Fire and Ice (The Americana Series Book 5)

by Janet Dailey

  "This is my favourite room!" Christine danced around a plush yellow flowered sofa that matched the bright yellow walls with its white-trimmed woodwork. In front of the large latticed windows sat a small drop-leaf table of snowy white. A large recliner chair of dull gold was in the corner. "Nora said this is the morning-room. Do you know why it's named that?" Chris asked. At the negative shake of her sister's head, Christine began to explain, "Because this is where we have breakfast. She said nobody likes to go into the dining-room because it's so elegant, and nobody feels elegant in the morning!"

  Alisa couldn't help agreeing. It was the perfect room to enter in the morning, bright and spacious to wake you up, yet filled with cozy, snuggly furniture where people who hadn't shaken the sleep from them could relax.

  "The kitchen's through that door," Chris went on, continuing her hectic pace back into the hall. "But Nora said the cook doesn't like people messing about in her kitchen."

  The pair had arrived back to the entrance foyer where Chris paused in front of a set of double doors opposite the living-room.

  "This is the 'lion's room'," she giggled.

  "The 'lion's room'?" Alisa repeated.

  "That's what Mommy and I used to call it." A slightly wistful expression appeared in her brown eyes. "Daddy called it his den at home, but he used to roar so if anyone disturbed him that we called it the 'lion's room'. Nora said that this was Zachary's room where he works sometimes and that I wasn't supposed to go in there."

  "Yes, Zachary would very likely roar at you, too." Alisa compressed her lips in a firm line, although her voice carried a light note. "But you shouldn't call the housekeeper Nora. Her name is Mrs. Castillo."

  "I told her to call me Chris and she said I could call her Nora," the little girl shrugged. "Besides, that's what Zach calls her, so it's all right."

  "That's true, he does call her Nora. But it's proper for a young girl to call her elders by their surname. It shows respect," Alisa insisted, irritated by Chris's sudden reference to Zachary as if he were the authority.

  "But then I'd have to call you Mrs. Stuart." The brown eyes widened with innocence.

  "I'm your sister, so it's different. I'm a member of your family."

  "So's Nora. She said so and Zach did, too." The auburn hair seemed to glow with a slightly redder hue as Christine's stubbornness began to set in.

  "We'll discuss it later," knowing that until she had an opportunity to talk to Zachary and straighten him out, it was useless to argue with Christine. "I think we should go upstairs and change into some shorts before we explore outside."

  The auburn hair bounced wildly as Christine's slender young body tried to keep up with her ever-whirling skipping rope. The late afternoon sun cast a grotesque shadow of the girl, distorted, making her all legs and arms as she counted the number of times her sandalled feet hopped over the spinning rope until at last it tangled in her feet and she collapsed in the chair beside Alisa.

  "How many was that?" she asked, gasping for breath from her exertions.

  "Sixty-two," Alisa replied. Her blue eyes smiled brightly at her red-faced sister.

  "It was not! It was forty-nine times," she corrected crossly.

  "How do you know?" Alisa teased.

  "Because I counted."

  "If you were counting, then why did you ask me to count?"

  "If I make you count for me, I know you'll watch me," Christine grinned impishly.

  "You silly goose, I always watch you." The aloofness that usually marred the perfect features had been erased by the laughter and love for the child seated in front of Alisa.

  Christine stirred restlessly. "Let's go up to those buildings on the hill and find out what Zach's doing."

  "I told you we weren't going up there." There was a slightly vicious movement as Alisa snubbed out her cigarette. That had been a repeated request that she had denied practically the entire afternoon. The last thing she wanted to do was show an interest in what he was doing.

  "Supper's at seven o'clock. Don't you think we should tell him?"

  "You mean dinner," Alisa corrected.

  "Dinner–supper, it's almost time to eat." A mutinous scowl clouded the girl's face at her sister's evasion.

  "I'm sure he's aware of what time we eat without being told."

  "I'm going up there whether you do or not," Christine rose, drawing as much adult indignation into her words and manner as she could.

  "Christine, don't be difficult."

  "I'm not being difficult. You're being difficult!" The lashes of her brown eyes fluttered widely as Christine lifted her shoulder in a defiant gesture.

  "You're being rude!" Alisa retorted sharply. "I told you not to go up there. If you're so interested in seeing Zachary then you can walk up to that big tree and wait for him. But you are not going to the winery, and that's final!" Christine's temper flared brightly as she stalked off towards the distant tree while Alisa sighed in exasperation. Her sister had been so spoiled by her mother that she resented not getting her own way. Alisa had been just as guilty before, allowed by her love for the child with the pixie haircut and pointed chin to be wheedled and coaxed into anything that would bring that happy smile to Christine's face. It was just as well that Chris learned now that she couldn't have everything her own way.

  Uncrossing her legs, Alisa slowly rose to her feet, her hand reaching up to adjust the puffed sleeve of her light green blouse and smooth the wide ruffles of the scooped neck. From a near chair, she gathered her long hostess skirt and fastened it around her waist over her shorts, then buttoned it half-way down the front, leaving the rest open so that the light golden colour of her legs would be set off by the white linen skirt. She had rearranged her hair earlier in the afternoon into an old-fashioned Gibson girl style that lent a delicate air to her face.

  The crunching of tyres upon the gravelled drive drew her attention. The car braked to a halt short of the front entrance and the driver stepped out of the car to stand by his door staring at Alisa on the patio. Slowly, as if his feet refused to obey, the man walked towards her.

  "Alisa?" his questioning voice called, speaking her name with almost reverent stillness.

  The stunned face below silky blond-brown hair grew clearer as he walked towards her. Long slender fingers reached out to capture her hands while earnest blue eyes searched her face and hair. Numbed by the realization that it was Paul Andrews whom she had dismissed so scathingly to Zachary, Alisa didn't even attempt to withdraw her hands from him.

  "I thought you were a ghost. I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw you standing here when I drove in." His voice was hardly more than a hoarse whisper as he gazed at her in undisguised adoration. "What are you doing here?" As Alisa opened her mouth to explain, he shook his head to silence her. "You don't have to tell me. I've already guessed. Zachary brought you, didn't he?" She nodded "yes" and tried again to speak, but he began to laugh with relieved pleasure. "I've never had a friend like him before. Alisa—you wouldn't believe all he's done for me. When you told me you didn't want to ever see me again, I went to pieces. I hated the whole world! But Zach was there to put me together again. He must have guessed, though, that I still love you. That's it, isn't it? He brought you here so you could be with me."

  "Paul, stop!" Alisa protested. She felt pity and embarrassment growing inside her for this attractive but misguided man, where once he had only aroused disgust and indifference.

  "I can't. I'm so deliriously happy!" When he tried to draw her into an embrace, Alisa pushed away.

  "You don't understand!" she cried. "It's not the way you're thinking!"

  "What do you mean?" The almost pained look on Alisa's face brought Paul to a stop. His brow knitted into a frown as he suddenly noticed her unease.

  "I didn't know you were going to be here," she explained, regaining her poise and calming her voice.

  "Zach meant to surprise us both, the old devil!" Paul laughed, then stopped short to stare at her again. "You're more beautiful than I remembere
d."

  "Paul, I don't think Zachary is as much of a friend as you think he is," Alisa tried to explain, and at the same time stay the hands that were trying to draw her nearer.

  "That's a fine way for my wife to carry on the first time I turn my back!" Both Paul and Alisa whirled sharply at Zachary's laughingly contemptuous words. The dark eyes glowed with triumphant amusement as they captured Alisa's glance.

  Paul had moved hastily away from Alisa and was now staring from her to Zachary in numbed disbelief. Without even a glance towards Paul, Zachary walked over and put an arm around Alisa's shoulders and crushed her to his side. He ignored her rigidness as he stared down into her frosty eyes with mock affection.

  "She's everything you said she was, Paul, and a lot more." Alisa knew Paul was too stricken to hear the sarcasm in Zachary's honeyed voice. "I was going to phone you to tell you the good news. We were married yesterday in Las Vegas."

  The tanned face grew ghostly pale as Paul swallowed and managed a mumbled "Congratulations". But Zachary ignored the lack of enthusiasm and continued to allow his gaze to rest on Alisa's accusing face.

  "I have to thank you, Paul, for allowing me so much insight on Alisa before I met her. Talk about a whirlwind courtship! I never gave her an opportunity to think about what she was doing until I was safely escorting her out of the church."

  "Marry in haste, repent in leisure," Alisa drawled, and was rewarded for her spiteful teasing by the slowly gripping pressure of Zachary's hand around her arm until she bit her lips to keep from crying out her pain.

  "That's not the kind of comment a new bride is supposed to make, my darling," Zachary reprimanded. He would have kissed her, but Alisa turned her head so that his lips found her cheek instead. His eyes flashed their fires briefly on her before he released her and pushed her with mocking affection towards the house. "Go, woman, and get us some sherry. It's time our wedding was toasted by someone other than ourselves."

  Alisa glanced hesitantly back at Paul and was sickened by the blank look that was etched on the gently strong features. She could understand how he would have attempted suicide when he felt he had lost her. The bitterness and pain was visible in the depths of his sea blue eyes. She knew the slight pity she felt was wasted, thanks to her husband. What irritated her as she walked towards the house was the callously cruel way that Zachary was dangling their marriage in front of Paul. Stabbing the man in the back would have been a less painless way to hurt him. Stepping through the French doors into the dining-room, Alisa knew that this sadistic display was in keeping with Zachary's behaviour.

  When she returned with the small silver tray holding three crystal wine glasses and a decanter of dry sherry, Alisa found Zachary and Paul seated at the umbrellaed table. A bit of colour had returned to Paul's cheeks, although the haunted look was still in his blue eyes when he looked at her. After the wine had been poured and the glasses raised, Paul made a poignantly sincere wish for their happiness.

  "Does Renée know yet?" Paul asked just as Zachary poured himself more sherry.

  "No." Zachary studied the tawny brown liquid in his glass before meeting the arched eyebrow of Alisa. Paul glanced nervously at her as if fearing he had committed a very bad faux pas.

  "I really think you should phone her to let her know," Paul suggested.

  "Let her find out on her own. Or better yet, you tell her." The dark eyes roved over Alisa's face and neck.

  "Renée is one of Zachary's former girl-friends?" Alisa directed her cool voice to Paul.

  "You have no reason to be jealous, my loving wife." The slow, lazy smile spread wide to reveal the laughter in his expression. "She's dark and petite and quite passionate. Not at all like the Snow Queen I married."

  "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to start an argument," Paul apologized.

  "Don't bother," Zachary laughed, reaching out from his chair at the table to grasp Alisa's hand and pull her over to where she stood alongside him. His hand released her long enough for his arm to encircle her waist and to hold her there despite her attempts to wriggle away. "I enjoy teasing my wife about her reluctance to show her love for me. But I'll soon cure her of that."

  "Stop it!" Alisa hissed as his free hand moved to rest his spread fingers on her stomach. When her own hand would have taken his and flung it away from her, he captured it instead, drawing it, despite her struggles, to his lips where he kissed the palm. His eyes danced their amusement at her frigid expression, not releasing her hand even when the caress was finished, knowing the curled fingers of her hand were longing to leave their imprint on his face.

  "I have an idea. Why don't you stay to dinner, Paul?" Zachary asked. It sounded like an impulsive invitation, but Alisa felt sure that it had been carefully thought out.

  "I couldn't. It's your first night here. Two's company, three's a crowd," Paul reminded them bitterly.

  "We already have a seven-year-old chaperone." Zachary nodded towards Christine, who was busy throwing sticks for the dog to chase out on the lawn. "One more and we'll have a party. We want you to stay, don't we, Alisa?"

  "Maybe Paul has other plans," she prompted.

  "Then as his employer I order him to cancel them." Zachary's eyes glittered at her with threatening fierceness before he turned a more amicable glance to Paul.

  "Well, I…" Paul ran a hand through his blond hair while attempting to meet the intimidating sureness of Zachary's gaze.

  "It's settled, then. Go tell Nora there'll be four for dinner," Zachary ordered Alisa. The corners of his mouth turned up into a grim smile that challenged her to refuse.

  Whether it was because of his arrogant certainty that she would attempt to defy him, or because she herself had been intimidated by his air of dominance, Alisa calmly smiled her acquiescence to his command. With a politely murmured request to withdraw, she excused herself to enter the house.

  Having informed the houskeeper that Mr. Stuart had invited Paul Andrews to join them for dinner that evening, Alisa remained in the house, mentally refusing to go out on the patio and be baited any further by Zachary. A quarter of an hour later Zachary entered the living-room where Alisa was idly flipping through a fashion magazine.

  "So this is where you went to," he remarked before explaining that Paul and Christine had gone to wash. "Wasn't it rather rude not to rejoin us?"

  "Not any more rude and insensitive than you've been," she retorted, flipping the magazine shut and tossing it on the table in front of the blue sofa. "How could you be so unfeeling as to invite him to dinner?"

  With panther-like ease, Zachary lowered his tall frame into the matching chair, his head leaning against the back so that his bland stare could watch her.

  "It's time he stopped thinking of you as some virginal goddess on a pedestal. The shock of discovering you're married to me will do him a world of good. By staying to dinner, he will acclimatize himself to the fact and face it before he goes off on his own to brood himself into some depressed and bitter mood." He paused to study her with a sneering expression on his face. "The dinner will also give you a chance to show me just how well you intend to accept the conditions of our marriage."

  "What are you talking about?" Alisa gazed at him contemptuously, her neck stiffening at his dictorial attitude.

  "We agreed that in the company of others we would express a fondness for each other. And if that's what you've been attempting to do so far this evening, then, my love, you're a terrible actress."

  "If you think I'm going to allow you to caress me or embrace me every time someone comes into this house, you have another thing coming!" Alisa exclaimed, rising to her feet in anger.

  "You're exciting to look at, Alisa, but you're cold to the touch. An arm around your shoulder is hardly an embrace, and I have yet to caress you. I doubt very much if you have the experience to tell the difference." He nonchalantly snapped his lighter to a cigarette, exhaling the smoke to cloud between them. "I would be satisfied with a smile from you even though I know it would do severe damage to that mask y
ou wear."

  "I can smile quite often, thank you," she retorted sarcastically. "And if a smile will keep you from embracing me, I'll smile all the time. I may not speak from experience, but I do speak from knowledge, and that was still an embrace."

  "Where did you gain all this great knowledge?" Zachary mocked.

  "From a man." Alisa's head tilted backwards in indignation.

  "I doubt if you've ever known one."

  "My cousin Michael has been my constant companion for nearly five years."

  "That lapdog that followed you around in Vegas picking up any change you left behind!" Zachary rose to his feet, his jeering chuckle leaving no doubt his opinion of Michael. "I repeat, you've never known a man."

  "I suppose you think you are." Her eyes were haughty with scorn as she looked up at him when he stopped in front of her.

  "Some day I may decide to prove it to you." He seemed almost bored as he scanned her face and pale blonde hair.

  "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.