Page 9 of A Cornish Winter's Kiss

‘Right, gentlemen, if you’ll excuse us, Emily and I have work to do.’ With a slight nod of her head, Sophia turned away and Emily followed suit, catching Jude’s eye for just a moment before she did. She didn’t like him any more than Sophia did,that much was obvious. It shouldn’t have mattered one bit what Emily Anderson thought of him, but somehow it did. It bothered him even more when she started to read aloud to the crowd in that melodic voice of hers that could make him picture the scene she was describing with absolute clarity. Given that the scene featured two characters falling in love, that in itself was nothing short of a miracle. He didn’t want to believe in the story she was telling and yet somehow he couldn’t help it. Jude could have told himself it was just the tricks of her trade, an ability all audio artists had to get the listener to connect with the story in a deeper way, but he knew that wasn’t true. He’d listened to audio books before and he’d never felt quite so immersed in the character’s world, even when it had been a genre he enjoyed. Whatever Emily had that made her different, it was something special.

‘She’s great, isn’t she?’ a woman standing next to Jude whispered in his ear, and he nodded. He had no idea if she was talking about Sophia or Emily, but he knew which of the women he’d have described that way. Emily fitted the kind of description he imagined Sophia had put into lots of her stories. It might have been another cliché, but when Emily was reading it really did feel like a light had come on in the room. She had an energy and a joy that could only come from doing something you were truly passionate about. He envied her that. Writing had always been his passion, and a way of making sense of the difficult things in life, but he seemed to have lost his love even for that just lately. His writing had started to feel forced and yet, when he watched Emily, it was almost as if he could feel the embers of his love for storytelling reigniting. Despite all his misgivings, it might have been worth coming after all, because if he could find a way to harness that and picture DCI McGuigan in a scene like the one Emily had just described, then maybe, just maybe, he could transfer it to the page.

The champagne fizzed on Emily’s tongue and she let out a long, slow breath of relief now that she could finally relax. Performing public readings had become easier since the first time Sophia had asked her to do one, but she’d have been lying if she didn’t admit that nerves still bubbled up inside her every time she did one. It was nice to be up in the 5th View restaurant, with no responsibility other than drinking champagne and mingling. In the early days, the mingling had been easier the more champagne she’d had. It made her less self-conscious about introducing herself to people she didn’t believe had much interest in talking to her. She’d been to enough writing events to know that there were certain people who made it their job to work the room, often authors looking for representation or a new publishing deal. They’d take one look at Emily and decide she wasn’t worth their time. That used to bother her far more than it did now, because she knew that the people who really mattered – Sophia and the other authors who made her their first choice to record their audio books – valued her.

Nowadays, she let the fact that some people couldn’t see her value wash over her, but tonight was different. Every time she looked up, even during the reading, her gaze seemed to rest on Jude Cavendish, and a burning desire had built up inside her to tell him all the reasons he was wrong about Sophia’s books. It had nothing to do with her abilities as a narrator and everything to do with the way he’d disrespected not only Sophia’s work, but an entire genre that so many people enjoyed, including Emily. It had felt like he was just holding back from openly mocking her, and everyone like her, for their love of something he clearly believed had no worth.

There was an air of arrogance about him that undeniably irked her, but it was mixed with a hint of vulnerability too. She’d caught a glimpse of it in his expression when Sophia had put him in his place about the predictability of romance novels and why people might find that comforting in difficult times. It was almost as if he didn’t believe his own argument, but somehow he couldn’t admit that, because admitting it would have forced him to confront something else he wasn’t willing to accept. Emily had no idea what that was, but if he’d been a character in one of Sophia’s books, he’d undoubtedly have been a damaged soul, the kind of man who’d been through some kind of trauma that had left an indelible mark on his soul. The right woman would be able to help him heal, though, and Sophia would have written just the right kind of woman for him. But this wasn’t a novel, and whatever it was that had made a troubled expression cross Jude’s face, she very much doubted he’d experienced any real trauma. That hint of vulnerability had been just enough to stop her loathing him completely, but the reality was he’d still come across as an arrogant knob for 90 per cent of their interaction. As her grandmother had always said, if it quacks like a duck and walks like a duck, it probably is one. Either way, Jude would have a long way to go to prove her wrong.

He was impossibly good looking, especially for someone who must have spent most of his time hunched over a laptop. His jawline was razor sharp, despite the fact that his Wikipedia profile – which she’d googled in the ladies’ loo – gave his age as thirty-six. He had dark brown lashes the same colour as his hair, framing bright blue eyes which were somehow made even more striking by the fact he wore trendy heavy-framed glasses. He really could have stepped out of the pages of one of Sophia’s books, except for the fact that he was clearly a total arse. Yet she still couldn’t stop watching him. He wasn’t working the room, but still people gravitated towards him. He spoke to everyonewho approached him, and part of her wanted to admit that maybe he wasn’t quite so arrogant after all, but she couldn’t do that. Not after the way he’d spoken to Sophia. Eventually, Emily had sought out a conversation with Sophia’s proofreader, and they’d chatted easily about what it was like to be on the periphery of such a phenomenal author. It meant that Emily hadn’t found herself gazing in Jude’s direction for at least ten minutes. So when she looked up to find him standing right in front of her, she caught her breath.

‘God, you made me jump.’ Emily put her hand over her heart, trying to convince herself that the quickening thud, thud, thud was purely down to surprise at seeing him standing there.

‘Sorry.’ Jude looked genuinely contrite, but there was just a hint of amusement in his eyes, enough to make her keep her guard up. If he found her amusing, she wasn’t going to let him know it bothered her.

‘No problem. When you live in London, you get used to all sorts.’ Emily turned towards Sophia’s proofreader. ‘Della, this is Jude Cavendish, he also writes for?—’

‘Oh, I know exactly who you are.’ Della gave the kind of simpering laugh that made Emily feel embarrassed on her behalf, and which probably fed straight into Jude’s already inflated ego. ‘I haven’t had the chance to proofread for you yet, but I keep hoping it’s going to happen.’

‘Maybe I can make a request.’ When Jude smiled, Della blushed and Emily’s second-hand embarrassment went up another level. ‘Can I get either of you another drink?’

He looked from Emily to Della and back again, and she’d been about to decline his offer when Della’s phone buzzed.

‘Shit, my Uber’s here. I knew I should have made it half an hour later.’ Della looked crestfallen, only perking up a little bit when Jude kissed her on both cheeks as she said her goodbyes.

‘Don’t forget to put in that request!’ Her parting words might have sounded light-hearted, but her tone had been quite insistent.

‘I think you’ve got yourself a fan there.’ Emily hoped her intonation made it clear to Jude that she wasn’t in that particular club and never would be.

‘She seems sweet, and she’s certainly enthusiastic.’ Jude sounded as if he was describing an over-excited and slightly annoying puppy dog, and he wasn’t far wrong. If he had any interest in Della, he was doing a good job of hiding it.

‘She’s lovely and very good at her job.’ Emily tried not to acknowledge the feeling of relief at Della’s departure. There was no reason why she would be pleased to be left on her own with Jude Cavendish, none at all.

‘As are you. Very good.’ He adjusted his glasses as he spoke, and suddenly all Emily could picture was his namesake, Jude Law, inThe Holiday, in a scene that had sent millions of pulses racing. But even she knew that movies were nothing like real life.

‘Thank you. I love my job and I count my blessings every day to be doing what I do. I honestly couldn’t think of anything better.’

‘I used to feel that way about writing.’

‘But not any more?’ She couldn’t keep the note of surprise out of her voice. Partly because he was being so honest, and partly because she couldn’t imagine anyone who’d achieved the dream of becoming a published author wishing they were doing something else. Not when so many people were still chasing that dream.

‘Just lately no, but I think that’s something you might be able to help me with.’ Jude held her gaze until she was forced to look away. ‘I wondered if you’d be willing to go for a drink with me some time.’

‘No.’ Her response was emphatic. ‘I don’t think that would be a good idea.’

It wasn’t a lie. She knew without a shadow of a doubt that it would be the worst possible idea, because Jude was clearly bad news. It was written all over him, and she’d had enough of bad boys and commitment-phobes to last her a lifetime. In Sophia’s novels, guys like that always changed for the better when they met the right person. But that was just one more example of real life being nowhere near as good as fiction, and she wasn’t about to put herself through that again.

‘I’ll happily pay you for your time.’ He was still looking at her when her head shot up again. Who the hell did he think he was? He might assume everyone had a price but he was wrong, and a wave of nausea washed over her.

‘I don’t know what sort of person you think I am, but it wouldn’t matter how much you paid me to spend time with you, it wouldn’t be enough!’

He laughed then, actually laughed, and she felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. How dare he! Emily took a step forward, ready to slap him across the cheek, like she was the wronged woman in an old black and white movie, but then he held up his hands.

‘This is strictly a business proposition. What I’m offering is a payment for you to be a consultant on my novel. My editor suggested I speak to someone who understands what readers want from a romance in a way that I clearly don’t and, having listened to you read, I really think that might be you. I need to give my lead character a believable love interest, and I need someone who can help me work out whether what I’ve written will translate to my readers.’

‘So why not just ask a romance writer?’ Part of Emily was flattered that he thought she could be the person for the job, but she was in no way qualified to offer what he was looking for.

‘Because whatever I write, it still needs to have my voice. If I work with another author, it would just muddy the waters and become their voice in the middle of my story. I’ve tried doing it myself, but every time I read through what I’ve put down on the page, it sounds ridiculous to me. The trouble is, when I read Sophia’s book, that sounded ridiculous too.’ Emily had been about to protest again, but he shook his head. ‘That changed when I heard you reading the story. Suddenly that same sentiment seemed much more believable, and I think I need to see my character’s relationship through that filter. I’m too close to him and the story to be objective, and I want to be confident that it’s authentic before I send it to my editor, because I think he’ll just be so relieved I’ve written anything along those lines that he’ll accept more or less whatever I write. So my plan is to write what I think will work and edit that on the basis of how it feels when you’re reading it. If you can’t make it sound like a believable romance, I’ll know I’ve failed.’

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