Snowbound with an Heiress

He stuffed her cards back in the wallet. He got to his feet. With the breakfast dishes and food long forgotten, he headed out of the kitchen to find his hostess. The jig was up and he intended to tell her.

He’d just reached the living room when his cell phone rang. At last, the cell tower had been fixed. But it couldn’t have been worse timing. The only person he wanted to speak to was Mae—erm, Serena. But he didn’t see her at the desk working on her laptop. Nor was she on the couch. He could only guess that she was upstairs. And he wasn’t sure his ankle was up for that particular challenge.

The buzzing of his phone would not stop. He withdrew it from his pants pocket and checked the caller ID. It was his agent. And it wasn’t the first time Fred had called. There was a long list of missed calls. He must be worried about Jackson disappearing, especially at such a pivotal time in his career.

Jackson’s gaze returned to the grand stairs leading to the second floor. The phone vibrated in his hand. He sighed and accepted the call.

“Jackson, thank goodness. What happened to you?”

“I was involved in a car accident.”

“Accident? Are you hurt? Did you injure your face?”

Leave it to Fred to get to the heart of his concern—Jackson’s marketability. “My face is fine.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

“Well, where are you? The crew has been looking for you. They aren’t sure what to do.”

“I’m snowed in.” He headed for Mae...erm...Serena’s desk in the great room to drop off the wallet. “And you’ll never believe who rescued me...”

CHAPTER TEN

THE KISS MEANT NOTHING.

Nothing at all.

That was what Serena had been telling herself ever since last night, when she’d fallen into Jackson’s more-than-capable arms. What had she been thinking to kiss the enemy?

Who was she kidding? Jackson wasn’t the enemy, even if he was part of the news media. Maybe at first she hadn’t trusted him—with her background, who could blame her? But during the time they’d spent together, she’d learned that there was so much more to him than his dashing looks and his day job.

He was a man who’d loved and lost. He was kind and generous. He went out of his way for others, even when he’d rather be doing anything else. And he had a sense of humor. The memory of his deep laugh still sent goose bumps down her arms. That was a sound she could listen to for the rest of her life—

Whoa! Slow down.

She knew that this moment of playing house would end soon—just as soon as the avalanche was cleared and they were able to plow the roads. Then they would return to reality, but for now, they lived within their own little world with their own rules and she intended to enjoy it as long as it lasted.

And if that should include some more kisses?

Well, she wouldn’t complain. An impish smile pulled at her lips.

She’d been kissed by a lot of leading men, but none of them could come close to Jackson. That man was made for kissing. Just the memory of his lips pressed to hers had her sighing. It hadn’t lasted long enough, not even close.

And now, instead of kissing that handsome man, she was doing his laundry. Something wasn’t right about that. But she was proud of herself for being able to take care of herself. Neither of her parents knew how to work a washing machine much less the dryer. They’d always been dependent on domestic help.

Serena learned early on that if she wanted true privacy, she had to be self-sufficient. And to be honest, she was never quite comfortable with people waiting on her. Maybe it was the time she’d spent serving food at the soup kitchen—seeing people who barely made it day to day—that had opened her eyes to the extravagances that her parents took for granted.

Whatever it was, she’d learned to do everything for herself except cooking. She had yet to master it. But she could clean the bathroom and iron her clothes.

It was only recently when her filming schedule became so out of control that she’d taken on a housekeeper. It was only supposed to be temporary, but Mrs. Martinez was so sweet and in desperate need of work that Serena kept her on.

Sometimes Serena missed doing the laundry. She found it relaxing. But doing Jackson’s laundry had extra benefits, like the lingering hint of his cologne on his laundered shirts. She stood in the master suite next to the closet, sniffing his shirt. If he were to walk in now and catch her, she would die of mortification. She was acting like some teenager—

There were footsteps followed by Jackson’s voice. Was he talking to Gizmo? But she didn’t have time to contemplate the answer as she was still clenching his shirt.

Not about to be caught acting like a lovesick puppy, she stepped into the closet and slid the door shut. She had to hunch over in order to fit. Why couldn’t this closet be a walk-in? But no, it had to be long and skinny. And there was a hanger digging into her shoulder blade. She started to move when the metal hangers jingled together. She froze in place.