Chapter One
Mark Delaney tossed his phone in his pocket, threw the car door open, and climbed out of his Maserati. Damn it all to hell. Not even the tow truck company would venture out in this mess native Coloradans called snow . He was officially stranded. Perhaps he’d been spoiled by the California sunshine, but his tolerance for the cold flakes falling on his Prada suit was gone.
Blowing out a puff of steamy breath, he kicked the snow, not even caring when the grayish white stuff soaked through his Gucci shoes upon impact. The snow hit his driver’s side door, sliding down the red paint, leaving a path of dirt and filth in its wake. Dragging a hand through his hair, he glowered up at the dark sky.
He was supposed to be at a movie premiere tomorrow night, but he was stuck in fucking Colorado. Tomorrow night was also the night he was supposed to walk the red carpet with Sylvia Day, his latest love interest, on his arm. Not like he was actually seeing her or anything so exciting as that.
His publicist always said being single was the fastest way to kill a career in Hollywood, and the second fastest was being married. The Hollywood solution? Publicity relationship. The up-and-coming actress got to use him to further her career, and Mark had an excuse to avoid relationship drama. But if he didn’t show up on time, then the whole deal would be off. Apparently, Ms. Day didn’t like to be stood up, even by a fake boyfriend.
With this deadline hanging over his head like an anvil, he’d rushed to the airport, hoping against all odds he would beat the snowstorm and get back to California. When the gate agent told him all flights were cancelled, he decided to hop into his Maserati and take matters into his own hands.
A lot of good that had done him.
What would his agent say when he didn’t show up to the premiere? Even worse, what would Glory Productions have to say about their missing star? And the damn starlet who was counting on him to make her famous …
Dragging a hand down his face, he looked around for any signs of life. He would get somewhere warm, then see what he could do about chartering a private jet. Down the road a bit, he could almost make out the outline of a familiar house with its lights still on. Drudging through the snow, he shoved his hands into his pockets and made his way down the road. His agent had told him not to go home for Christmas, but Mark couldn’t miss his little sister’s big announcement. She was getting married, and it was the biggest news their family had heard since Mark was nominated for a People’s Choice award two years ago.
So he’d gone back home, against Gary’s wishes, and now he would have to deal with the repercussions of his actions. Hell, he hadn’t even made it more than four miles from Eve’s house before he’d slid off the icy road and into the damn ditch. If he didn’t know better, he’d swear Gary conjured up this storm just to prove he was right. Mark should’ve stayed in L.A.
He wouldn’t put it past him. For his first red carpet film premiere, Gary paid two hundred screaming girls to throw lacy undergarments at Mark. One pointy brassiere had caught him in the left eye, making it sting like hell throughout the next day. Shaking his head at the direction his thoughts had turned, he stepped up to the porch of the house then knocked on the door. If he was lucky, the Robertsons still lived here and would take pity on him. He’d spent enough afternoons in their kitchen, studying with their daughter.
The thought of Lacey sitting across the table, painstakingly teaching him about parabolas, made his heart race. It had been years since he’d last seen her, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t been on his mind. Far from it. The door swung open. Mark blinked at the captivating creature in front of him. Lacey.
She wore nothing but a tight tank top and a pair of black yoga pants. Gone were the t-shirt and jeans she wore when they studied. He cleared his throat
Mark Delaney tossed his phone in his pocket, threw the car door open, and climbed out of his Maserati. Damn it all to hell. Not even the tow truck company would venture out in this mess native Coloradans called snow . He was officially stranded. Perhaps he’d been spoiled by the California sunshine, but his tolerance for the cold flakes falling on his Prada suit was gone.
Blowing out a puff of steamy breath, he kicked the snow, not even caring when the grayish white stuff soaked through his Gucci shoes upon impact. The snow hit his driver’s side door, sliding down the red paint, leaving a path of dirt and filth in its wake. Dragging a hand through his hair, he glowered up at the dark sky.
He was supposed to be at a movie premiere tomorrow night, but he was stuck in fucking Colorado. Tomorrow night was also the night he was supposed to walk the red carpet with Sylvia Day, his latest love interest, on his arm. Not like he was actually seeing her or anything so exciting as that.
His publicist always said being single was the fastest way to kill a career in Hollywood, and the second fastest was being married. The Hollywood solution? Publicity relationship. The up-and-coming actress got to use him to further her career, and Mark had an excuse to avoid relationship drama. But if he didn’t show up on time, then the whole deal would be off. Apparently, Ms. Day didn’t like to be stood up, even by a fake boyfriend.
With this deadline hanging over his head like an anvil, he’d rushed to the airport, hoping against all odds he would beat the snowstorm and get back to California. When the gate agent told him all flights were cancelled, he decided to hop into his Maserati and take matters into his own hands.
A lot of good that had done him.
What would his agent say when he didn’t show up to the premiere? Even worse, what would Glory Productions have to say about their missing star? And the damn starlet who was counting on him to make her famous …
Dragging a hand down his face, he looked around for any signs of life. He would get somewhere warm, then see what he could do about chartering a private jet. Down the road a bit, he could almost make out the outline of a familiar house with its lights still on. Drudging through the snow, he shoved his hands into his pockets and made his way down the road. His agent had told him not to go home for Christmas, but Mark couldn’t miss his little sister’s big announcement. She was getting married, and it was the biggest news their family had heard since Mark was nominated for a People’s Choice award two years ago.
So he’d gone back home, against Gary’s wishes, and now he would have to deal with the repercussions of his actions. Hell, he hadn’t even made it more than four miles from Eve’s house before he’d slid off the icy road and into the damn ditch. If he didn’t know better, he’d swear Gary conjured up this storm just to prove he was right. Mark should’ve stayed in L.A.
He wouldn’t put it past him. For his first red carpet film premiere, Gary paid two hundred screaming girls to throw lacy undergarments at Mark. One pointy brassiere had caught him in the left eye, making it sting like hell throughout the next day. Shaking his head at the direction his thoughts had turned, he stepped up to the porch of the house then knocked on the door. If he was lucky, the Robertsons still lived here and would take pity on him. He’d spent enough afternoons in their kitchen, studying with their daughter.
The thought of Lacey sitting across the table, painstakingly teaching him about parabolas, made his heart race. It had been years since he’d last seen her, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t been on his mind. Far from it. The door swung open. Mark blinked at the captivating creature in front of him. Lacey.
She wore nothing but a tight tank top and a pair of black yoga pants. Gone were the t-shirt and jeans she wore when they studied. He cleared his throat
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