Snowbound Cinderella (2 page)

“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.”

C
iara 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.”