Snowbound Cinderella (5 page)

“It’s just a thumbnail sketch. So far. The in-depth analysis comes later.” With a chuckle he put his hand under her elbow. This time he was ready for the electricity that always came when he touched her. But even though he’d tried to prepare himself, it left him shaken.

He guided her to the sofa. “Come on. It’s time I softened you up with my specialty— Steak Lockhart.”

When she was seated he speared a steak and placed it on her plate, then spooned the sizzling vegetables around it. “First the presentation.” He glanced over. “Does it meet with your approval, Hollywood?”

“It does.” She breathed in the aroma and felt her mouth water.

“Now for the true test.” Jace waited while Ciara cut a small piece of meat and tasted it. “Well?”

She grabbed her napkin and covered her mouth, pretending to gag.

Jace caught her arm. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s—” she struggled to hold back the laughter, and pressed her napkin over her face so he couldn’t see her eyes “—just the worst steak I’ve ever—”

Eyes narrowed, he yanked her hands down. She couldn’t contain herself any longer.

“Sorry. I couldn’t resist.” She was giggling so hard that she could hardly speak. “Oh, Jace. You ought to see your face.”

“You scared the hell out of me. I thought I’d poisoned you.”

She wiped at her eyes. “You were so…smug.” She choked back another chuckle that bubbled up from deep inside.

He was trying not to laugh, she could see. But the warmth of it was there in his eyes, and tugging at the corners of his lips. “Very funny, Hollywood.” He sat back. “Okay. But you’d better be very careful from now on. We’re stuck with each other until the roads are cleared. Until then, I could be cooking you a lot more meals. And you never know just what I’ll put in them.”

“I guess I’ll have to see that you taste everything before I do.” She picked up her knife and cut another bite of meat. With a sigh she said, “Actually, this may be the best steak I’ve ever eaten.” She glanced over. “But try not to let it go to your head.”

He was grinning broadly by the time he cut into his own steak. One more thing he’d learned about Ciara Wilde, which he’d tuck away with the other facts: she definitely had an offbeat sense of humor.

“Now it’s my turn to dissect you.” She cut another bite, chewed, then said, “You’re very secretive. The last thing you want to talk about is yourself.”

“Maybe it’s because I’m such a dull guy.”

She gave him a knowing look. “Oh, yeah. Most of us would be bored to tears if all we could do was have missiles aimed at us while we stay one step ahead of an army of terrorists.”

He was forced to laugh at her depiction of his life. “That isn’t all I do.”

“I should hope not. But the fact is, you’re like all reporters. Comfortable with facts. As long as they pertain to someone else. When the topic of conversation turns to you, you’d much rather turn the tables and do an interview.”

“Is that what I’m doing?”

She nodded. “Haven’t you noticed? Whenever the conversation gets a bit too close, you shut down.”

He felt a wave of discomfort. She was right on the mark. And he was already beginning to squirm.

“Like all reporters, you have no problem getting down and dirty, asking questions of others that you’d resent having to answer yourself.”

“Ouch.” He held up a hand in mock surrender. “I promise I won’t do it again.”

“Oh, yes you will. It’s second nature to you. That’s what makes you so good at what you do. You’re inquisitive. You want to know what makes everyone tick. You’ll put your life on the line to get the facts. You’ll go to any length to get your story, no matter who gets hurt in the process. The trouble is, you just don’t want to be held under that same microscope yourself.”

“I didn’t realize I was so transparent.”

She smiled. “Oh, you’re very good at hiding your feelings. I’d say you’ve had a lot of practice. In a way, an actor does much the same thing. We’re always hiding behind our characters. We’re most comfortable when we’re portraying someone else. In a way, you’re playing a part, too—the part of the dispassionate observer. The trouble with that is, you’re not nearly as lacking in passion as you pretend.”

“Okay. I’ll admit to that much.” His gaze roamed her face, coming to rest on her mouth. “I am definitely a man of passion.”

No surprise there, she thought. She felt the heat of his scrutiny and was reminded of his kiss. Though it had lasted less than a minute, it had been hot enough to melt the snow, and had left her trembling with feeling. Even now, just thinking about it, she shivered.

He studied her with new respect. “You know something, Hollywood? You have keen insight into people. I’d hate to have you take up my profession. You’d be a tough competitor.”

She merely smiled. But she knew he’d just given her a rare compliment. And she couldn’t help being warmed by it.

“See, and you accused me of being soft.”

“Softhearted. They aren’t the same thing.”

“And I told you. My heart is as hard as they come.”

He tugged on a lock of her hair, forcing her to meet his eyes. His held just a hint of knowing laughter. “You don’t want me to expose you for a liar, do you, Hollywood?”

When he twisted the strand around his finger, she felt the sudden spiral of heat all the way to her toes.

She pulled free and reached for her wine. Her throat was dry as dust. And her hands, she realized, were trembling.

“W
hat attracted you to reporting, Jace?”

Their meal had been long and leisurely. And, because they were both struggling to ignore the sexual attraction, they seemed determined to keep their conversation easy and impersonal.

Jace topped off their wineglasses and leaned back, stretching out his long legs to the warmth of the fire.

“As a kid there was a restlessness in me. I always loved nothing better than to ride a horse at breakneck speed over an open meadow. Or to leap off a cliff and dive into a frigid mountain stream. Maybe it sounds reckless, but I’ve never feared for my safety. I just had to try everything. I have this need to be wild and free. But at the same time, I always loved reading about foreign lands, and I knew that someday I’d have to see every place I read about. When I went off to the University of Chicago, it seemed only natural to major in history and journalism.”

“I bet you played football, too.” Ciara glanced admiringly at the width of his shoulders.

He grinned. “Yeah. On a scholarship. But I wasn’t interested in making sports my life. When it came time to choose a career, there was no contest. I
wanted to see the world. And write about my travels. And being a news reporter made it all possible.”

“What brought you back home?”

His smile faded. “I’ve had a misery overload recently. I needed to pull back for a while and let things heal.” He absently rubbed his leg, then turned. “How about you? Was your family in show business?”

So much for his story, Ciara thought. Once again he had smoothly turned the tables, deflecting the conversation to her.

“I grew up in a Kentucky coal-mining town. Dirt-poor. My family was as far from show business as you could imagine.”

“Then how’d you get so far so fast?”

“So fast?” She arched a brow.

“You can’t be more than your early twenties.”

“I’m twenty-seven.”

He inclined his head. “Then I’ll ask it again. How did you get so far so fast?”

She laughed. “It feels like forever. I started when I was just a kid.”

“I bet you were a beautiful little kid.”

She gave a huff of protest. “Cathy Wazorski was shy and plain. And mostly scared.”

“Cathy Wazorski? That’s your real name?” He was staring at her with a quizzical look.

She nodded, amazed that she had let that fact slip. She’d always been so careful to keep her personal life separate from her public image. In all the profiles written about her, her past and her family had never
once been mentioned. And here she was, running off at the mouth—to a reporter!

Maybe it was the wine, but she suddenly realized she didn’t much care about family secrets. Jace was easy to talk to. And there had been so few people in her life that she trusted enough to open up to about her personal life.

“So you were a scared little kid. What were you afraid of?”

She shrugged. “Of everything. My father, who was usually drunk. Of losing our home—especially after my father walked out on us. My poor mother worked two jobs to keep us all together, but it was never enough. We moved so many times, I once went to four schools from September to Christmas. My little brothers and I wore hand-me-down clothes from local charities. I never had a lot of friends. I just never felt like I fit in with the other kids in my class. I did have one best friend— Emily Applegate—who is still a great friend to me. She’s the one who introduced me to your niece Eden.”

Jace was amazed. This was yet another side to her. This poised, beautiful creature looked as though she’d been raised in a life of luxury, with private schools, tutors, and all the trappings of wealth. “So, you were shy? How shy?”

“A real loner. I kept to myself, and took refuge in books and plays and movies. That was my salvation. In my imagination I was always the beautiful, brave heroine who overcame every obstacle to reach the top. Maybe in your dreams you traveled the world,
but in my dreams I lived in a mansion and rode in a chauffeur-driven limousine and had hundreds of men groveling at my feet.”

“Nice dream. How did you make it come true?”

She laughed. “Which part is true? The mansion, the limousine or the men?”

“Looking at you, I’d say all of the above.”

She laughed again. “I guess that’s what most people think when they see a movie star. The truth is, I have to keep working just to keep one step ahead of all the bills.”

“So, you have to pay your bills just like the rest of us. The mortgage on the mansion. The rental on the limousine. But tell me—how did shy, frightened little Cathy Wazorski from Kentucky get to be a Hollywood star in the first place?”

She sat a minute, lost in thought. Then she shook her head, remembering. “When I was fifteen I sent a photo to a teen magazine contest. It was the boldest move I’d ever made. I really did it because I was feeling so self-conscious. All the other girls my age were small and dainty, and seemed to have perfect figures. And I thought I was some sort of ugly duckling, because I was tall and thin, and had almost no shape at all. My hair was just a mess. Long and curly, always tangled. I couldn’t afford to go to a beauty shop, so I used to cut it myself.”

“That doesn’t sound like the profile of a beauty contest winner.”

“No, it doesn’t.” She frowned. “I was so embarrassed, I didn’t tell a soul—except for Emily—about
entering the contest. Imagine my shock when I won and was offered a contract with a famous modeling agency in Los Angeles. They said they could see something in me. Something that was unusual enough to make me a standout. So I agreed.”

“You left home at fifteen and went to work modeling?”

“By the time I left I was sixteen.”

“Didn’t your mother worry about letting you go?”

“Sure. She was plenty worried. But by then she had all she could do to keep things together. I convinced her that it was for the best. She’d have one less mouth to feed. And I could earn my own way, and send her a little money when I got settled in. So off I went to the big city to seek my fame and fortune. Whenever I got scared about being on my own—and believe me, I was plenty scared— I told myself it was the only way I’d ever help my mother.”

She smiled. “I remember the first check I ever sent her. Two hundred dollars. She called me up and cried. She said it was like a miracle. I could hear my little brothers shouting and cheering in the background. She said it was the first time she could ever remember looking forward to getting the mail. Always before it had been filled with bills. And now, she wasn’t quite so afraid anymore.”

Jace could see the way her smile softened all her features, and put a light in her eyes that made them glow. “That must have given you a pretty special feeling.”

She nodded. “I started saving every dollar I could,
just so I could always hear that joy in my mother’s voice. That’s when I was encouraged to switch from modeling to acting. But those were pretty rough years in the beginning. I didn’t always…make the right choices.”

Jace thought about the films he’d seen her starring in. Most of the plots were forgettable. But he had to admit that the girl in the skimpy clothes had always been worth the price of admission.

Now he tried to imagine a girl of sixteen, being pressured by studios to star in cheap films and bare her body for the sake of big dollars. In her place, how many others would have had the wisdom or the courage to do otherwise?

Ciara grew thoughtful for a moment before saying, “I was given a lot of bad advice. And there were several people who really took advantage of my ignorance. My first agent stole more than half a million dollars before he was discovered. He got off with a fine and a short time in jail. And when he came out, he went right back to handling the careers of other young stars who didn’t know any better. And then there was my best friend—not Emily, but a girl I’d met in L.A. and had become really close to…” She paused, frowned. “Well, she’s my ex-best friend, because she sold photos of me to a tabloid. Photos she took with a hidden camera, over a period of more than a year.”

Jace’s eyes narrowed. “I can’t even imagine such betrayal.”

Ciara sighed. “It hurt so much. But I learned from
it. I grew up. Maybe a little bit faster and a little bit harder than I would have liked. But like my mother said, at least all they stole from me was my money and my trust. I can earn more money, and I’ll be a lot more careful with those I trust.” Her tone hardened. “But I’ll never let them steal my soul.”

Jace saw the flash of fire in her eyes and studied her with new respect. “That’s a pretty remarkable story. I’d say you’ve been through a baptism of fire, Hollywood.”

“I guess that’s true.” Her voice softened. “And I guess I’d do it all again, if only because I was able to buy my mother a nice house. It’s a pretty little place, with flowers in the yard, and a rocker on the front porch.” She smiled, remembering the last time she’d gone for a visit. “My youngest brother still lives with her. He’s a senior in high school. Two of my brothers are in college, and one’s attending law school. Tom, the one closest in age to me, is married and lives just down the street from my mom. I’ve never seen my family so happy, or so contented.”

“That’s really nice. And I’m sure it makes up, at least a little, for what you’ve had to go through.”

“It makes up for a lot to have been able to give them the kind of life they have now.”

Jace could see the joy that radiated from her. “So, why are you hiding out up here instead of enjoying all that success? I mean, for a woman with a mansion, a limousine and men worshiping at her feet, you should be on top of the world.”

She looked away. “I just needed to…sort out a few things.”

He immediately regretted the teasing question that had erased her smile. “Well.” He picked up an oven mitt and retrieved the coffee from the fire, filling two cups. “You can have it with a pinch of sugar, or with a splash of brandy.”

She tried to force a smile to her lips, but it faltered slightly. “I think I’m in the mood for brandy.”

He poured a little into both their cups. As he handed one to her he said, “Here’s to healing. And sorting things out. I hope this old cabin works its magic. For both of us.”

They touched cups, then drank.

Suddenly Jace brightened. “Do you play cards?”

“You mean like…go fish?”

“I was thinking more like gin rummy.”

She pursed her lips. “Yeah. I guess I can remember how to play it. We used to play gin when we were kids.”

Jace shot her a smile. “When you were a kid, huh? That’s even better.” He rummaged through a drawer until he located a battered pack of playing cards. “We’ll keep it small. A penny a point.” He shuffled, then dealt with all the finesse of a Vegas dealer.

“Fine.” Ciara watched for a few moments. Seeing the skill with which he handled the cards, she walked to her bedroom and returned with a pad and pencil. “But just to keep you honest, I’ll keep score.”

“Gin.” With a laugh of delight Ciara laid down her hand.

“Not again. You can’t have gin again.” Jace set aside the cigar he’d been smoking and looked at all the face cards in his hand, mentally tallying his losses. “That’s the tenth time in a row. You’ve got to be cheating.”

“Don’t be silly. I’m just lucky.”

“Lucky is winning once or twice. Not ten times without a loss.” He picked up her cards, studied them. With a muttered oath, he tossed them aside.

“Let’s see.” Ciara tallied the score, then brightened. “You owe me five dollars and seventy-eight cents.”

“That’s impossible.” He circled the table and stood over her, laying a hand on her shoulder as he studied her figures.

She struggled not to react. But she could feel the heat of his touch through her flannel shirt. “See?” She pointed. “Right here. Five dollars and seventy-eight cents. Want to play some more?”

“Not on your life.” He reached into his pocket and peeled off a bill and change.

“That’s five seventy-five.” She held out her hand. “I have three more cents coming.”

“Amazing. You not only cheat, but you’re vindictive as well.”

“Just practical. I pay my debts, and I expect others to do the same.” She smiled when he dropped three pennies into her palm.

She stuffed them into the pocket of her jeans and strolled closer to the fire. “I think that’s the most I’ve won in a year.”

“A year?” His eyes narrowed as he walked up beside her. “I thought you said you played gin when you were a kid.”

“I did.” She gave him one of her best wide-eyed looks. “Oh, and a lot of years since then. Did I forget to mention that I play a lot of gin with the crew on the set when we’re between takes?”

“Yeah. You did forget to mention that. How often do you play?”

She shrugged. “That depends. During a long, boring shoot, if the director’s waiting for the right light, we might play for hours at a time.” She fluttered her lashes. “I don’t like to brag, but I think I’ve gotten pretty good at it. There are a couple of our crew who won’t even play me anymore. They’re like a certain reporter I know who just hates to lose.”

“Hey.” He closed a hand over her shoulder. “I don’t mind losing. But I hate to be conned.”

She ignored the little rush of heat. “Who’s calling who a con? I saw the way you shuffled. You probably took lessons from a cardsharp.”

He grinned. “Yeah. Maybe I did. His name was Aces Malone, and he was one of the best.” He caught her chin, lifted it when she tried to look away. “But, Hollywood, when it comes to cardsharps, he can’t hold a candle to you.”

His gaze fastened on her lips. For one brief moment he thought about walking away. Thought about it, then discarded it. Hell, he didn’t want to be noble.

He just wanted.

He lowered his face and brushed his lips over hers.
It was the merest brush of mouth to mouth. But in that instant everything changed.

He felt her stiffen, just for a moment. Then everything about her softened. Her hands—flexing, splaying across his chest. Her lips—opening slightly as his nibbled and nuzzled and tasted. Her sigh—which was little more than a whisper of pleasure that tugged at his heart.

Ciara felt everything speed up. Her pulse—racing as though she’d just jogged miles along the beach. Her mind—crowded with thoughts and images, all of them erotic and confusing. Her heart—filled to overflowing with a need she’d never even known she possessed: The need to be held, to be cherished, to be savored.