by Ruth Langan
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.”
“Now why would I want to beat you? What makes you think I’m the least bit competitive?”
He shot her that grin that always seemed to send her heart into a tailspin. “You’re in a competitive business. You’d have to be as aggressive as all the sharks you swim with. Nobody gets as far as you have without fighting hard for it.”
She rolled her eyes. “You spend a day with me and decide you know all about me.”
“Oh, I don’t know everything. Yet,” he added ominously. “But I’ve already managed to observe a few things.”
She perched on the arm of the sofa. “Such as?”
He reached for a platter. “You don’t want anyone to know that you have a tender heart.”
“Ha. A lot you know. I’m tough as nails.”
“Uh-huh. You can say that, but I know better. You just pretend to be tough so you can keep that tender heart hidden.”
“Why would I do that?”
“So you won’t be taken advantage of.”
Ciara winced. She supposed it was the journalist in Jace Lockhart that had him trying to fit everyone into neat slots. Still, it was unnerving to have him figure her out so accurately.
She watched him spear the steaks onto the platter, then open a steaming foil packet and arrange mushrooms and onions and chunks of roasted potatoes around the edge. She eyed the morsels, and used them to change the subject. “Now where did you find those?”
“Didn’t you say you wanted mushrooms and onions?”
“Yes. But I was only kidding. I didn’t really expect you to have any.”
“Be careful what you ask for, Hollywood. I told you. My sister, Mary Ellen, has excellent taste. If it comes in a can, a box or a package, she has it somewhere in this cabin. I thought the potatoes added a nice touch. Don’t you agree?” He set the platter between their plates, then reached for the bottle and topped off her glass and his own.
He lifted the glass, sipped, then said, “One more thing I noticed about you.”
Ciara tensed.
“You have a brain under all that lovely hair. But you don’t let too many people get inside it. Probably for the same reason you hide your heart.”
“So I won’t be taken advantage of?” Her tone was sarcastic, to hide the nerves that had surfaced.
He nodded. “You need to have the upper hand. It’s your armor. You like it when others expect someone quite different from the person you really are.”
“You mean the hard-edged, dumb blonde bimbo?”
He heard the bitterness in her tone. “I didn’t say that. But you do want to hide behind a mask.”
“Why should I?”
“So you’ll always be one step ahead of everyone else.”
She pressed her lips together. “Thank you for that in-depth analysis, doctor.”
“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.
Five
“What 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?�
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“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.”
