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