel had sweated blood to transform Thornquist Gear from a two-bit storefront operation into a cash-rich empire, a young and hungry shark that was on the verge of swallowing whole its first live prey. Charlie would have appreciated the analogy.

Joel narrowed his eyes against the golden glow filtering through the colorful windows. He studied the trio in the front pew.

He had already met Dr. Morgan Thornquist, thanks to Charlie. Morgan was a full professor in the department of philosophy and logic at Ridgemore College, a small private institution in Seattle. Morgan had been raised on a mid-western farm, and some of his past still showed in his sturdy frame and broad shoulders.

But nothing else about Morgan reflected his early years as a farm boy. He was in his early fifties and, according to Charlie, had lost his first wife five years earlier. With his bushy brows, a neatly trimmed gray beard and an air of academic pomposity, Morgan perfectly suited Joel's image of a college professor. Joel had nothing against Morgan. On the couple of occasions when they had met, the man had been gracious and civil. Joel respected intelligence, and there was no denying Morgan Thornquist was highly intelligent.

The same could be said of his current wife, the tall, ice-cool, very pregnant blonde seated on Morgan's right. Stephanie Thornquist was, by all accounts, just as brilliant as her husband. Forty years old, she was a professor in the department of linguistics at Ridgemore College.

There was no denying Stephanie was a striking woman. Her features were patrician, her figure tall and elegant, even in pregnancy. Her silver-blond hair was cut in a very short, very sleek, very angular style that was at once modern and timeless. Her cool blue eyes reflected the same serene intelligence one noticed in her husband.

Having at least made the acquaintance of Morgan and Stephanie, Joel had a fair idea of what to expect from them. They were neither a direct threat nor a mystery. His new boss, on the other hand, was both.

Joel's gaze slid almost reluctantly to the young woman seated on Morgan Thornquist's left. He had not yet met Letitia Thornquist, and he was not looking forward to the experience.

From where he was standing he could not see her face very clearly, mostly because she kept sniffling into a huge hankie. Ms. Thornquist was the only one in the small crowd who was crying. She did so with some enthusiasm, Joel noticed.

Joel's first impression of the new owner of Thornquist Gear was that she bore no resemblance whatsoever to her stepmother. Instead of being tall, elegant, and blond, she appeared to be short, rumpled, and definitely not blond.

In fact, the thick, wild mane of honeyed brown hair was the first thing Joel really noticed about her. She had made an obvious effort to anchor the unruly mass in a severe topknot, but the entire affair was already slipping its moorings. Tendrils of hair had wriggled free of the gold clip and gone exploring on their own. Some dangled down the soft nape of her neck; others were darting playfully over her brows and curled down her cheeks.

Charlie had told him once in passing that Letty was twenty-nine years old. Charlie had also mentioned the name of the college where she worked as a librarian, but Joel had since forgotten. He tried to recall the name of the institution—Valmont or Vellcourt, something like that.

At that instant Letitia Thornquist turned around and saw him watching her. Joel did not look away as she peered at him through a pair of round tortoiseshell frames. Her eyes were large and curious. The little round glasses and the high arch of her dark brows combined to give her a look of wide-eyed innocence. It reminded Joel of the expression on the face of an inquisitive young kitten.

She frowned thoughtfully at Joel, apparently trying to figure out who he was and what he was doing there.

He realized with a small shock of interest that she had a nice full mouth. He also noticed that the jacket of her suit appeared to be rumpled, at least in part, due to a certain roundness of her figure. She was not the least bit heavy, he saw, just pleasantly curved in all the right places. There was a certain earthy sensuality about her. This was the kind of woman men secretly pictured in their minds when they thought of home and hearth and babies.

Joel groaned inwardly. As if he did not have enough problems on his hands. Now he had to figure out how to do business with a bright-eyed innocent who looked as if she should be toiling over a hot stove with a couple of toddlers playing around her feet.

On the other hand, he told himself encouragingly, if Letitia Thornquist was what she appeared to be—a naive midwestern librarian—he should be able to handle her. He would make her the same offer he had made Charlie.

With any luck Ms. Thornquist would jump at the chance to get rich in a few months and hop the next plane back to Kansas, or wherever it was she came from. There was supposed to be a fiancé in the picture somewhere, Joel belatedly recalled. He was sure Charlie had mentioned her recent engagement.

Joel was checking out her slender fingers in search of a ring when Letitia Thornquist turned her attention back to the minister, who was concluding the service.

“Charlie left this world while engaged in the activity he loved best,” the minister concluded. “Not all of us are thus privileged. His family and friends will miss him, but they can take satisfaction in knowing that Charlie lived his life the way he wished.”

Joel gazed at the urn.
I'm going to miss you, you old son of a gun, even if you did throw a monkey wrench into everything at the end
.

Joel watched with interest as Letitia opened her black bag, removed another large hankie, and blew her nose. She shoved the handkerchief back into her purse and tried to straighten her suit jacket with an unobtrusive movement. It was a useless effort, Joel concluded as he watched. It was obvious Letty was one of those people who could not put on a suit without having it look rumpled inside of five minutes.

As if again aware of his gaze, Letty turned around. With an odd rush of prurient interest that came straight out of the blue, Joel found himself wondering if she wore that same expression of intent curiosity when she was in bed with a man. He could just imagine her surprise when she reached her climax. The thought made him smile. He realized it was the first time he had done so in days.

“Let us all observe a moment of silence as we wish Charlie Thornquist an endless fishing trip.” The minister bowed his head, and everyone else followed suit.

When Joel looked up again, he saw the minister hand the urn to Morgan Thornquist. The small group in the pews rose and started down the aisle toward the front of the small church.

Morgan and Stephanie paused to talk to a couple of the other mourners. Joel kept his eye on Letitia, who was reaching for another hankie. When she opened her purse, two of the large pile of used handkerchiefs popped out and fell to the floor. Letitia bent over to retrieve them from under the pew. The action exposed the curves of a sweetly rounded derriere. The movement also tugged her blouse free of her skirt band in back.

It was then that he decided Ms. Letitia Thornquist was going to be merely an inconvenience, not a major problem. On impulse he started down the aisle toward the pew where Letitia was on her hands and knees searching for the lost hankies.

“I'll get that for you, Ms. Thornquist.” Joel came to a halt, bent down, and scooped up the damp handkerchiefs. He handed them both to Letitia, who was still crouched between pews. She looked up in astonishment and Joel found himself gazing down into a pair of huge, intelligent sea green eyes.

“Thank you,” she murmured, struggling to get to her feet and straighten her skirt and jacket at the same time.

Joel stifled a sigh. He grasped her arm and hoisted her up. He realized she felt light but surprisingly strong. There was a healthy, vibrant quality about her.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“Yes, of course. I always cry at funerals.”

Morgan Thornquist ambled over, smiling. “Hello, Joel. Glad you could make it.”

“I wouldn't have missed Charlie's funeral for the world,” Joel said dryly.

“I understand. Have you met my daughter?” Morgan inquired. “Letty, this is Joel Blackstone, Charlie's chief executive officer at Thornquist Gear.”

Letty's eyes were brilliant with curiosity and a hint of excitement. “How do you do?”

“Fine,” Joel said shortly. “Just great.”

Morgan looked at him. “You'll come out to the cabin with us, won't you? We're going to have a couple of drinks and dinner in honor of Charlie.”

“Thanks,” Joel said, “but I had planned on driving back to Seattle tonight.”

Stephanie walked over to join the small group. “Why don't you spend the night with us, Joel? We have plenty of room. That way you can join us for drinks and dinner.”

What the hell, Joel thought. It would give him a chance to see just what he was going to be up against in the form of Ms. Letitia Thornquist. “All right. Thanks.”

Letty was frowning thoughtfully. “You're my uncle's chief executive officer?”

“Right.”

Her eyes skimmed somewhat disapprovingly over his black windbreaker, jeans, and running shoes. He knew the precise instant when she noted the absence of a tie.

“Were you in a hurry to get here, Mr. Blackstone?” she asked politely.

“No.” He smiled faintly. “I dressed for the occasion with Charlie in mind. I worked for him for nearly ten years, and I never once saw him with a tie.”