Free Snowbound Cinderella by Ruth Langan Page B

sorry.” She backed up. “I can see that you’d like to be left alone.”
    “Yes.” He bit the word off. But as she started to walk away, he laid a hand on her arm. “Wait. I’m sorry. I’m afraid I’m not very good company right now. But that doesn’t give me the right to send you back to that cold room.” He released his hold on her. “I was—” he took a deep breath “—I was just going to get a drink. Care to join me?”
    “All right.” She felt trapped. On the one hand she hated to remain here, knowing she was intruding on his dark thoughts. But on the other hand, her room was freezing. And she was far too tense to get backto sleep. Maybe a drink would relax her enough that she could face her bed, allowing him some privacy.
    He walked to the kitchen and located the brandy and two tumblers, then carried them to the coffee table. He poured and handed one to Ciara, before downing the other in one long swallow. He refilled his glass, then carried it to the window, where he paused to stare into the blackness.
    Ciara sat on the sofa and sipped her brandy in silence. She glanced at Jace, wondering where he’d gone in his mind. Wherever it was, it was too painful for words.
    He was barefoot and shirtless, jeans unsnapped and riding low on his hips as though he’d gotten up from his bed, too angry and restless to give a thought to anything but getting away from his demons. She studied the hard, corded muscles of his back and shoulders, and could see the way he clenched and unclenched his fist at his side as he stared, unseeing, into the night.
    His torment was so real, so deep, she felt herself wishing she knew of some way to help. Instead, she merely held her tongue, watching and waiting, and feeling entirely helpless.
    When he finally spoke, he continued staring out the window, his voice tight, angry, as though each word were being torn from his heart. “I told you about the bomb I defused.”
    “Yes.” She waited, tensing for whatever was to come.
    “There was another bomb. One I…couldn’t defuseOne I didn’t even know about until it detonated.”
    “Were you—” she nearly swallowed the rest of the question and it came out in a terrified whisper “—wounded?”
    He didn’t respond at first, merely sipped his drink. And continued to stare outside, thrust back in time to that event. Seeing the blinding lights. Hearing the screams. Smelling the death all around him as the thunderous explosion seemed to split the heavens.
    His voice, when he spoke again, was thick. “When terrorists plant bombs, they do it with an eye to achieving the maximum destruction possible. This was an apartment building used by American television journalists and United Nations personnel. It was detonated before dawn, when the occupants would be sleeping and therefore most vulnerable. There was no warning. One minute, we were sleeping. The next, we were flung about like rag dolls. Some of us on fire. Some of us missing arms and legs.” His tone lowered. “And those were the lucky ones.”
    Ciara shivered as he lifted the glass to his lips and drank again.
    He drew in a ragged breath, amazed that he could speak of this. It was the first time, since he’d been debriefed by the government authorities investigating the terrorist activities, that he’d been able to put it all into words. But now that he’d begun, he couldn’t seem to stop himself. It came pouring out.
    “There was a woman. Ireina Dubrova. She was a journalist with an international news agency. We’dbeen colleagues first, and then lovers. She was…torn from my arms. I crawled through the smoke and rubble, calling her name until I found her. She…died there while I held her. Afterward, I spent about six weeks in the hospital. Then I thought I’d get on with my life. But the nightmares…”
    He turned then, and Ciara saw the bleak look in his eyes.
    “The nightmares come, like the bomb, when I least expect them,” he said. “And then I have to go