Snowbound with an Heiress

“Do it!”

The melting snow on the top of her head dripped onto her nose. With her arm, she brushed it off. All her focus needed to be on freeing this man, and in essence herself, from this smashed-up, gasoline-leaking, smoldering car.

Serena once again worked to free his shoe from his foot. It didn’t move easily and she suspected he had a lot of swelling going on. She reminded herself to focus on one problem at a time. However, at this moment the problems were mounting faster than she could deal with them.

The smoke caused her to let out a string of coughs.

“Are you okay?” Not even waiting for her answer, he said, “You should get out of here.”

“Not without you.”

When she moved his foot again, she heard the distinct hiss of his breath. He didn’t say anything and so she continued moving his foot. At last, his foot slipped past the brake pedal.

She pulled back. “You’re free.”

There was perspiration beading on the man’s forehead. It definitely wasn’t hot in the car. It was more like freezing. Her maneuvering his foot must have hurt him more than he’d let on. She felt really bad adding to his discomfort, but she had no other way to free him.

“Now,” she said, “let’s get you out of here.”

She eased out of the car and attempted to help him, but he brushed her off. The smoke was getting heavier.

“I’ve got it,” he said. “Just move away from the car.”

“Not without you.” She stood just outside the car.

“Quit saying that. Take care of yourself.”

She wasn’t backing away. If he needed her, she would be there. The popping and fizzing sounds continued. Her gaze darted to the hood where the smoke was the heaviest. Her attention returned to the man.

Hurry. Please hurry.

She wondered how bad the damage was to his left leg. It suddenly dawned on her that he most likely wouldn’t be able to walk on it. But what choice did they have as they were stuck in the middle of nowhere. It was becoming increasingly obvious that no one used this road—at least not in the middle of a snowstorm. And who could blame them, she thought, glancing around at the snow-covered roadway.

Right now, she just wanted to find Gizmo and head back to the cabin. Gizmo. Where was he? Her heart clenched with fear. Please let him be safe.

It took her assistance to get the man to his feet. Or in his case, his one good foot. He’d finally had to relent and lean on her shoulder. Between hopping and a bit of hobbling, she got him to the other side of the road, a safe distance from the car.

“Thank you,” he said. “I don’t know what I’d have done if you hadn’t come along.”

“You’re welcome.”

“My name’s Jackson. What’s yours?”

In the daylight, she recognized him. The breath hitched in her throat. He was trouble. Make that trouble with a capital T and an exclamation point. He was Jackson Bennett—the god of morning news. She turned away.

He was on the airwaves for three hours each morning in American homes from coast to coast. People quoted him. And quite often his name trended after a particularly stunning interview.

The producers of his show had been in contact with her agent a few times to set up an on-air interview, but each time the logistics hadn’t worked for one of them. She couldn’t be more grateful about that now. Still, she couldn’t breathe. There was a definite possibility that he’d recognize her.

This was not good. Not good at all.

In her mind, he was the enemy—the press. All of her carefully laid plans were in jeopardy. She was surprised he hadn’t recognized her already. Would her different hair color and lack of makeup make that much of a difference? She could only hope. After all, who came to the Alps and expected to run across an award-winning movie star from the States?

Regardless, there was no way she was voluntarily outing herself. She’d worked too hard to flee the paparazzi and everything else related to Hollywood, including her agent. It was best that she kept their encounter brief. Not only was she over men, but Jackson was a professional newsman. With enough time, he was bound to sniff out her story.

“Mae. My name’s Mae.” It wasn’t a lie. It was her middle name.

“Mae?” He gazed at her as though studying her face. “You don’t look like a Mae.”