Snowbound Cinderella by Ruth Langan Page A

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
    “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. Iwanted to see the world. And write about my travels. And being a news