Книга - Snowbound Cinderella

Snowbound Cinderella
Ruth Langan


It might have been a scene from a hit romantic comedy–but actress Ciara Wilde wasn't acting, and nobody was laughing when she skipped town on the eve of her tinsel town wedding. Luckily she's got the keys to the Fortune family ski cabin, and perhaps a chance to regain her sanity.No chance of that when she faces down an intruder in the middle of the night. But Jace Lockhart isn't a thief, just a weary, beaten war reporter crashing his buddy's cabin for some serious alone time after a particularly brutal assignment. Unexpectedly snowbound, the two runaways find the healing they need in each other's arms. But when the snow melts, they awkwardly retreat to their very different lives–a little in love, a little confused and a lot less certain about what they want in life, except perhaps…a chance with each other.












THE TEXAS TATTLER





All the news that’s barely fit to print!

Fortune Patriarch’s “Secret” Nuptials on Hold

Despite a string of dead ends in the FBI investigation to recover his kidnapped grandson, Ryan Fortune, head of the Texas Fortune empire, has sworn that round-the-clock search efforts will continue. And if a national baby hunt isn’t enough to keep a mogul up nights, his soon-to-be ex-wife, Sophia, is playing pinch-’n’-spit in divorce negotiations—and holding out for the farm, or in the Fortunes’ case, the whole dang ranch.

In the whirlwind of scandal, Ryan and Lily Redgrove have put off plans for their longawaited wedding. Between shelling out a multimillion dollar ransom, an astronomical divorce settlement and enough cash for a Texas-sized engagement solitaire, will our very own “poor little rich boy” have more than a few measly million left to pay for the wedding-to-end-all-weddings?

All the world’s a-flutter with the shocking news of superstar sexpot Ciara Wilde’s shocking disappearance—from her own Hollywood nuptials! Tattler roving reporters swear to a Ciara sighting at a remote cabin inhabited by dashing international TV newsman Jace Lockhart, Fortune in-law. Ciara may have resisted the casting couch, but can she keep from cozying up with Jace on the cabin couch…?


About the Author






RUTH LANGAN

is an award-winning and bestselling author of contemporary and historical romance. Her books have been finalists for the Romance Writers of America’s RITA® Award. Over the years, she has given dozens of print, radio and TV interviews, including Good Morning America and CNN News, and has been quoted in such diverse publications as the Wall Street Journal, Cosmopolitan and the Detroit Free Press. Married to her childhood sweetheart, she has raised five children and lives in Michigan, the state where she was born and raised. Ruth enjoys hearing from her readers. Letters can be sent via e-mail to ryanlangan@aol.com or via her Web site at www.ryanlangan.com.




Snowbound Cinderella

Ruth Langan







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)






















Meet the Fortunes of Texas




Jace Lockhart: This veteran reporter was under doctor’s orders to relax, but the sexy stranger trapped in the isolated cabin with him was sending his blood pressure sky-high. And soon, warm embraces became more than a means for survival.

Ciara Wilde: The gorgeous movie star wasn’t used to men loving her for herself. She wanted a man who saw beneath her silver-screen persona—and she was determined to find out if her romance with Jace was more than a snowbound affair.

Matthew and Claudia Fortune: Wedded bliss turned to sorrow when their precious baby boy was kidnapped. Will the stress of waiting and wondering about the fate of their little Bryan take a toll on their marriage?

Eden Fortune: This single mom didn’t plan to fall in love again, but that didn’t mean her four-year-old son couldn’t ask for a father….


For Nora, who keeps challenging me to fly

And for Tom, who never lets me fall




Contents


Chapter One (#u4d737d74-5e11-58fe-b0ad-9323a02daefb)

Chapter Two (#ua1b03aa7-fb55-50ea-a028-4e53e63b86b7)

Chapter Three (#uddd08350-6d4e-5a44-84be-20bc9e17b8f1)

Chapter Four (#u62e8594a-2e37-588d-9427-05d24080d2cb)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)




One


Jace Lockhart maneuvered the Jeep up the steep mountain road. Every once in a while he cracked the window and sucked in frigid air to stay alert. He’d been awake for more than twenty-four hours now. First the flight from Bosnia to Paris to New York. Then the long lines for Customs at La Guardia. Then another flight to El Paso, where he’d waited yet again to rent a vehicle.

He opened the window, filling his lungs. Then, for good measure, he fiddled with the radio until he found Springsteen and cranked it up a notch. The motion of the windshield wipers seemed just a little too hypnotic. He didn’t need to fall asleep at the wheel. On top of that, the rain had turned to snow, and the winding roads were slick with ice, demanding complete concentration. He couldn’t afford to take his mind off the treacherous route for even a second.

Not that he minded. Anything was better than the dark thoughts that had been crowding his mind for the past months. All he’d been able to think about was Ireina. The way she’d looked, in the instant when the bomb had struck. And the sound of her screams, echoing through his mind, as she’d been torn from his arms. And the shattered body he’d had to identify at the makeshift morgue.

Even in sleep there was no release. The sights, the sounds, the horror of it all stalked him nightly, leaving him dreading a return to his bed.

It had been Brad Thompson, the overseas director of news at the network, who had first broached the subject of a leave of absence. At first Jace had resisted, believing that hard work was the cure. He’d plunged himself into even more work than before. He accepted endless assignments that nobody else wanted to cover, in far-flung towns and villages in eastern Europe. He’d slept in run-down hostels and flea-bitten inns, chasing stories of hatred and bombing and terrorism, of neighbor attacking neighbor, village against village, until, eventually, he’d begun to think there was nothing good or decent left in the world. The news events he found himself covering had begun to seem like one big nightmare, playing over and over.

He’d eventually become convinced that what he needed was a complete change of scenery, if he was ever going to put the past behind him and get on with his life.

This offer seemed heaven-sent. When his sister, Mary Ellen, had suggested it, Jace had leapt at the chance. What he wanted, even more than to be surrounded by loving family, was solitude. Some time to heal the scars, both physically and emotionally. Then, and only then, would he be ready to be around people again.

He rubbed absently at his leg, as if to erase the pain that had become his constant companion. The surgeon had said it should mend in time. But Jace suspected that the shadow of pain would linger for a lifetime. Like the scar that marred his right cheek. Like the memory of Ireina. Even the lightest touch, or the slightest thought, reminded him that both his scars and his memories were still tender. And if he probed too deeply, he’d expose a nerve.

He spotted the little country church by the side of the road. Lights from inside flooded through the stained-glass windows like a beacon in the storm. If the driving should become impossible, he decided, he’d return here and seek sanctuary.

He turned the wheel, swinging off the main road and onto a dirt lane that led to the cabin. The lane was overgrown with tall trees, their branches quickly becoming heavy with snow. The steeper the climb, the more treacherous the road became, until at last, after several twists and turns, it seemed impossible to go on. The car swerved and nearly went off the road before the tires gripped and the Jeep darted ahead, coming to a stop inches from the cabin.

Jace felt a sense of relief that he’d finally reached his destination. Another hour and even the main roads would be impassable.

He switched off the engine and sat a moment, staring at the darkened log cabin. It was little more than a blur against the curtain of falling snow. The original cabin had been one large room, with a small galley kitchen and a loft that served as a bedroom. That would have been more than enough for his needs. But in recent years a master suite had been added, with a king-size bed and walk-in closet, as well as a bathroom containing both a shower and a hot tub. He intended to put it all to good use, especially the hot tub. It might be exactly what his injuries required to heal. If not, at least he would have the healing power of solitude.

With a sigh he forced himself into action, catching up his duffel bag and tossing the strap of his carryall over his shoulder before stepping out into the snowdrifts. He tramped up the wide wooden steps, grateful that the porch running the length of the cabin shielded him from the swirling snow—snow laced with ice that was beginning to sting like shrapnel. This simple spring storm had quickly become a full-blown blizzard.

He juggled the duffel and carryall while he fumbled with the key. When he’d managed to open the door, he stepped into the darkness and nudged the door shut with his hip.

“You move a muscle and you’re dead.” The woman’s voice sounded a little too breathy. But whether from fear or anger, Jace couldn’t determine. He froze as he felt the muzzle of the rifle jammed against his ribs. In the same instant, a blinding beam from a flashlight flooded his eyes.

His voice was low with fury. “Who the hell are you?”

“I’ll ask the questions, buster. And you’d better have some very good answers, or you’ll answer to this rifle.”

She took a step closer, and as his eyes adjusted to the light, he realized she was a wild-eyed, gorgeous blonde, wearing nothing more than sexy underwear. “Now who are you, and what are you doing here in the middle of nowhere?”

His words were tight, angry. “My name is Jace Lockhart. My sister Mary Ellen Fortune owns this cabin.”

His answer was greeted with stunned silence.

Jace took no more than a moment to figure the odds before he swung his duffel bag, knocking the rifle from the woman’s hands. As it clattered to the floor he tossed aside his carryall and in one quick motion wrapped his arms around her, pinning her arms to her sides. The flashlight dropped from her fingers and the light flickered for a moment, then the cabin was plunged into darkness.

His voice was a rasp of fury against her temple. “Now I’ll ask the questions. And I’d better like your answers. Who the hell are you?”

“My name is… Ciara.”

The way she hesitated, he figured she was probably making this up as she went along. “Okay, Ciara, or whatever your name is. What are you doing in my family cabin?”

“I’m…” Her voice faltered and she had to swallow several times before she found the courage to speak. “I’m a friend of Eden Fortune.”

“Eden? My niece?”

“Yes. She told me the cabin would be empty. Isolated and…private. She never said a word about you.”

His tone grew thoughtful. “She wouldn’t have known. Until now, I’ve been out of the country. And I swore my sister to secrecy about my return.”

Jace felt heat building inside him, and blamed it on the rifle. Having the business end of a gun pointed at the heart tended to make a man sweat. Still, it didn’t help to have a living, breathing, half-naked Barbie doll pressing against him. It had been the better part of a year since he’d held a woman, but his body, it seemed, hadn’t forgotten the proper responses.

He released her and in one fluid movement bent and retrieved the rifle and flashlight. When he switched on the beam he saw the way her eyes widened, and could read the fear in them.

“Don’t worry. I’m not going to shoot you. Unless you decide to come at me with another weapon. Then you’ll just have to accept the consequences.”

“I don’t want any trouble.” She lifted a hand to shield her eyes. “I thought…I thought you were here because you’d found out that I was hidi—that I was here.” She cursed herself for her lapse. But he seemed too angry to notice.

“Then you can relax. The only reason I’m here is to be alone.” He slowly circled the room with the light until he located a lamp on a nearby end table. He stepped over his luggage and switched it on, flooding the cabin with lamplight.

Now he could see the rugged, oversize furniture grouped around a magnificent stone fireplace that soared all the way to the high-beamed ceiling.

“That’s better.” He turned in time to see the young woman glance down at herself with dismay. When she looked up, he was boldly staring. He didn’t bother to look away.

She had a fantastic body, displayed in the most provocative manner possible. He looked her down, then up, from those long, long legs, to the lavender lace thong. His throat went dry and he forced his gaze upward. Her waist was so small he was certain his hands could easily span it. The bra was nothing more than two tiny bits of lavender lace, revealing more than they covered. And what they revealed was a body that would make any man’s pulse go haywire. Then there was the face. Lovely enough to grace magazine covers. Full, pouty lips, at the moment turned down into a frown. High cheekbones that a model would kill for. A small perfect nose, and arched brows over eyes that were more green than blue. Her hair was a riot of soft blond waves that fell to her shoulders.

For one wild moment he wondered whether he was imagining this whole thing. This woman was too beautiful to be real. And this whole situation had the feeling of some fantasy gone awry. Maybe he really was losing it, and his imagination had taken over his senses.

To her credit she didn’t flinch or try to cover herself. With her hands on her hips she returned the stare. “Seen enough?” The words came from between clenched teeth. Had she been a cat, he thought, she’d have been hissing and spitting.

“You didn’t leave much for the imagination.” He nearly grinned before he caught himself. “But you might want to put on some clothes before you catch a chill.”

She turned away and stormed into the bedroom. Over her shoulder she called, “While I’m doing that, you can return your luggage to your car. Since I was here first, you’ll just have to leave and find yourself a lodge somewhere nearby.”

He walked to the window and stared morosely at the snowdrifts that were already up to the porch. “Sorry I can’t oblige you. I’m afraid we’re stuck with each other. At least for tonight.”

She came running, tying the sash of her robe as she did. Her frown was more pronounced. “What do you mean?”

“See for yourself.” He pointed. “Looks like we’re in the middle of a spring blizzard. Nobody’s going anywhere until it blows over.”

Like a child, she pressed her face to the window and peered out into the darkness. What she saw had her closing her eyes against the spurt of anger and frustration. Then, unwilling to believe what she’d seen, she walked to the front door and yanked it open. Snow blew in on a rush of bitter wind, nearly snatching the door from her grasp.

Ciara sighed with disgust. The last thing she wanted was to share this cabin for even one night with this stranger. With anyone. She wanted—needed desperately—to be alone.

With a shiver she leaned into the door, forcing it closed. For several seconds she stayed where she was, her forehead against the door, listening to the howling wind outside. Then, taking a deep breath she turned and crossed the room, determined to make the best of this intolerable situation.

“I’m sorry about— I don’t think I could have shot you.”

“Now there’s a comforting thought.”

She flushed. “I just thought I’d be alone up here.”

“Yeah. Me too.” Jace shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it carelessly over the back of the sofa. Then he crossed to the fireplace, piled several logs on the grate and added kindling, watching until a thin flame began licking along the bark. Next he rummaged through his duffel until he located the sack of groceries. “I’m going to make some coffee. Want some?”

“Thanks.” He moved so quickly that she found herself trapped between him and the counter in the kitchen area.

He felt the press of her body, but he didn’t show it. He kept his gaze deliberately averted. But in his mind’s eye he could still see the way she’d looked without the robe. It wasn’t something a man could easily forget.

“How long have you been here?” He measured coffee into the filter, then poured water and plugged in the coffeemaker.

“Since this morning.” Ciara brushed past him, annoyed by the little rush of heat as her body skimmed his. It was a body that was difficult to ignore. He had the taut, firm look of an athlete, with muscled arms and shoulders straining the sleeves of a charcoal sweater. She was a tall woman, yet he was taller easily by a head. Well over six feet. Thick auburn hair, with touches of gray at the temples, was badly in need of a trim. It fell in disarray over his collar.

Still tingling from the contact, she put as much distance as possible between them, settling herself on the sofa in front of the fire. “I got here before noon.”

“I didn’t see a car.” He searched through the cupboards until he located two mugs.

“Eden told me there was a small shed in back. I parked there.”

He nodded. “Something new, I guess. But then, I haven’t been here in years.”

“Where’ve you been?”

“Out of the country. Do you take cream or sugar?”

“Just a pinch of sugar.” She watched as he moved efficiently around the kitchen, stashing eggs in the refrigerator, bread in the bread bin. He was obviously a man accustomed to being on his own and taking care of his own needs.

He filled two mugs with steaming coffee and carried them to the sofa. He handed one to her before settling himself beside her and stretching out his long legs toward the warmth of the fire. Until now, he hadn’t known how cold he was. Or how utterly weary. The long hours of traveling were beginning to take their toll.

She sipped. Sighed. “Umm. This coffee is fantastic.”

He tasted, then nodded his agreement. “I found it at a little store not far from the airport. I couldn’t believe they’d have fresh-ground coffee at such a place.”

“I guess you have been out of the country awhile.” She chuckled. “Everybody, including gas stations, is selling designer coffee.” She glanced over. “Where exactly have you been?”

“Here and there.” He shrugged, frowned, obviously annoyed by the question. “Where’s your home?”

It was apparent that he was a man who didn’t like to talk about himself. All right, Ciara thought. She’d play it his way, though most of the men she knew in her line of work loved nothing better than to go on and on about themselves and their accomplishments. “I live in California.”

“What part?”

Her voice unexpectedly lowered at the thought of the horrible scene she’d fled. Her impending wedding in two weeks to film star Brendan Swift had turned into a media circus. There had been a television crew on her doorstep. Another parked at the end of her drive. They’d trailed her for miles before she managed to lose them. “Malibu.”

The anger in her tone had him looking over at her. “You don’t care for it? I’ve always thought it was pretty country.”

“It can be pretty. I like the ocean. I just don’t always like—the storms. They can get downright mean.”

He had the idea she wasn’t talking about the weather. He stared down into his cup and felt the quick slice of pain as he remembered. “I know a little about storms.”

She was watching the fire, unaware that her voice took on an even harder edge. “I’ve ridden out a few of my own. But lately, I find myself sick of them.”

“Yeah. Well…” He drained his cup, stood. “I need to unpack and get some sleep.”

When he looked toward the master bedroom she shook her head, reading his mind. “I’ve already staked my claim on that room.”

“Is there another bedroom?”

She shrugged. “Not exactly a bedroom. But there’s a loft. I think there’s a bed up there.”

He glanced up, then without a word picked up his bags. As he did she spotted the sophisticated digital camera and laptop computer. An alarm went off in her mind. “Tell me, Jace Lockhart. Just what is it you were doing while you were traipsing…here and there?”

He settled the strap of the bag over his shoulder. “I reported on the world in crisis. The latest dictator’s madness. The latest terrorist bombings.”

“You’re a reporter?” She was suddenly on her feet, her hands twisting the sash of her robe with furious energy. This was slowly becoming her worst nightmare. Trapped in a cabin with a reporter.

He looked up, wondering what in the world had set her off. “That’s right. A TV reporter.”

Her tone hardened. “And you want me to believe you just arrived here tonight by accident, without any knowledge of the fact that I was here?”

He didn’t bother to hide the weariness in his tone. “That’s right. Am I supposed to care that you’re here?”

“Are you saying you don’t know who I am?”

“Should I? You told me you’re…”

She saw the look that came into his eyes the moment he made the connection. Heard the disdain in his tone.

“I guess I’m even more tired than I realized. Oh, yeah, I know who you are. The actress. Even in wartorn countries your face regularly makes the headlines. So what are you doing up here? Slumming?”

“Getting away from people like you. I’m not feeling very friendly toward reporters these days. They’ve been hounding me unmercifully.”

“Isn’t that what you Hollywood celebrities thrive on?”

“Some do. I just don’t happen to want them in my life right now.”

“Right now? Does this mean you’re involved in some sordid little scandal?” When she didn’t say anything more, he shook his head. “Well, you can relax. I’m not that kind of reporter.” His tone hardened. “Believe me, I’m not the least bit interested in who you are or what you’re up to.”

“That’s what you say now. But when some tabloid TV show offers you a quarter of a million dollars to tell the world that you spent the night with Ciara Wilde, you’ll be just like all the rest.”

He gave a snort of disgust. “A quarter of a million? You put a pretty high price tag on your scandals, don’t you, Hollywood?”

She bristled at the demeaning nickname. “You’ll take the money. And you’ll give them every juicy little detail you can dream up.”

“Like I said, I wouldn’t waste my time reporting on some…unsavory Hollywood gossip.”

“That’s what they all say. But I’ve been betrayed by too many so-called friends to trust anyone. Do I really look that gullible?”

“What you look like is—” He clamped his mouth shut and gave her a long, insolent look before he turned to climb the stairs.

Stung, she gritted her teeth. She knew what she looked like to men like Jace Lockhart. He didn’t have to say it. His expression had said it all. It was something that had been made abundantly clear from the moment she’d arrived in Hollywood. The bimbo. The slut. And all because of the body that nature had given her, and the characters she’d portrayed in her films.

To his retreating back she called, “I don’t care who you are or what your connection is to this cabin. I want you out of here in the morning. Is that understood?”

Jace paused. Over his shoulder he said, in a cool, controlled voice, “As soon as the storm lets up, one of us will be leaving. And you can bet that quarter of a million you think you’re worth that it won’t be me, Hollywood.”




Two


Ciara huddled under the blankets and listened to the howling of the wind outside the cabin. She’d slept badly. She wanted to blame it on the storm, but the truth was, the fault really lay with the man asleep in the loft. Jace Lockhart. She despised reporters. All of them. But especially those arrogant snobs who thought themselves above the people they preyed upon. They were the worst kind of all. They held themselves above the fray, while selling out anyone they thought beneath them.

She’d seen the look in his eyes when he’d finally figured out who she was. He considered her lower than the characters she portrayed in her movies. Not that she was particularly proud of all the parts she’d played. But she was an actress, after all. She was playing a role, not living it. The trouble was, some people couldn’t tell the difference. They expected all actors to behave exactly as their characters did.

She shoved hair out of her eyes and sat up. Now that Jace Lockhart knew who she was, he’d figure a way to use this situation to his advantage. Ambitious reporters like him always did. She could already see the TV news filled with all sorts of unflattering photos of her in the cabin, while news anchors led off with teasers such as “Distraught actress sheds her clothes and her dignity.” Or maybe he’d try to seduce her, so that the story would begin “While fiancé frets, actress seeks solace in another man’s arms—two weeks before the wedding!”

She tossed aside the blanket and climbed out of bed. At least she was wise to him. She knew all the tricks of his despicable trade. She’d learned the hard way. She was going to see to it that he didn’t unearth a single juicy fact that he could twist into a sordid news piece. She’d show Jace Lockhart that she could be as closemouthed and mysterious as he’d been last night.

That air of mystery about him was intriguing. Where had he been, and what had he been involved in these past years? What had happened to make him so reluctant to talk about himself? How had he gotten that scar on his right cheek? Maybe she’d just unearth a few juicy details about his past. That way she’d have some ammunition if he decided to attack her in the media.

She slipped into jeans and a T-shirt and tied her hair back into a ponytail. Shivering, she pulled on a flannel shirt for warmth, then crossed to the window and peered out. Her heart fell. The snow had drifted up over the porch, and was still falling. It appeared that, like it or not, she would be stuck here for another day with the smug, superior Jace Lockhart.

With a feeling of dread she opened her bedroom door. It was warmer out here, and she noticed the logs burning in the fireplace. Jace must have fed the fire before returning to his bed. She glanced toward the loft, but couldn’t see a thing over the railing.

Grateful for the time alone, she padded to the kitchen and started a fresh pot of coffee, then rummaged through the cupboard until she located a box of cereal. She was just filling a bowl when the door opened and Jace stomped in, carrying an armload of logs.

The sight of him, muscles straining under the weight of his burden, snow dusting his hair, gave her a jolt. She knew dozens of stars in Hollywood who worked out with personal trainers. Not one of them could hold a candle to this man, who looked as rugged and comfortable as though he did this every day.

She watched as he deposited the logs on the hearth. “I thought you were still asleep in the loft.”

“Couldn’t sleep. Too cold in here.” He tossed another log on the fire, then straightened and turned, wiping his hands on his jeans. “I figured I’d better bring in a supply before the entire pile was covered with snow.”

She stared beyond him to where snowflakes drifted past the window. “How bad is it?”

He shrugged. “Bad enough that the power’s out. A line probably snapped under the weight of all that snow.”

She glanced toward the coffeepot and realized it was making no sound. “No power? Now what’ll we do?”

“Nothing we can do but wait out the storm. As long as the supply of logs holds out, we’ll be warm enough.”

And stuck, she thought. Stuck together in one small cabin, with no chance of escape. And no hope for any privacy.

She opened the refrigerator and reached for the milk. It was still cold. She started to pour some into the bowl. “What’ll we do about the food in here? Think it’ll spoil?”

“I’ll carry it out back to the shed. That’ll keep it cold and safe from animals.”

“Animals?” She paused to glance at him. “What kind of animals?”

“Raccoons. Deer. Their food supplies will be covered by too much snow. They’ll turn to scavenging.”

“You don’t think there are any…bear in these woods?”

The look in her eyes made the temptation too much to resist. “I guess they’ll be hungry, too.”

“Could they…break down the door?”

“I suppose so. Bears are pretty determined when they smell food.” He glanced toward the stairs. “I think I’ll be safe enough up there in the loft. But since you hogged the master suite on the main floor, you’d probably be wise to brace something heavy against your door when you go to bed tonight, Hollywood.”

At that precise moment the wind gusted, sending the door slamming open. She gave a yelp and spun around, eyes wide and terrified.

Seeing nothing but the snow, she turned back and caught sight of his quick, dangerous grin. “That wasn’t funny.”

“Sorry.” He tried to sound contrite. But she could see the smile still tugging at the corners of his lips. “I didn’t plan it, but the timing was perfect.”

She muttered a couple of unflattering things under her breath as he crossed the room and closed the door, latching it against the tug of the wind.

She turned away and began searching for a spoon. “I must have sounded pretty foolish.”

She nearly jumped when he put a hand to her shoulder. His voice was so near, she could feel the warmth of his breath on her neck. “It’s the storm, Hollywood. It’s bound to get to you.”

“Yeah.” Even though the nickname irritated her, she couldn’t seem to catch her breath, knowing he was standing so close. And she was afraid to turn around to face him. With her back to him she asked, “Want some cereal?”

Was she offering a truce of sorts? He wasn’t certain, but he figured he might as well grasp at any straw. “Sure. Thanks. I guess we’re going to have to do all of our cooking over the fire now. I saw a grate as well as an aluminum coffeepot for camping in the closet. We can make good use of both of those.”

He walked to the closet to retrieve the items. When he returned, he shifted beside her, his arm brushing hers as he filled the coffeepot with water. He crossed the room, placed the grate on the fire and arranged the pot in one corner of the fireplace, over glowing coals. In no time the water was boiling. He added ground beans, and within minutes the cabin was perfumed with the wonderful fragrance of coffee.

Ciara carried the bowls of cereal to the coffee table, while Jace filled two mugs.

He set one in front of her and said, “Just the way you like it. With a pinch of sugar.”

She was surprised, and more than a little pleased, that he’d remembered. In all the time that she and her fiancé Brendan had been together, he had never noticed how she liked her coffee. In fact, she’d never seen him fix or fetch anything for himself. He had employees to see to his every need. She couldn’t imagine him hauling firewood, or settling for a bed in the loft, or figuring out how to preserve their food once the power went out. In fact, she couldn’t imagine Brendan Swift accepting a situation like this without throwing a tantrum.

She sipped, closed her eyes and sighed over the pure pleasure of hot fresh coffee. “I guess being snowbound won’t be so bad, as long as we don’t run out of logs or coffee.”

He chuckled. “If we run out of logs we can burn the furniture to stay warm. But I’m a man who has to have his coffee in the morning. So if we run out of that, watch out.”

She couldn’t help laughing.

He grinned back and found himself beginning to relax. The thought of being trapped in this cabin with a Hollywood star with an oversize ego had kept him up most of the night. But Ciara was showing a side he hadn’t anticipated. She’d accepted this situation with grace. She had a refreshing sense of humor, and was even able to laugh at herself. Maybe, just maybe, they could weather this storm without conflict.

They ate in companionable silence, watching the firelight flicker and dance with each gust of wind that roared down the chimney.

“How long do you think it will take before the roads are passable?” she asked.

Jace shrugged. “We have to wait for the snow to stop first. I doubt they’ll bother to send road crews to plow until the storm has blown over completely. We’ll just have to hope that once that happens, the spring sunshine does its job on the layer of ice.” He shot her a sideways glance. “I’ll bet you didn’t think, when you left sunny California, that you’d be spending your weekend in a blizzard.”

She laughed. “I guess I won’t be wearing that bikini I packed.”

He quirked a brow. “Listen, Hollywood. If it’ll make you feel more at home, you can wear it around the cabin. And I promise you, you won’t hear a word of complaint from me.”

“That’s really noble of you, but I’m sorry. I’m not working now.” She picked up their empty bowls and headed toward the sink. “I only wear that uniform when I’m on the job.”

“Tough working conditions.” He topped off their cups and carried them to the kitchen. “How’d you get started acting?”

She turned and accepted the cup from him, and was disconcerted to find him staring directly into her eyes. A most uncomfortable feeling, especially since his were deep brown, with a soulful look that did strange things to her heart.

She decided to try to shock him. It was the least she could do to pay him back for that bear scare. “I stripped for the producer.” She lifted the cup and took a long, deep drink, satisfied by the lift of his brows. “He liked what he saw, and said the part was mine.” There, she thought. That ought to fix him. “How’d you become a reporter?”

Without missing a beat he said, “I stripped for the network producer. She didn’t like what she saw and sent me to Bosnia.”

Ciara laughed so hard she nearly choked on her coffee. Jace laughed just as hard.

“Okay,” she muttered, sticking out her hand. “I think that makes us even.”

“For now.” He accepted her handshake and absorbed a sudden jolt to his system. There was definitely something about touching her that was downright dangerous. And he knew plenty about danger.

He crossed to the door and pulled on a parka. “I’m going to gather more firewood. And check the shed for a generator.”

“A generator?”

“In case this storm decides to hang around. It’ll give us enough juice to heat the water and keep the pipes from freezing.”

When he let himself out, Ciara carried her cup to the fire and stood staring thoughtfully into the flames. It occurred to her that if Jace hadn’t intruded on her privacy, she would be facing this storm alone. The terror she’d felt last night when she’d thought a stranger was breaking into the cabin would be nothing compared to the terror she’d be experiencing right now if she were dealing with this on her own.

She had come here thinking she’d find peace and solitude in the rugged mountains. Then she’d found herself fighting off an intruder. She’d had her moment of panic, especially when he’d overpowered her and wrestled the rifle from her hands. But within minutes she’d been reassured that he wasn’t here to do her physical harm. Being trapped in a sudden spring blizzard, alone and unable to go for help, would have left her terrified. She probably would have been pacing the floor by now, consumed with fear and praying for a road crew to rescue her.

For some strange reason she felt safe with Jace here to help her deal with the problems. He had the look of a survivor. There was a toughness about him. And an aura of danger and independence. Wherever he’d spent the past years, she’d be willing to bet it wasn’t someplace snug and safe.

Still, she didn’t intend to let down her guard. There would be not one word spoken about Brendan, the wedding in two weeks that she’d run from, or her future plans that could be revealed later to the media. She had no intention of forgetting the fact that Jace Lockhart—soulful eyes aside—was a reporter.

After heating water in the kettle over the fire, she washed the dishes and tidied the kitchen. She was just finishing when Jace returned, carrying another armful of logs.

“The snow’s letting up.” He nudged the door shut with his hip and walked to the fireplace, where he deposited the firewood.

“Did you find a generator?”

“Yeah. Looks pretty old and rusty, but I’ll test it later to see if it works. Even if it doesn’t, there’s enough wood to keep us warm.” He added another log to the fire. “I spotted your red convertible out in the shed, Hollywood. It suits you. But it’ll be pretty useless in all this snow.”

She winced, knowing Jace was right. The little foreign sports car wouldn’t make it around the first bend in a road covered with ice and snow.

Jace opened the door, retrieving several empty boxes. “I found these in the shed. We can put the perishable food in them. There’s a shelf high enough to keep them out of the reach of most animals.”

She started removing some food from the refrigerator. “Except the bears.”

He joined her and gave a quick smile. “Ah, those bears. Clever beasts.”

Now why did her heart have to do that sudden free fall whenever he got too near? She gathered up the carton of milk and turned, bumping into his chest. Her fingers fumbled and she dropped it. It was only Jace’s quick reflexes that kept it from hitting the floor. And all the while, he kept his gaze locked on hers.

“All this talk about bears is going to give me nightmares tonight.” She knew she was babbling, but she needed to say something to cover her awkwardness.

“Do you get them often?” He packed the carton in the box and waited while she rummaged about, locating cheese and eggs.

She nodded, sobering suddenly. “Often enough to miss a lot of sleep.”

“You’re not alone.”

“You too?” She looked up. The laughter was gone from his eyes. In its place was a bleakness that startled her. Her gaze was drawn to the scar on his cheek, and she found herself wondering if that had anything to do with his bad dreams.

She turned away and scanned the contents of the refrigerator one last time. “I guess that’s everything.” She opened the freezer. “What about all this?”

He nodded, relieved that she’d changed the subject. “We’ll have to store that in the shed, too. If it starts to thaw, we’ll just have to cook everything and have ourselves a feast.”

She lifted out neatly labeled packages and stacked them in the box. When she was finished, Jace set aside two packages.

“I hope you’re not a vegetarian,” he said.

“No. Why?” She eyed the packages suspiciously. “What’s that?”

“Tonight’s dinner.” He winked, and Ciara’s heart did another flip. “My sister, Mary Ellen, always did have a good eye for prime beef.”

He hefted the boxes and carried them to the shed where he stored them on a high shelf, placing several heavy boards over the top to keep any curious animals away.

Then he began tinkering with the generator. As he worked he found himself thinking about Ciara. She might have teased about packing a bikini, but the truth was, the clothes she’d brought were hardly the Hollywood type. She looked as natural in jeans and a flannel shirt as she did in those sexy, glittery gowns she usually shed in her movies. She seemed different too, from the brainless characters she portrayed. There was a sense of humor beneath the sultry looks. And a sensitivity he hadn’t anticipated. Despite her earlier attacks on his chosen profession, she’d instantly backed off when she’d caught a glimpse of his pain.

He turned away, rubbing his cheek. He was reading too much into all this. And spending entirely too much time and energy thinking about Ciara Wilde. She wasn’t the problem at the moment. Survival was.

As he stepped from the shed he glanced skyward. The snow had stopped, at least for the moment, and the sun was actually trying to break through the clouds. But if the storm clouds to the north were any indication, there could be more snow on the way. He was determined to keep a supply of firewood beside the fireplace at all times. That way, no matter how much snow fell, they’d be warm.

A short time later he strolled back inside, scraping snow off his boots as he did. Leaning against the door he watched as Ciara poked at the fire before adding another log. The thin fabric of her T-shirt strained against her breasts, and he felt a rush of heat that had nothing at all to do with the warmth in the cabin.

“You’re getting pretty good at that.”

She looked up, drew her flannel shirt tighter before closing the firescreen. “Yeah. In no time I’ll be baking bread and spinning wool into cloth.”

“Now those were the good old days.” He studied the way her jeans molded to her hips, and decided that he definitely needed to cool off. “The snow’s ended. I think I’ll take a walk. Want to come?”

She shook her head. “I’d love to. But the warmest thing I packed was a denim jacket.”

He pointed to a door off the kitchen. “There are parkas and boots in that storage closet.”

She brightened. “I’ll just be a minute.”

She emerged wearing an oversize parka, the cuffs of her jeans tucked into hiking boots. “Okay. I think I’m ready to brave the elements. Except that I couldn’t find any gloves.”

They stepped outside and followed the line of trees. Beyond the cabin the grade rose sharply, and they found themselves climbing until they emerged on an open hillside. It was a struggle to walk through all that snow, but the view was worth it. Sunlight glistened on a dazzling, pristine wilderness.

Ciara stopped in her tracks. “Oh, just look at it.”

Jace paused beside her, then looked down. Their cabin far below looked like a toy nestled so snugly in the woods; all that could be seen was the smoke coming from the chimney. All around them was snow—so white it was nearly blinding. Distant fences were nearly buried beneath the drifts. It lay heavy on tree branches, dragging limbs nearly to the ground. A branch somewhere snapped beneath the weight, and the sound echoed in the silence like a gunshot.

“You’d almost think—” her voice was hushed, reverent “—we were the only ones to see this.”

“We are. Except for them.” He pointed and she followed his gesture, then gave a gasp of pleasure at the sight of the herd of deer just emerging from a stand of trees.

She and Jace stood perfectly still, enjoying the image of the graceful animals picking their way through the drifts. Suddenly, one of the deer caught the scent of humans, and the herd bounded away, disappearing into the woods as quickly as they had come.

For the space of a heartbeat Ciara couldn’t find her voice. When she did, she managed to whisper, “Wasn’t that wonderful?”

“Yeah. Pretty neat.” He glanced over and caught the glimmer of tears on her lashes before she managed to blink them away. “Haven’t you ever seen deer in the wild before?”

“Not since I was a kid. I never expected to be so moved by the sight. But they’re really special, aren’t they?”

He nodded. “Come on, Hollywood. Let’s lighten the mood. I’ll race you to the top of the hill. Last one there cooks dinner tonight.”

It would have been an easy run without the mounds of snow. But now it was like running with both feet tied together and heavy weights in their boots. After only a couple of steps, Ciara felt herself falling. As she went down, she managed to snag Jace’s arm, dragging him with her.

“Hey. No fair.” He fell into a snowbank, and she landed beside him.

“You didn’t spell out any rules.” She scrambled to her feet and broke into a run. “You just said last one there cooks dinner.”

“Oh, I get it.” He started after her. “You want to play cutthroat, do you?” When she eluded his grasp, he made a dive, tackling her around the middle. She fell, and he landed on top of her.

A mistake, he realized. He was suddenly all too aware of the soft curves beneath him, and the way his body sank into them. He was playing with fire here.

Unaware of his reaction, she gave a laugh as she struggled free of his grasp and started to crawl away. But he was too fast for her, catching her foot and dragging her back down. When he rolled her over, she had a face full of snow.

“Oh, you’re going to pay for that, Lockhart.” She scooped up a handful of snow.

Reading her intentions, he ducked his head, and she smeared it in his hair instead. “Bad aim, Hollywood.” He bent his head and shook it like a great, shaggy dog, sending a snow shower over her face.

She scooped up another handful and managed to stuff it down the neck of his parka. At his surprised look, she gave a roar of laughter. “Looks like my aim just got better.”

“I’ll have to do something about that.” He caught both her hands in his and locked them over her head. Then, with a wicked smile, he picked up a handful of snow. As he brought it slowly to her neck he taunted, “Now what’re you going to do about it?”

“Jace.” She was laughing harder as he began to unzip her parka. “Don’t you dare!”

“Dare? Did I hear you say ‘dare’? Are you daring me, Hollywood? I think I’d better warn you—from the time I was a little kid, I never could turn away from a dare.”

“Jace.” She saw the glint in his eye, and started wiggling.

Without warning, he dropped the snow and cupped her face in his hand.

The look he gave her was hot and fierce, as though he was fighting a war within himself. There was strength in him, she realized. And an undercurrent of violence—or perhaps passion. Whatever it was, it frightened her.

And then his mouth was on hers. There was nothing soft or gentle or persuasive about the kiss. It was as hot, as hungry as the look in his eyes. And as demanding.

Jace didn’t even know how this had happened. One minute, it was all good-natured teasing. The next, he’d wanted more than anything in the world to taste those pouting lips.

And, oh, the taste of her. At the same time sweet and savory, icy cold and hot as sin. And even now, knowing he ought to back off, he couldn’t seem to find the willpower. Instead, he savored the flavor of her and took the kiss deeper. His hand fisted in hair that was even softer than it looked. All silken strands that tangled around his fingers and brushed against his palm, inviting him to take more.

He hadn’t expected this softness. It was a surprise. She was a surprise. Sweet when he’d expected her to be tough. Vulnerable when he’d anticipated an icy wall of reserve. Everything about her was different from what he’d anticipated.

Ciara’s head was spinning. She knew she ought to resist. But there had been no warning. And now, with her senses reeling, she couldn’t seem to do more than sigh as she lost herself in the pleasure of his kiss.

There had been so many fake kisses in so many movie scenes, she’d lost count. But this was no act. This was so real, so soul-stirring that she felt her breath back up in her throat. Felt her heart pounding in her chest. Felt herself melting into the snow.

This was a man who knew how to kiss, moving his mouth over hers with a thoroughness that had her sighing. He kissed her as though he were tasting the sweetest of confections. Drinking her in. Feasting on her. Against her will, she lost herself in the kiss, forgetting all her promises to herself to hold this man at bay.

And then, just as her lips softened and opened to him, he abruptly jerked away. She blinked. When her blurred vision cleared, he was already getting to his feet.

Bad move, he decided, as he reached down and helped her to stand. They might be stuck here for days. He’d better keep his hands to himself. The last thing he needed in his life was one more complication. And a woman like this would definitely prove to be a complication.

“Time to get back to the cabin. My hands are freezing.” His tone was as flat and unemotional as he could manage over his wildly beating heart. It irritated him to note that his hands were shaking. He stuck them in his pockets and started off at a brisk pace.

“Yeah.” Ciara brushed snow from her backside, then struggled to keep up with his impatient strides. If he was going to pretend nothing had happened, she’d play along. In fact, it would be a lot better this way. They’d both pretend this had been nothing more than a moment of weakness, that it had already been forgotten.

“But just so you know, I got closer to the top than you did. So you can make dinner.”




Three


Ciara stared around with a look of wonder as they made their way down the hill. “I can’t believe this much snow fell in just one day.”

“Yeah. These spring storms can be deadly. They’re almost worse than in the wintertime. At least then you know what to expect.” He shot her a knowing grin. “This time of year you could get caught in your bikini. That was a bikini you were wearing last night, wasn’t it?”

“A thong. And you’re not going to let me forget it, are you?”

“Why should I? It’s not something I’m liable to forget.”

He was rewarded by a glimpse of Ciara blushing. Not something he’d ever expected to see, especially since she had been so defiant last night. But then, she’d been fighting nerves. Maybe she’d merely tried to cover them with an act of bravado.

“Watch out for these drifts.” Jace picked his way through the mounds of snow, breaking a trail for Ciara to follow. In places the snow was so deep that it reached nearly to their waists. Hidden beneath were rocks and stumps and fallen trees just waiting to trip them.

Jace turned to offer his hand, and saw Ciara standing perfectly still, her head lifted, one hand shielding her eyes from the sun.

He followed the direction of her gaze and caught sight of a hawk lazily riding air currents overhead. “Majestic, isn’t he?”

She nodded. “He’s a beauty. I’ve always been fascinated by hawks. Occasionally when I’m driving, I’ll spot one perched on a light post high above the freeway. I always find myself wondering why it doesn’t fly off to the wilderness.”

“Maybe there’s a girlfriend on a nearby light post. After all, there has to be something keeping him in town.”

“Maybe so. But why don’t they both fly away? It just seems so much more natural to see one here in the mountains than to see one trying to adapt to life in a crowded, bustling city.”

“They’re like all creatures.” His tone deepened. “Adapt or die.”

Ciara nodded. “I guess that’s true. We all have to adapt. But look how much we sacrifice for our urban sprawl. Noise and traffic and people in our faces. It just seems a pity that we pay such a high price for civilization.”

“Don’t be so quick to knock it. I’ve seen the other side. Primitive life isn’t all that pure and noble.” Jace’s voice hardened. “There’s just as much violence in nature, and in small, developing nations, as there is in any big, cold, impersonal city.”

Ciara was surprised by the passion in his voice. He was such a contrast in moods. For the most part funny and irreverent. But maybe he used that offbeat humor to mask much deeper feelings. She found herself wondering once more just what he’d seen, and where he’d seen it. Whatever it was, wherever it was, she felt certain it had been filled with violence and tragedy.

Before she could form a question, a frightened rabbit suddenly dashed across the snow. In a blur of motion the hawk went into a dive and sank its talons deep. The rabbit shrieked in pain, then went eerily silent as the hawk lifted into the air. Within minutes it had flown out of sight with its prey, leaving nothing but drops of blood in the snow to mark its passing.

Caught up in the drama, Ciara could do nothing more than stare into the distance. In the blink of an eye, everything had changed. The pastoral scene had turned into one of frightening violence.

Finally finding her voice, she turned. “How could you possibly know that would happen?”

“I didn’t. At least I didn’t expect to see it happen right here in front of us. But it was a pretty good bet that our hawk was searching for lunch.” Seeing that she was shaken by the incident, he took her hand. It was cold as ice. And the mere touch of her hand in his packed a punch that had him sucking in a breath.

“Come on. We need to get inside where it’s warm.” He led her over a series of buried boulders.

As they neared the cabin she turned to him. “This morning you mentioned Bosnia. You’ve been there?”

He nodded. “Bosnia, Kosovo, and half a dozen other towns all over eastern Europe.”

“Then you’ve seen firsthand all the things that the rest of us only saw on the nightly news.”

“I’ve seen enough.” He opened the cabin door and stood aside to let her lead the way inside. “More than enough.”

As she stomped snow from her boots she glanced over, and noticed that the bleak look had returned to his eyes. And the frown line was there between his brows.

In an effort to lift his spirits she said, “If you’ll bring the milk from the shed, I’ll make hot chocolate.”

“It’s a deal.” He turned away, eager to escape.

Jace took his time trudging through the snow to the shed. The violent scene with the hawk had triggered an explosion of memories. Of burned-out buildings, and towns under siege. Of the sound of distant gunfire that went on night and day. Of old men and women scavenging food and water and firewood. Of entire families forced to flee with nothing but the clothes on their backs, leaving their homes, their histories behind in search of peace.

Of Ireina. The bomb.

He had thought a visit to this mountain cabin would be a return to normalcy. That he could simply put the past behind him and get on with his life. What he hadn’t counted on was the fact that he carried so much baggage. The past was still with him, here in his mind. Haunting him. Taunting him. And the least little spark could set off a firestorm of memories. Some pleasant. A few poignant. All painful.

He paused outside the shed and studied the snowdrifts that reached almost to the roof. Suddenly in his mind he was transported back to that small village outside Bosnia…

In an unexpected downpour, he and his crew had taken refuge in a deserted shed. They huddled around a small fire they’d started on the dirt floor. They had looked up in alarm at the high-pitched whine that signaled an approaching missile. Before they could react, a side of the building was blown away. And with it, their driver. As the rest of the shed slowly collapsed around them, they scrambled free and piled into their truck, keeping one step ahead of the advancing army of terrorists.

The driver—a man from a nearby village—had been young. No more than eighteen. He had taken the dangerous job of driving the news crew in order to help feed his family. He’d had a pretty little dark-eyed girlfriend who had collapsed in grief when she’d heard the news of his death. Jace had learned later that she was carrying the driver’s baby; they’d planned to marry. But the war and chaos in their country had prevented them from seeing it through.

That night, as Jace fed the news to the networks, he had been completely poised—his face, his voice, devoid of the emotions churning inside him. He was, as always, the complete professional. Looking back on it he realized he’d never permitted himself to give voice to his grief, choosing instead to push himself to work even harder, to block the feelings.

It was only one of the hundreds of instances in which he’d suppressed his emotions on the job. It was the only way he knew how to survive. But he was only now beginning to realize what a terrible price he’d paid for his stoicism. Though he still couldn’t bring himself to speak of them, the scenes of all that carnage haunted him. And something as simple as an attack by a hungry hawk could bring the memories flooding back, casting a pall on the day.

He ran a hand through his hair and realized he was sweating. He hadn’t really left any of it behind. He’d brought it all home with him. And he feared it might remain with him for a lifetime.

By the time Jace returned to the cabin, Ciara had added a fresh log to the fire and had set her boots nearby to dry.

As he placed the carton of milk on the counter, she noticed that he had carefully composed his features. But, though he was no longer frowning, there was no warmth in his eyes. Whatever memories he carried, they hadn’t been resolved, she thought. They’d merely been tucked away.

Like her, he’d come here to be alone—to think, to bleed, to resolve. And then, hopefully, to move on. But like her, he was forced to snatch what little time he could find alone, to do just that. She wished, for both their sakes, that the snow would melt quickly, so that each of them could find the solitude they sought.

Jace stepped outside and retrieved the rusty generator that he’d hauled from the shed.

“You have a choice to go with the hot chocolate—” she poured milk into a pan and set it over the fire “—plain toast or cinnamon toast.”

“That’s it? No sandwiches? No soup?” He closed the cabin door and slipped out of his parka and boots.

Ciara grinned. “You can have whatever you’d like. As for me, I wouldn’t want to spoil my appetite for that fabulous dinner you’re going to make.”

“You’re not going to let me forget about that, are you?” He spread newspapers over the floor, then knelt and began disassembling the motor.

“Not a chance.” She set bread over the coals, turning it often until it was evenly browned on both sides. “After all, it isn’t every day I have a reporter willing to feed me.”

He glanced over, enjoying the way her hair had escaped from the ponytail to dip provocatively over one eye. “Oh, I bet there are plenty of reporters willing to take you to dinner.”

“Sure. And they’re all after something. A scoop about a fling with my leading man. A feud with my director. A catfight with some other actress.”

He couldn’t resist saying, “Not to mention those reporters who would just like to get you into bed.”

Instead of disagreeing, she surprised him by nodding. “That too. So they can brag about it the next day. You wouldn’t believe how many sharks there are out there who feed on celebrities.”

At the tone of her voice he looked up. “Sounds like you’ve been bitten a time or two.”

“Oh, yeah. I’ve been bitten. But I’ll never give them the satisfaction of seeing me bleed.”

“So you came up here to bleed in private.”

“Yeah.” She thought about it a minute. “I guess I did.” She looked over. “How about you? Any blood left in those veins?”

“Very little. I practically bled to death before I made it here.”

She was surprised, and more than a little touched, by his admission. It had to be difficult for a very private man like Jace Lockhart, who wasn’t accustomed to sharing much of his life with others.

“We’re quite a pair, aren’t we?”

He nodded. “The walking wounded.”

She crossed the room and knelt beside him, placing the toast and hot chocolate on a tray between them. She nodded toward the generator. “Do you really think you can fix that thing?”

He shrugged. “I’ve never thought of myself as a mechanic. But in a jam, I’ve been forced to repair a motorcycle engine, a truck’s driveshaft, and the broken wires on my sound equipment. Not to mention the time I had to defuse a bomb.”

“A…bomb?” Her hand went to her throat. “Where?”

“Myelinore. A town so small it isn’t even on a map. I was following the trail of a group of terrorists who had blown up a U.N. truck and had taken a survivor as hostage.”

“Why?”

“Because they wanted to get world attention.”

“No. I meant, why did you follow them? Why didn’t you just report the incident and let somebody else do the tracking?”

“Oh.” He gave that quick grin that always did strange things to her heart. “I was the only one around. If I hadn’t followed them, they’d have gotten clean away. And the man they’d taken hostage was a friend of mine who had a wonderful wife in Paris, along with two small children. I figured I’d never be able to face Monique and her kids if I didn’t do all I could to save Henri.”

“And did you? Save him?”

“Yeah. After nearly getting us both killed. When the terrorists left him bound and gagged in a deserted house, I broke in, thinking I’d just untie him and we’d slip away. But the terrorists had very cleverly booby-trapped the place before they left. There wasn’t enough time to escape, so I had to figure out which wire to cut or we’d both have ended up like that rabbit with the hawk.”

Ciara shivered. It occurred to her that the danger she’d sensed about Jace Lockhart was very real.

“Weren’t you scared to death?”

“There wasn’t time to think about being scared. I did what I had to.”

I did what I had to. Those words triggered a memory of her childhood. She’d once asked her mother how she had kept going, when she’d found herself alone with six children depending on her. And her mother had said, I didn’t have time to feel sorry for myself, honey. I just did what I had to.

Ciara shook aside the eerie feeling, to concentrate on Jace. “After you’d freed Henri, and had escaped the booby-trapped house, what did you do?”

“We ran as far and as fast as we could, and hid in the forest until we could make our way back to safety.”

“Did you ever go back to that town? Myelinore?”

“There was nothing to go back to. When the terrorists were done, they’d blown it clean away. The few buildings that remained were empty. All the residents had fled.”

Ciara’s voice lowered. “And Henri?”

Jace smiled then, and she could see in his eyes a sense of satisfaction. “He went back home. To Monique and his kids. The last I heard, he was serving as an advisor to the U.N. team in Paris. And living quietly in a cozy cottage in the country.” He bit into the toast and shot her a look. “Hey, this is good.”

“Of course it is.” She sipped her chocolate, still reeling from all the things he’d told her. His life was so different from anyone else’s she’d ever known. And so far removed from her life in Hollywood that she couldn’t even begin to imagine it. “Why does it surprise you that I can cook?”

“I didn’t expect you to be handy in the kitchen.”

“I’m not really. But I do know how to make a few things. Breakfast, mostly. I make a really mean omelette.”

“Good. You can show off your skill tomorrow morning.”

“What makes you think I intend to cook tomorrow?”

“Because, if I’m making dinner tonight, it’s the least you can do to show your appreciation.”

“I think I’ll wait until I’ve tasted your cooking. I may not be so grateful.”

“Coward. You’re going to eat those words.”

“Thanks. But I’d rather eat steak. I’d like mine medium, with a few mushrooms and onions on the side.”

“What you’d like and what you’ll get may be two different things.” He stopped tinkering with the generator long enough to devour the rest of his toast. Then he downed his hot chocolate in several long gulps. “Thanks. I guess this will hold me until dinnertime.”

“I should hope so.” Ciara picked up the tray and headed for the sink. “Because that’s all you’re getting, unless you make it yourself.”

Minutes later, Jace looked up to see her heading toward the bedroom. When the door closed he turned his attention to the generator. He really needed to get this thing in good working order as quickly as possible. He was desperate to restore enough power to use his laptop computer. He’d promised to check in with his wire service as soon as he arrived in the United States. By now they’d be wondering where he was, and why he wasn’t bothering to contact them. He didn’t want his crew thinking he’d completely deserted them.

But the truth was, he suddenly couldn’t work up much enthusiasm for world news. It never seemed to change. When peace came to one area of the world, war inevitably broke out in another. He supposed the world would always be divided between men of goodwill, and men of ill will with a lust for power and domination.

He sat back to study the rusted wires in his hands. But his thoughts kept drifting to the woman in the other room. He’d told her more about himself than he’d intended. Maybe it was because she was so easy to talk to. She had a way of listening. Really listening—not just faking it. And she had a way of asking questions without being intrusive.

He grinned as he started scraping away rust before splicing several frayed wires. Next he’d be trying to convince himself that Ciara Wilde was just like any girl next door. Still, despite the movie star face and fabulous body, there was a freshness about her that was disarming.

Usually he could tell, after just a few minutes with someone, whether or not he wanted to know them better. In Ciara’s case, he sensed there was a whole lot more inside than the woman she showed to her public. Maybe, just maybe, he’d reserve judgment. It could be that his first impression had been colored by fatigue.

Or it might turn out that she was “Hollywood,” after all. In which case, he’d be only too happy to send her packing as soon as the weather allowed.




Four


In her bedroom, Ciara opened the notebook and removed a sheaf of dog-eared papers. Since she had the luxury of several hours before dinner, she’d decided to use the time constructively. She pulled a chair close to the window for light, then set several candles on the nightstand. Tucking her knees under her, she began to scan the first page, making corrections as she read.

She’d been working on this screenplay for the better part of a year. At first it had seemed an impossible dream. With her demanding schedule, how could she ever hope to find the time to craft a script that was both bright and interesting, with characters who had depth and soul? But little by little it had begun to take shape. She wrote everywhere. Between scenes on the sound stage. During long evenings on location, while the rest of the cast and crew partied. She even wrote on weekends, whenever Brendan was engaged in his own movie projects.

Now that she’d completed several drafts, she had become even more critical. She’d read enough scripts in her time to know that her characters were coming along nicely. The dialogue flowed smoothly. The setting was exactly the way she wanted it. But some of the action scenes still seemed contrived.

She paused, pen between her teeth. Action. That was it. That was what was all wrong. She’d been influenced by the sort of action Brendan faced in his movies. Sound effects and computer-generated explosions. Now she found herself thinking about the things Jace had lived through. She’d never before met anyone like Jace Lockhart, who had seen real terrorists, and had defused a live bomb. The mere thought of it had her heart pounding, her palms sweating.

How could anyone live their lives on the edge of danger each day, never knowing what they would have to face next? What would a man like Jace have inside him that would give him the courage, the nerve, to keep going?

She’d seen the televised news segments of the bloody scenes of carnage, when terrorists’ bombs had exploded in public places. The sight of the chaos, with dazed victims staggering out of harm’s way, was horrible to watch. How much worse must it be for Jace to have lived through it, when the victims weren’t strangers, but people he’d known and cared about? How could he keep everything in his life on an even keel, with such images burned indelibly into his mind?

Immersed in the feeling, she bent to the page and began to write, using Jace as her model. Only when the candles had burned too low, and the light outside the window grew too dark to make out the words on the page, did she look up to realize she’d been writing for hours. She carefully placed the pages in the notebook and set it on the night table.

She had often lost herself in her writing. But there were always so many interruptions. These few hours had been like a special gift. No pressure. No schedule. No jarring telephone or fax to mar the silence. No signal from the director to prepare for another scene, or makeup and wardrobe people milling about.

Though it had been difficult at first, she had finally adjusted to having people around her constantly, dressing her, fussing over her hair and face. Adapt or die, Jace had said. She nodded. It was true. As alien as it had seemed to her, she had managed to adapt to a life lived constantly in the public eye. But that didn’t mean she had to like it.

She stood by the window a moment, staring into the gathering shadows. What would it be like to live like this all the time? To have no distractions? No reporters pushing and shoving to be first with the latest tidbits of scandal. No one knocking on her door, telling her it was time for her voice coach, her dance instructor, her personal trainer.

As Brendan often reminded her, she couldn’t have it both ways. If she wanted the success and the glamour and the life-style, she had to accept the publicity, the hordes of reporters and the loss of privacy. But was it worth the price? Whenever she thought about leaving it all behind, she was reminded of the life she’d left. Would that be her fate? She shivered. No. She would never go back.

Money was important to her. Not just because of the things it bought: the place in Malibu, and the pretty little house in Kentucky that she’d bought for her mother. More important, because it meant security and independence—something Ciara treasured above all else. She’d watched her mother struggle with the burden of six children and a husband who found all his dreams in a bottle. They’d moved from one shabby apartment to another, often leaving in the night when her mother couldn’t scrape up enough money to pay the rent. When her father had finally left them, her mother was forced to work two jobs just to keep her family together.

Ciara clutched her hand into a fist, until she forcibly relaxed each finger. She was never going back. If it meant playing empty-headed blondes jiggling in a bikini for the rest of her life, that’s what she’d do before she’d go back to the life she’d known as a child. Whenever she thought about leaving it all behind, she would suffer a flashback to her needy childhood. That was always enough to remind her that she couldn’t have it both ways.

Still, wasn’t it possible to have what she wanted, and reclaim her life? Or would she find her world crumbling, and all her hard-won independence lost?

When she had first voiced her concerns about a lack of privacy, Brendan had been quick to soothe. It was true that he had made a career of attracting the media. And that meant for her, as Mrs. Brendan Swift, whatever privacy she craved would be further eroded. It was only natural to assume that the marriage of two movie superstars would only increase the blinding glare of the spotlight, he’d reminded her. But Brendan had also assured her that the merger of their two fortunes would “buy” them a certain amount of privacy. There was his mansion, of course, which had become such a fortress that the photographers could only snap their pictures from helicopters, unless specifically invited onto the grounds. But Brendan had a reputation for being a freewheeling spender. There were rumors that he spent as much as he earned. And lately she’d begun to wonder if his fortune was really all he led her to believe it was. There was the nagging little fear that he coveted her money, and her fame, as much as her love. When she’d suggested a prenuptial agreement, he had balked, saying that if the press learned of it, he’d look foolish. When she’d pressed, he’d gone into a rage. Hadn’t he been more than generous with all his ex-wives? Why wouldn’t he treat his current wife even better?

Brendan was so smooth, so persuasive. She felt as though she’d been swept along by the sheer force of his overpowering personality. He’d dismissed her worries and trampled all her defenses. Still, the nagging little fear persisted. Maybe because he’d been too smooth. Too persuasive. And a little too annoyed at her questions.

She’d tried to give him back the engagement ring, telling him she needed time to think. But he wouldn’t take it. He insisted that he loved her and that they’d work things out. But he refused to talk about the things that were really bothering her. He wanted to go ahead with the wedding and then work things out afterward. He didn’t understand that she just couldn’t do it that way. And so she’d run two weeks before her wedding. And was running still. But sooner or later she would have to return for the reckoning. She’d better be prepared with the answers. And right now, she didn’t know what they were, what she wanted. All she knew was that she would have to live with her decisions.

She pressed her hands to her temples and rubbed at the headache that was beginning to throb. That’s what she got for thinking. But then, that was the reason she was here. To think. To plan. And to come to some decisions, no matter how painful.

Jace was doing some heavy thinking of his own. It helped to have the generator to focus on. But while his hands were busy, his mind was in overdrive. He’d forgotten just how pleasant it was to have an entire day to himself. No agenda. No video or audio. No notes to transcribe. He closed his eyes a moment, listening to the sounds of silence. No traffic screeching. No mobs shouting. No thunder of automatic rifle fire in the distance.

It had been years since he’d been back in the U.S. And even more years since he’d had absolutely nothing more pressing than a generator that required his attention. Why had he resisted so long? If he’d known how soothing, how healing this would be, he’d have been here months ago. Or would he?

Time for a little honesty. Maybe the truth was that he’d been afraid of this very thing. Afraid that if he found life too pleasant, too undemanding, he might not want to return to the wars, the famines, the floods, the assassinations. And then where would he be? Until this past year he’d always known exactly what he wanted. To live life on the very edge of danger. To travel to distant lands. To experience the thrill of discovering something new and exciting just around the corner. Oh, there were times, especially in the past year, when he’d toyed with the idea of settling down. He knew he wouldn’t be able to keep up his globe-trotting life-style forever. And the thought that all his friends had become immersed in their own lives, with families of their own, made him feel as though he might have missed something important. But the idea of marriage, of a lifetime spent with one woman, seemed laughable.

Not that there hadn’t been women in his life. But all of them, like him, enjoyed a relationship free of commitment. Like him, they’d had demanding careers that filled whatever holes there might have been in their lives. That’s just the way he liked it. He’d always needed the freedom to come and go as he pleased.

Jace hadn’t been with a woman since Ireina. And he hadn’t met a woman who got under his skin enough to make him want to take that leap into happily-ever-after. In truth, he didn’t believe such a woman existed. He believed even less in happy endings.

He glanced at the darkened windows and pushed the generator and its parts aside. He’d deal with it later. Now it was time to wash up and cook that dinner he’d promised. He was going to make Ciara Wilde eat her words.

No, he corrected. He was going to make her eat the best steak she’d ever tasted—and sigh in ecstacy over every single bite.

“Umm.” Ciara stepped from her bedroom and paused in the doorway. “Something smells heavenly.” She glanced toward the fireplace, where Jace was grilling steaks.

He looked up and absorbed a jolt to his system. She was still dressed in jeans and the flannel shirt. But she’d brushed her hair long and loose, and it fell in soft waves to her shoulders. The earlier walk in the fresh air had given her skin a healthy glow. Even without a trace of makeup she was stunning.

The cabin was snug and inviting. Jace had massed candles on the mantel. They cast a soft glow over the room. For the sake of warmth, he’d set two places side by side on the big coffee table, facing the fire. In the middle of the table was a bottle of wine and two stemmed glasses.

Her eyes widened in surprise. “Wine? How in the world did you come up with that?”

He grinned. “I found a well-stocked wine rack in the pantry. Not that I’m surprised. The Fortunes have always enjoyed only the best food and wine. I hope you like merlot.” He poured, then handed her one glass, taking the other with him as he tended the steaks.

She sipped. “I can see that you’re taking your responsibility as cook seriously.”

“Absolutely.” He expertly turned the steaks. “That way, when you make breakfast tomorrow, you’ll have to work even harder to beat me, Hollywood.”





Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Получить полную версию книги.


Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/ruth-langan/snowbound-cinderella/) на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.