by Janet Dailey
'Don't waste your time!'
'I never do,' Zachary replied, shrugging his shoulders with emphasis. Glancing over her shoulder, he waved his hand. 'Here we are, Paul. Have you seen Christine?'
'She was skipping down the hall towards the diningroom as I was coming down the stairs,' Paul replied.
'I guess we're all ready to go in, then.' Zachary moved around so that Alisa was on one side and Paul on the other as he ushered them into the diningroom.
Christine was leaning against one of the chairs, one foot resting on the other while she glumly surveyed the elegant table setting with its candelabra and flowery centrepiece. The white bone china glistened, surrounded by polished silver and an array of sparkling crystal glasses as Christine turned her gloomy expression on them as they stepped to the table.
'What's the matter?' Alisa asked in a low voice as she held the chair for her sulky half-sister before pushing it up to the table.
'I bet I never get to have hamburgers and french fries here!' Christine made no attempt to lower her voice and it rang out with embarrassing clarity.
Zachary's laughter drowned out Alisa's attempt to reprimand Chris. 'Don't scold her. She's just being honest,' he told Alisa. 'I think we can arrange something with the cook so that you can have your hamburgers and french fries occasionally. How's that, Chris?'
'Fine!' Her brown eyes glowed to match the shimmering highlights of her auburn hair.
'But this is the first dinner that you and Alisa have had in your new home and I think Mrs. March wanted to impress you both,' Zachary explained, astounding Alisa with his patience and ability to appeal for Christine's understanding.
There was no gentleness in his face. There was no room for gentleness in the hard features. Alisa decided it was the authority in his tone that had reached Christine–and again she experienced the growing irritation at his ability to dominate all who came in contact with Zachary Stuart. All except herself; she would remain unmoved by him. He could command anyone else that he wished, be the lord of the manor to whoever was willing to kneel at his feet, but never would she acknowledge him.
Alisa immediately took charge of the conversation, centring her attention on Paul Andrews, questioning him about his position with Stuart Vineyards, showing no surprise when she discovered he handled the sales and public relations work. For all his gentleness, Paul had an appealing personality, as well as a wealthy family that carried a lot of influence in this part of California. His weakness lay in his obsession with Alisa, the first thing that neither his money nor his name had been able to buy. Still, he could be quite charming when he wanted to be. And tonight, under Alisa's attentive regard, his bitterness gradually fell away as he responded eagerly to her interest.
From the soup to the salad, through the fish course and the meat course and finally the dessert, Alisa could feel the displeasure emanating from Zachary at her monopolization of Paul. A few times she had smiled rather sweetly at him, asking if he agreed with a statement, then continued without giving Zachary an opportunity to comment. At last Zachary broke in to suggest that they withdraw to the living-room to sample the latest bottle of Muscat produced by his winery. This time when Paul would have escorted Alisa in, Zachary was at her elbow, his sardonic eyes compelling Paul to precede them.
Once in the living-room, Christine hurried to where the big dog lay on the blue Persian rug near the white stone fireplace, sitting herself down beside him. Alisa, with the thought to thwart any attempt at intimacy by Zachary, seated herself in the large cushioned chair near the couch where Paul was seated. But after passing out the petite crystal glasses glimmering with the pale golden wine, Zachary moved to Alisa's chair and rested his lanky frame on the armrest, his arm trailing along the back of the chair so that his hand was in easy reach of the escaping tendrils of hair. They were inseparably joined in Paul's vision so that any remark he made had to be addressed to them both.
Subtly, with Alisa hardly being aware of what was happening, Zachary took charge of the conversation, steering the subject to the winery and the harvest a month away. Even as she turned her cool gaze up to him, her mouth curving at the corners to the bidding of her mind, meeting the brooding anger of his black eyes, she couldn't be sure of his emotion. In that moment as she looked up at him and his two fingers captured a wispy strand of hair in an intimate gesture she knew she hated him, violently and totally. But Zachary only sneered at her when she pulled her head away from his caress, openly mocking her attempt to escape him.
'I think your sister has had a pretty long day. It's time you put her to bed, Alisa,' Zachary said.
Alisa glanced guiltily towards the hearth and the yawning auburn head that was nodding drowsily beside the sleeping German Shepherd. Her concern for her sister forbade her to dispute the commanding tone of his voice as she quickly excused herself to Paul, adding pleasantly that they would see each other often, which brought her another censorious look from her husband.
'After Christine falls asleep, you must come down and join us.' Again there was no invitation, only an order in Zachary's voice.
But Alisa just smiled her false smile of affection while prompting Chris to say good night, happy to leave the room and her husband's suffocating presence.
An hour later, Alisa had bathed Christine, finally persuaded her to change into her pyjamas, and suffered through her endless jabberings about Baron, Zachary's police dog. When the last burst of energy abated, Alisa tucked her into bed, smiling that she would be in the next room and that she would leave the connecting bathroom doors open in case Chris needed her. She had no intention of obeying Zachary's edict that she return downstairs.
If she had to look up once more and see that black hair over those equally dark eyes and that aristocratic nose that succeeded in making her feel that he was regarding her with disdain while his hard, curling mouth jeered at her, Alisa felt she would scream. So instead she removed her pale green top, the white linen skirt over her shorts, and put on her long-sleeved satin housecoat, before busying herself with washing off the light make-up she used. Seated at her lighted dressingtable, she used a little witch hazel to remove the mascara. After applying night cream which gave her lightly tanned skin a golden glow, Alisa unpinned her hair and began brushing it with strong, vigorous strokes.
The electricity crackled through her hair as she bristled inwardly with hatred for the man who was now her husband. He was so arrogantly confident, the epitome of the superior male, that the thought of him sickened her. Even now in the sanctity of her room, Alisa could feel the masculine vitality of his presence surrounding her and stifling her with the force of his will. She tilted her head to the opposite side, her brush attacking her long hair as her eyes strayed to the mirror in front of her, meeting the reflection of a pair of dark, insolent eyes belonging to the tall figure standing just inside her door.
'What are you doing here?' Her tightening lips released her cold, snipped words slowly as Alisa turned to face Zachary.
'You didn't come back downstairs.' How she hated the smooth way he had of putting her on the defensive!
'I didn't choose to,' Alisa replied, resuming the rhythmic strokes of her brush. At his failure to answer, she laid the brush down, pivoting on her bench to face him. 'This is my room. Will you please get out!'
'It's a shame you weren't downstairs.' Calmly Zachary placed a cigarette between his lips and lit it. 'I gave an excellent performance to Paul about my anxious bride waiting upstairs for me. It was quite amusing to see him blanch and hasten to leave.'
'I'm not amused; I'm disgusted.' Alisa retorted viciously. 'Do you steal candy from children, too?'
'What is this?' Zachary laughed. 'A touch of conscience at such a late date? I wasn't the one that drove Paul to swallowing a bottle full of sleeping tablets. You were the one who referred to him as a sweaty-palmed milksop who naturally bungled a suicide attempt, not I! Are you trying to tell me that you would have treated him differently if you'd known?'
Alisa looked away to hide the two bri
ght spots of colour on her cheeks, induced by the twinge of self-disgust at her own callousness.
'I don't know,' she murmured, then more positively, 'No, I wouldn't have treated him differently. But I wasn't as cruel and ruthless as you! Do you know what he thought? He thought that you'd brought me here for him, that you'd persuaded me to give Paul another chance. I've never felt so sorry for anyone as I did Paul when you so blatantly informed him that I was married to you. You could have had the grace to break it to him gently, but instead you flaunted me in his face as if I was some kind of trophy.'
'You're not a trophy; you're a booby prize,' Zachary drawled, deep amusement adding to the mockery in his voice. 'Pampering and pity don't grow backbones, so don't waste them on Paul. If you would have co-operated with me this evening, instead of fighting me, we could have accomplished a great deal.'
'And how would allowing you to paw me accomplish anything for Paul?' Sarcasm and scorn were etched openly on her face as her frosty eyes reproved him.
'I've answered that question earlier in the evening and I don't intend to repeat myself!' Zachary blazed at her, his gaze narrowing on her haughty face threateningly. 'At least you've told me the real reason you didn't come down. You were afraid of me–or more specifically of my making love to you, no matter how innocent it was.'
'That is a lie!' Alisa spat. 'You disgust me and repulse me, but I don't fear you or your sickening display of virility in front of others. We've made a business arrangement. Any ideas that you may have that it will become anything other than that are totally wrong. I loathe the entire male race–and especially you, Mr. Stuart!'
'We've been leading up to this discussion since yesterday,' Zachary shrugged. 'Are you challenging me deliberately, or is it only subconsciously that you want me to make love to you?'
Her tightly controlled temper snapped at his revolting statement. Grabbing her brush as a weapon, Alisa rose from the dressing-table to fling herself at him. Zachary caught the arm brandishing the brush, twisting it until Alisa dropped it with a cry of pain. She struggled, clawing with her free hand at the arm that held hers in a stranglehold. Easily he captured that one, drawing both behind her back where he held them with one hand. At the same time he crushed her to his body.
'I hate you!' she hissed, her words muffled against his chest.
'Do you expect me to believe that?' Zachary chuckled, twisting her chin up so that she was forced to look into his face. 'You knew this would happen when you made that pathetically feminine attack. You knew you'd end up a prisoner in my arms.'
A shiver raced through Alisa as she knew a moment of fear that there might be a bit of truth in his words, but the idea was too preposterous. Anger at his supreme conceit had made her attack him, forgetting his superior strength at the height of her temper.
'You're incredibly vain!' Most of her composure was regained and her words were uttered with her former coolness.
'I can imagine how Petruchio felt when faced with the taming of the shrew Katharina.' At the small sound of contempt that Alisa made, Zachary added, 'I could make you fall in love with me.' With a gesture of disdain, he released her, pushing her away from him. 'But that wasn't part of our bargain. The two hundred thousand was to provide you with my name and my house. There was no provision that I had to take you to my bed as well, was there? Even though it's unquestionably my right as your husband.'
'I would never let you,' Alisa retorted, incensed by his implication that it was all his decision.
'Let's get one thing straight, Alisa.' Zachary was angry now, his eyes blazing with their black fires. 'I don't choose to take you.'
Alisa stiffened at his arrogant assertion. Her mouth opened to emit a cutting reply, only to close at the sound of a small voice on the other side of the room saying accusingly, 'You woke me up!'
'Chris,' Alisa murmured, turning at once to the sleepy pyjama-clad figure.
'How opportune for you!' sneered Zachary, pivoting smartly on his heel and leaving the room.
It was nearly twenty minutes later before Christine was pacified enough to return her head to the pillow and sleep, and Alisa returned to her own bedroom. Sitting on the edge of the purple velvet bedspread, she rubbed her wrists, the soreness brought on by their imprisonment in Zachary's strong hands bringing fresh tremblings of anger to her. With it came the logical and jarring realization that physically he could master her. And though she thanked God that he didn't want her, Alisa knew that her only two weapons were useless against him. The first was her money, of which Zachary already had a sizeable amount, and the second was her beauty and desirability which could induce men to do her bidding. But Zachary had made it quite clear that she didn't sway him in the slightest.
It was a restless, troublesome night for Alisa.
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Chapter Three
BOTH Christine and Alisa arose late the next morning with Chris bouncing and eager for the new day and impatient at having to wait while Alisa dusted her face with cornsilk powder and applied the light touches of blue eyeshadow and dark brown mascara. In the morning-room, they were pertly informed by the housekeeper that Zachary had arisen at six, which by her very tone indicated disapproval of their late rising. But cereal, juice, and fruit were quickly placed before Christine while Alisa settled for toast and coffee.
The July sun had climbed to its midday position when Christine finally cajoled Alisa to go outside. The shirtwaist dress that Alisa wore had long sleeves. The lightweight cotton material of white background for the printed blue flowers was cool and protected her from over-exposure to the sun. She had learned some time ago that with her pale hair she looked better with only a light golden tan to her skin instead of the coppery brown that most women attempted to obtain, whereas Christine with her auburn hair succeeded in acquiring more freckles in each outing in the sun.
The pair wandered amid the tall oak trees that encircled the house, pausing for a time near the fence that separated them from the vineyards and their nearly indistinguishable rows of grapevines. But Alisa was too preoccupied to fully pay attention to Christine's numerous questions. And at last Christine turned to her own imagination for entertainment, taking twigs and grass to build a tiny house for the little people that lived in the oak grove. Alisa watched the solemn little hands as they carefully constructed the walls and roofs.
With Christine absorbed in her task, Alisa's thoughts were free to wander. Inextricably they were drawn to Zachary. Alisa knew she was attractive. There was no vanity in the knowledge, just common sense. Her beauty should appeal to Zachary. Yet he seemed to admire it and simultaneously to shrug it off. Her wealth and beauty had always been her best assets that had lured a long string of admirers—none of whom she wanted, it was true, but they were there, all under her control. But this volcanically unpredictable man she had married was not.
Last night Alisa had attempted to take a stand, to let him know that she had no intention of obeying his orders. But she had succeeded only in incurring his caustic insults about her own character. And she had been fool enough to lose her poise and her temper. Zachary had been quick to take advantage of both. Remembering the leashed violence with which he had so easily dismissed her attack, Alisa was also forced to recall the effortless way he crushed her against his chest. Any such intimate contact with a man, Alisa had shunned in the past. The few instances when they had occurred could be numbered on one hand. That was why, she told herself, her struggles had weakened when she met the firm rock wall of his body. Her senses had been heightened, making her totally aware of the arms imprisoning her, the masculine scent of his cologne engulfing her, and the way his breath had danced in her hair. But the haunting, seductive softness of his voice when he had said that he could make Alisa fall in love with him had disturbed her the most. At the time Alisa had been able to signify her contempt for such an assertion. Yet the remembrance drifted back.
Zachary had released her immediately after uttering that statement, irritatingly affi
rming that their marriage was a mockery and would remain that way as long as he chose it to be so. Despite her bold protests to the contrary, Alisa was forced to acknowledge that it was true. And, although she hadn't shown it, she had been frightened. Part of her had longed to cower in the face of his anger. But she had fought for herself too long. Alisa couldn't help wondering what would have happened if Christine hadn't woken to halt the argument that couldn't allow the other to be the victor.
She had definitely underestimated Zachary. The marriage had been her solution to the conditions of her mother's will, a sacrifice of her own principles for the sake of her sister. She had chosen Zachary thinking to bring him under her thumb. But Alisa had failed, miserably. Her wealth was no longer a thing to be held over his head. Her coldness was a thing for him to taunt. Although she had once considered her desirability a weapon, now she was grateful that it held no allure for Zachary. It was apparent that he could be quite ruthless in getting what he wanted. For once she was lucky that he didn't want her—even though one tiny feminine part of her yearned to know why.
Since her coolness couldn't keep him at arms' length and losing her temper only succeeded in amusing his, the only path left for her to take was to avoid him as much as possible. She and Christine would make their own little world, excluding Zachary Stuart. After all, Alisa thought, without fuel, a fire can't burn—or scorch those who come too near.
Relieved by her decision, Alisa turned to watch Chris's fascinating imagination working as she continued building a series of miniature grass homes. A drumming sound carried through the trees, its staccato beat bringing Alisa's eyes to its direction. The sight of a horse and rider looked incongruous through her aperture of barlike trees with their backdrop of duty vines. The petite figure astride the chestnut horse was clearly female, dressed in dark trousers and a sleeveless red top. Someone must have called out to her, because Alisa saw the girl rein her horse in viciously, forcing him to turn at the same time.
