Snowbound Cinderella (6 page)

Savored.
That was what she felt when Jace kissed her. As though he were tasting something so delicious, that he had to have more. And more. It was the same for her. She couldn’t seem to get enough of the taste of him. A taste that was wicked and wild. And more than a little dangerous.

She didn’t know why, but when he kissed her, she had the feeling that he was interested in her, just for herself. Not for Ciara Wilde, the actress. Just for Ciara, the woman.

Oh, what was the matter with her? He was just a man. And this was just a kiss. But the press of his mouth on hers was doing such strange things to her. She felt giddy and light-headed and wildly exhilarated. Her fingers curled into the front of his sweater
and she hung on as he took her on a wild ride of emotions.

His hands at her back moved slowly down her spine, pressing her firmly to the length of him. Tiny splinters of ice curled through her veins as she felt his hard, muscled body imprint itself on hers. She was cold, then suddenly too hot, as his mouth moved over hers, taking the kiss deeper. And then she couldn’t think at all. All she could do was feel as she gave herself up to the pleasure.

Jace tried to remind himself that she was an actress. She returned his kisses so thoroughly, so perfectly, because she’d had plenty of time to rehearse. She was, after all, every man’s fantasy. But the woman in his arms was very real. Flesh and blood. Such incredible flesh, he thought as his hands made a slow pass down her back, up her sides, until his thumbs encountered the swell of her breasts. He felt the rush of heat, the flash of need. It was crazy to want a woman like this. A woman so far out of his reach. But reason was warring with desire. And her fingers were soft as they slowly moved across his shoulders. And her lips were so tempting as they moved under his, urging him to take more. And the scent of her was clouding his mind, making him think of all the things he’d ever wanted that had been forbidden. She was an exotic flower growing on some lush tropical island. A priceless jewel just waiting to be discovered. A rare treasure that no one had yet found. And she could be his for the taking.

His hands tangled in her hair, drawing her head
back as he took the kiss deeper still. He ached from the need to touch her everywhere. To feel her body move under his hands. He struggled against the sexual tug that was drawing him closer and closer to the edge of something wild and dark and primitive.

The thought of taking her here on the floor had him trembling with need.

“What in hell’s the matter with us?” He lifted his head, caught her roughly by the shoulders.

Her breathing was a little too ragged to form a protest. And so she merely stared at him, hoping he couldn’t see just how much she’d been affected by this.

“Sorry.” His fingers tightened. “The last thing either of us needs is a—complication right now.”

Stung, she pulled away. “I’ve been handling ‘complications’ since I was a kid. Sorry if that’s how you see me.” She turned away to hide the hurt.

He swore. “You know what I mean. We both came here to heal. I’ve never thought of casual sex as particularly healing.”

She lifted her head, glanced over her shoulder. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that there’s no such thing as casual sex. I, for one, take it very personally.”

That was a direct hit to his heart. His eyes narrowed. “I’ll give you this much, Hollywood. You know how to hurt a guy. But at least one of us had the good sense to stop this before it got out of hand.”

She flushed with embarrassment. It was true. If he hadn’t stopped them, she wouldn’t have been able to
do it. The truth was, she’d been too caught up in the kiss to have any sense at all.

Jace needed some breathing room. Picking up his parka and his cigar, he headed for the door. “Don’t wait up. I’m going for a very long walk.”

Ciara waited until the door closed, then threw the oven mitt, against the wall. What was the matter with her? Why was she constantly letting down her guard around this man? She couldn’t for the life of her understand what was happening to her.

Her first instincts about him had been right. She couldn’t trust him. What was even worse, she couldn’t trust herself around him. There was just something about him that made her forget all her promises to herself.

Trust.
What a laugh. Hadn’t she been betrayed often enough to know that she couldn’t afford to trust anyone?

She decided to take out her temper on the dirty dishes, scrubbing and polishing until they were done. Then she found herself doing exactly what her mother had always done when she’d been frustrated. She began dusting, rearranging, until the entire cabin gleamed. That done, she made her way to her bedroom, where she carefully hung her clothes and pulled on the oversize football jersey she wore to bed.

She crawled between the covers, determined to put Jace Lockhart out of her mind. She’d show him that she wasn’t affected by him in the least. By the time he came back, she’d be sleeping like a baby.

C
iara tossed and turned in her bed, determined to fall asleep. But the more she tried, the more restless she became. She had heard Jace return to the cabin hours ago. Had listened to his footfall as he’d climbed to the loft. By now he had probably forgotten all about their little scene and was lost in some pleasant dream fantasy.

Why couldn’t she do the same?

She punched the pillow and rolled to the other side, squeezing her eyes tightly shut. She wouldn’t glance at the little battery-operated travel clock on the bedside table. She didn’t want to know the time. It would only make matters worse if she found out she had the whole night ahead of her.

She clenched her teeth. Why was she letting Jace Lockhart get under her skin like this? Just a night ago she’d thought of him as the most revolting of all creatures: a clever, cunning, intrusive reporter. Now she was angry because he’d had the wisdom to keep them both from making a terrible mistake. And he was right. It would have been a mistake to let the passion of the moment carry them along into something they’d both regret in the morning.

But the mere thought of his mouth on hers, of his
strong, clever hands moving along her body, sent a series of tremors skyrocketing through her. She’d never known such fire, such flash, from a single kiss.

It was the situation, she reminded herself. Two people, both struggling with personal turmoil, in close quarters. They were two volatile individuals, bound to explode when things got too hot.

Hot.
She kicked off the covers and sat on the edge of the bed. She was flushing thinking about Jace’s hard body pressed to hers. She ran a hand through her hair. It was a good thing it was nighttime, so she didn’t have to look at herself in the mirror. She wouldn’t like what she saw. What kind of woman was she, that she could be turned on by one man, while engaged to another? All right, she argued. So the marriage in two weeks was in question. But she wasn’t being fair to either man at the moment.

What right did she have to question Brendan’s character, when her own was so lacking? Oh, wouldn’t the tabloids have a field day with this if they were to learn of it?

She slipped out of bed and began to pace. She’d come up here to be alone to think. To clear her mind of all the excess baggage, and make some important decisions. It had been a good idea in the beginning. But Jace’s arrival had changed everything. This cabin was too small for the two of them. What she needed was to get out of here—now.

She stopped pacing. Maybe the plows would come through in the morning. She smiled, planning her escape. If the main roads were cleared, all she’d have
to do was get her car down the lane. The fact that it was more than a mile long, narrow and curving and slippery with a coating of ice beneath snowdrifts that were nearly six feet deep, would make no difference. In fact, Jace would probably be willing to push the car himself just to get rid of her.

She smiled at the thought. Jace was probably just angry enough to do that very thing.

Then her smile faded. She was indulging in silly, childish wishes. The snow wasn’t going to magically disappear overnight. And like it or not, she and Jace would have to find a way to get through the next day or two. Together. Not an easy task, if she were to be honest about her feelings. The simple truth was, Jace Lockhart was the sexiest man she’d ever met.

Maybe it was the fact that he was so secretive. He was the proverbial dark, mysterious stranger who fueled so many of the books she’d loved as a child. Unlike most of the men she worked with, he refused to talk about himself. That only made him more mysterious, more appealing. And he seemed completely unaware of his rugged good looks. She worked with men who spent all their time perfecting their looks; when they weren’t working out to keep their bodies in shape, they were consulting skin-care specialists or having their hair styled. The very nature of their careers made them self-absorbed. But Jace was natural, unassuming.

Most of all, he was a man of integrity, something she admired above all other traits. The fact that Jace had demonstrated enough self-control to resist taking
advantage of their situation made her respect him. And made her even more ashamed of her own lack of self-control. Oh, why did he have to be here, disturbing her rest and adding to her list of problems?

She dragged a hand through her hair and let herself out of the bedroom. Sleep would be impossible now. She was too agitated to even think about going back to bed. She crossed to the fireplace and paused to warm herself. Suddenly, catching sight of the shadowy figure by the window, she let out a gasp.

“Jace.” Her hand went to her throat. “You scared me half to death. I thought you were asleep.”

He turned, and she caught sight of his tight, angry profile. If possible, he looked even worse than she felt. As though he were pulling himself back from the edge of a nightmare. His eyes were narrow, dark slits. His mouth twisted into a mask of pain.

“I’m sorry.” She backed up. “I can see that you’d like to be left alone.”

“Yes.” He bit the word off. But as she started to walk away, he laid a hand on her arm. “Wait. I’m sorry. I’m afraid I’m not very good company right now. But that doesn’t give me the right to send you back to that cold room.” He released his hold on her. “I was—” he took a deep breath “—I was just going to get a drink. Care to join me?”

“All right.” She felt trapped. On the one hand she hated to remain here, knowing she was intruding on his dark thoughts. But on the other hand, her room was freezing. And she was far too tense to get back
to sleep. Maybe a drink would relax her enough that she could face her bed, allowing him some privacy.

He walked to the kitchen and located the brandy and two tumblers, then carried them to the coffee table. He poured and handed one to Ciara, before downing the other in one long swallow. He refilled his glass, then carried it to the window, where he paused to stare into the blackness.

Ciara sat on the sofa and sipped her brandy in silence. She glanced at Jace, wondering where he’d gone in his mind. Wherever it was, it was too painful for words.

He was barefoot and shirtless, jeans unsnapped and riding low on his hips as though he’d gotten up from his bed, too angry and restless to give a thought to anything but getting away from his demons. She studied the hard, corded muscles of his back and shoulders, and could see the way he clenched and unclenched his fist at his side as he stared, unseeing, into the night.

His torment was so real, so deep, she felt herself wishing she knew of some way to help. Instead, she merely held her tongue, watching and waiting, and feeling entirely helpless.

When he finally spoke, he continued staring out the window, his voice tight, angry, as though each word were being torn from his heart. “I told you about the bomb I defused.”

“Yes.” She waited, tensing for whatever was to come.

“There was another bomb. One I…couldn’t defuse
One I didn’t even know about until it detonated.”

“Were you—” she nearly swallowed the rest of the question and it came out in a terrified whisper “—wounded?”

He didn’t respond at first, merely sipped his drink. And continued to stare outside, thrust back in time to that event. Seeing the blinding lights. Hearing the screams. Smelling the death all around him as the thunderous explosion seemed to split the heavens.

His voice, when he spoke again, was thick. “When terrorists plant bombs, they do it with an eye to achieving the maximum destruction possible. This was an apartment building used by American television journalists and United Nations personnel. It was detonated before dawn, when the occupants would be sleeping and therefore most vulnerable. There was no warning. One minute, we were sleeping. The next, we were flung about like rag dolls. Some of us on fire. Some of us missing arms and legs.” His tone lowered. “And those were the lucky ones.”

Ciara shivered as he lifted the glass to his lips and drank again.

He drew in a ragged breath, amazed that he could speak of this. It was the first time, since he’d been debriefed by the government authorities investigating the terrorist activities, that he’d been able to put it all into words. But now that he’d begun, he couldn’t seem to stop himself. It came pouring out.

“There was a woman. Ireina Dubrova. She was a journalist with an international news agency. We’d
been colleagues first, and then lovers. She was…torn from my arms. I crawled through the smoke and rubble, calling her name until I found her. She…died there while I held her. Afterward, I spent about six weeks in the hospital. Then I thought I’d get on with my life. But the nightmares…”

He turned then, and Ciara saw the bleak look in his eyes.

“The nightmares come, like the bomb, when I least expect them,” he said. “And then I have to go through it all again. The blood. The pain. The…loss.”

“Oh, Jace.” Ciara was on her feet and hurrying to his side without a thought as to what she could say or do. But she was so overcome with sorrow, all she could do was try, however awkwardly, to comfort him.

She touched a hand to his. “I’ve never lost anyone. At least not anyone who mattered. But I can imagine how horrible this is for you.”

“I thought maybe a change of scenery would help.” He tried to ignore the heat, where her hand was touching his. It seemed a betrayal of Ireina’s memory, to react to another while speaking of her. But the warmth of a human touch was seeping through the cold. And surprisingly, having someone to talk to helped, no matter how painful the words. “I was wrong. Change didn’t help. There’s no escaping it. The memories followed me. And they’re just as strong here as they ever were.”

“You need to give yourself time, Jace.”

He gave an anguished sound that could have been
a laugh or a sneer. “It’s been almost a year. And I can’t seem to move beyond it.” He ran a hand through his hair. “How much more time should it take?”

“I don’t know.” She twisted her hands together, wishing she could offer something more reassuring, but not knowing how. “I just think a year is such a short time to get over something that hideous.”

When he turned away, she continued standing behind him. “I wish— I wish you could have the cabin to yourself, so that you’d have the solitude you need to heal.” She touched his shoulder, felt him flinch at the touch. “I’m really sorry to intrude on your grief, Jace. My own problems don’t seem so urgent, now that I’ve heard yours. And I promise you, as soon as the roads are cleared, I’ll leave you alone.”

He closed his hand over hers and squeezed, the only sign that he heard and understood. As she started to pull away he muttered, “Don’t go.”

She paused, uncertain as to whether she misunderstood. “I don’t want to impose.”

“You’re not. I’d—rather not be alone right now.”

She drew in a long, deep breath. “All right.” She crossed the room and picked up the bottle, then walked over and topped off his glass. “Why don’t you sit by the fire and talk to me.”

“What would you like to hear?”

About Ireina, she thought. How you met. When you knew it was more than friendship. How long you were together. But aloud she merely said, “Why
don’t you tell me about the different countries you’ve been to.”

He passed a hand over his eyes and leaned back, struggling to pull himself back from the darkness. “I haven’t kept count. My home base has been Bosnia, but I’d have to say I’ve been in every country in Europe.” He managed a weak laugh. “And that’s no small feat, considering that some of them are so new, they haven’t even had time to change their name or their currency.”

She was relieved to see him smile, no matter how strained. “How do you communicate? Do you speak their language?”

“Not all of them. But most people can speak a little English. And I can make myself understood in Russian, Polish, French.”

“I’m impressed.”

“Don’t be. It’s not a big deal. I’m sure behind my back they’re laughing at the American who can’t manage more than a few phrases.”

“Such modesty.” She grinned. “Didn’t you ever get homesick?”

He shrugged. “I was home. Wherever I went, that was my home.”

Ciara shook her head. “It’s just so hard for me to imagine anyone feeling at home all over the world. The times I’ve been on location to shoot a film I’ve hated it. Once I was gone for more than two months. I was so glad to get back to my own house, I wouldn’t leave it for weeks afterward.”

“Well, maybe if you had to survive under primitive
conditions, your reaction was understandable. How primitive was it? Where was the film shot?”

“Nice.”

“Yeah, that’s pretty primitive,” he deadpanned.

“Well, my villa had only one pool. And the room service was really slow.”

They both burst into healing peals of laughter. Jace leaned back, all the tension seeping away. He’d needed this. Ciara was so easy to talk to, to laugh with, to be with.

“But really, Jace. Didn’t you miss hot dogs at the ballpark? Parades on the Fourth of July?”

“Yeah.” He looked over at her, surprised that her question roused such feelings in him. “That’s exactly it. I’d be doing fine, really enjoying my life. But sometimes, when a friend would send me photos of his wife and new baby by the pool, or his kids on swings in the park, I’d find myself wondering if I was missing out on something.” He set his drink on the table and leaned toward her, his face animated, his eyes alive again. “I’d lie awake at night and wonder if what I was doing made any difference. Would anyone remember the guy who went off to Europe to cover the news?”

“Don’t be silly. Of course they—”

He held up a hand. “But I wasn’t building anything solid. I had no one who cared if I lived or died. Nobody who would be really shattered if I left. I find myself thinking that the really smart guys are the ones who find that one special person to love, and then spend the rest of their lives loving her, living with
her, creating a family together. And then one day their children grow up to do the same thing. And their children. The cycle of love repeats itself, over and over. And they create this history together. A history that continues through the generations. You see? I report on the history, but I’m not making any. Because I’ve chosen to hold myself apart, and not look for someone who wants to create a history with me.”