Читать книгу Zachary's Virgin - Catherine Spencer - Страница 8

IN MANY ways, the girl reminded her of herself as she’d been at the same age; a little urchin whose brave, tough exterior hid a heart as uncertain and vulnerable as that of a newborn lamb.

“Oh, heck,” she’d said, her face falling in dismay when Claire had opened the door to her knock. “You’re not Eric.”

“Well, no. At least, I wasn’t the last time I looked in the mirror.”

Claire had laughed, but the girl, obviously not expecting to be welcomed by a stranger, had turned away, her shoulders slumped dejectedly. “Sorry I bugged you by banging on the door then.”

“Chérie, please wait. I don’t know anyone here and you’re my first visitor.”

“I’m not supposed to bother the guests.”

“But you’re not bothering me.” She’d held out her hand. “Here, let’s introduce ourselves and make our association official. I’m Claire Durocher.”

The child had turned bright red and offered a not-too-clean little paw. “Melanie,” she’d mumbled and, at Claire’s urging, stepped inside the suite.

Claire had learned early to build a nest wherever she happened to find herself, be it a shop doorway or a château, and Topaz Valley Resort was no exception. No sooner had she hung her clothes in the dressing room closet and set out her toiletries in the adjoining bathroom than she’d turned her attention to the salon. Already, candles burned on the low table before the double-sided fireplace which opened into the bedroom also.

She had closed the dark red drapes to shut out the bleak afternoon, tossed another log on the fire, and flung her royal blue mohair shawl over one arm of the soft leather couch. Not that the place lacked comfort—indeed, it was luxuriously appointed, right down to the fresh fruit and flowers—but a few personal touches made it seem more of a home.

Still, Melanie clearly felt anything but comfortable. Fiddling all the while with the hem of her oversize sweater, she peered around furtively as if she expected that, at any moment, she’d be shown the door.

It had been more than sixteen years since Claire had experienced much the same fear, never sure if she was welcome in the two rooms which had been home, or if she should make herself scarce in the back alley until such time as yet another of her mother’s “gentleman friends” left, but the memories had not faded with time. She doubted they ever would; the sense of abandonment had left too deep a scar. Observing her uncertain little guest sympathetically, she said, “Why don’t you find us some music while I make up a little plate of hors d’oeuvres? Choose something you enjoy, ma chère—something lively and fun.”

“Okay.”

Melanie leaped at the chance to make herself useful while Claire set to work. The kitchenette Zachary Alexander had spoken of contained a wine bar with a refrigerator, a microwave oven, cappuccino coffeemaker and small sink. Various wineglasses and tall mugs hung from a rack, and a cupboard next to the refrigerator contained a supply of flavored coffees, hot chocolate, nuts and other snacks.

“It’s too early for champagne,” she said, checking the contents of the refrigerator, “but we can enjoy a cranberry cocktail while we get to know one another, yes?”

Melanie looked up from the compact discs she was sorting and giggled. “You talk funny,” she said. “Nobody here says ‘shompanya,’ they just call it plain old champagne.”

“Well, I’m French so I say some things a little differently, but I’m going to count on you to tell me if I make mistakes.” As she talked, Claire poured sparkling cranberry juice into two crystal goblets, set them on a small silver tray beside a dish of nuts then, carrying everything over to the fireplace, offered the child a glass. “Here’s to a very good time with my new friend Melanie. Joyeux noël, ma chère.”

“I don’t expect you’ll have much time for me when the parties start.”

“You mean, there are no parties for young ladies at Topaz Valley? No singing or dancing or wearing pretty dresses to celebrate the season?”

“Well, they have a Santa Claus for the kids on Christmas morning, but it’s really McBride with a pillow stuffed under his coat.” The girl gazed at her drink pensively. “I stopped believing in Santa Claus when my mom died and I almost hate Christmas now because it makes me feel so lonely. I’d rather be by myself with our two dogs.”

Claire’s heart contracted with pity. Even the death of an uncaring mother left a hole in a child’s life, as she very well knew, but when that mother had showered her daughter in love, as Melanie’s so clearly had, how much more acutely the loss must be felt.

“Well, this year will be different, I promise you. This year, we will have fun.” She took the wine goblet from the child and drew her to her feet. “Here, kick off your boots and let’s dance.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Melanie flushed with pleasure and the mouth which at first had been so solemn curved with laughter. Her eyes were sapphire stars, alive with excitement as only a child’s can be.

Again, emotion tugged at Claire’s heart. How little it took to please the girl, and what she would have given to have just such a daughter herself, someone to spoil a little and love and spend special time with—all those things which had been missing from her relationship with her own mother.

But that was not possible until she’d found the right man with whom to share such joy. Not for her the casual liaison, the unthinking act that brought an unwanted child into the world. First, there had to be a husband, and love strong enough to last a lifetime.

Blinking back sudden, inexplicable tears, she held out her hands to Melanie. “Come, darling. The music’s going to waste.”

They galloped the length of the room and back again, stumbling a little and laughing a lot until a thump on the door brought them both to a sudden stop. Claire shrugged and smiled. “What did I tell you? Already we’re famous for the fun we have and someone else wants to join our party. Turn down the music a little and enjoy your drink, chérie, while I see who’s so impatient to be let in.”

It was Zachary Alexander, his scowl very firmly in place. Did he sleep like that, Claire wondered, with his mouth drawn like a purse string and his winged brows almost meeting above the bridge of his handsome nose?

Determined not to be intimidated by his obviously sour mood, she smiled and said, “How nice to see you again so soon, Mr. Alexander. Won’t you come in?”

“This isn’t a social call, Miss Durocher.”

“Nonetheless, it’s too cold to stand on one’s dignity out there.” She opened the door wider and gestured him inside. “Please, whatever business has brought you here, can’t we at least conduct it inside where it’s warm?”

“If you don’t like the cold,” he said, following her into the salon, “why did you choose to spend Christmas in this neck of the woods? Surely you knew it wasn’t the tropics.”

“Ah, oui,” she said, preserving her good humor with difficulty, “even I knew that. But I’m sure you haven’t come here to give me a geography lesson. So what can I do for you? Have you decided I may not occupy this suite, after all?”

From her place in the middle of the floor, Melanie said, “Uh-oh,” in the kind of voice that warned of trouble ahead.

At that, he flicked his very blue gaze past her to the child and in that instant Claire saw the resemblance between the two of them in the stubborn cast of the mouth. “I have come to collect my daughter,” he said, his glance sweeping the room and taking note of the boots kicked to one side, the dish of nuts and the two wine goblets with their jewel-colored contents. “She has no business disturbing you and knows better than to impose herself on a guest.”

“It’s no imposition, I assure you,” Claire said firmly. “Melanie is here at my invitation and we’d both like it very much if you’d join us.”

“No, thank you.” He turned to leave, pausing only long enough to say over his shoulder, “Put your boots on and let’s get going, Mel. I have to be back at the lodge in half an hour.”

His footsteps stamped out of the suite and back to the other side of the veranda with a vehemence which suggested he would have liked to grind them across the interloper’s throat. Shortly thereafter, his own front door slammed. Truly, the man was formidable! As for his daughter, all her animation had died, leaving her little face pinched with misery and her mouth drooping sullenly as she trooped obediently in his wake.

And small wonder! Left too much to her own devices, with only a couple of dogs for company, half the time—it was no sort of life for a child.

“Well, ma petite, things will be different as long I’m living next door,” Claire muttered, clearing away the remains of their celebration. “By the time Christmas is over, you’ll be glad to see me leave, you’ll have grown so tired of me.”

But she knew that wasn’t true. The girl was dying inside for want of affection and the feel of strong, loving arms around her. As am I, she thought. The need to feel cherished never goes away, but I don’t have the heart to tell you that, sweet child. Sadly, it’s something you’ll learn on your own, all too soon.

The après-ski happy hour was well underway when Zach walked into the lounge, and if the noise level was anything to go by, people were having a good time. In itself, this was always a positive sign because he knew from experience that a successful social program was a key factor in keeping the resort in the black. But the scene he’d just had with Melanie had left him with no taste to party and when his gaze settled on the cause of this latest father-daughter spat, his mood blackened further.

Claire Durocher leaned against the far end of the bar, all dolled up in a clinging jumpsuit. Made of some sort of sparkly black stuff, with a halter neckline which dipped in a deep vee at the front, it left so little to the imagination as to be almost indecent.

She’d tied her hair up to show off her long elegant neck and the diamond-studded hoops which swung in her ears like a pair of metronomes every time she turned her head. Which she did often, batting her silly eyelashes at all the attention she was receiving from every man in the joint. Even McBride was making a damn fool of himself, ogling her from his side of the bar where he sat nursing his hot toddy.

“Keep drooling like that and you’ll shrink the ends of your mustache,” Zach advised him tersely.

“That’s one fine figure of a woman, son,” McBride drawled, his gaze never wavering. “Yes, sir, one fine figure of a woman!”

Zach flung another sidelong glance to where she continued to hold court, gesturing with her hand and showing off the diamonds strung around her dainty wrist. “If brains were what counts, she’d be standing at the end of the line waiting for other people’s leftovers!”

Hoisting himself up on a stool, he flagged down the bartender. “Pour me a Scotch, Charlie. And before you say another word,” he added, seeing McBride about to chip in with a further two bits’ worth of unasked-for comment, “I’m well aware I don’t usually start drinking this early in the day, but I’ve had another go-round with Mel and it’s all because of her.” He jerked his head in Claire Durocher’s direction, a slight enough gesture to pass unnoticed, he’d have thought, but she must have sensed she was being talked about because she glanced up suddenly and locked gazes with him.

The noise in the room grew oddly distant then; muffled almost, as if everyone else had moved off and left him alone with her. Her expression grew sober and altogether too thoughtful for his peace of mind. Belatedly, he realized that there was a brain behind that disturbingly lovely face, and right at that moment, it was working overtime.

Mesmerized, he lifted his glass and took a mouthful of the Scotch. But nothing it could offer compared to the fire suddenly burning in his blood. She needed to be brought to heel, he thought savagely. Where did she get off waltzing into Topaz Valley and upsetting the even tenor of things? And what was wrong with him that, while the thinking part of him declined to tolerate her intrusion into any aspect of his life, another part knew a sudden primitive ache of desire?

He swore under his breath and tossed back the rest of the Scotch. “I’m off to make sure everything’s on schedule in the south wing,” he told McBride. “You can hold down the fort in here—always assuming you can keep your mind on the job, that is!”

“When did I ever let you down, Zach?” McBride asked mildly, not once taking his eyes off the Durocher creature.

She’d finally grown tired of trying to stare him down and Zach doubted she even noticed his departure. Unaccountably miffed, he strode to the dining room.

Flames from the big fireplace reflected on polished crystal and silver. Pyramids of napkins starched to within an inch of their lives stood to attention beside every plate. Arrangements of chrysanthemums and holly surrounded the candle centerpieces. Sterling serving dishes lined the massive rosewood sideboard he’d bought at a hotel auction. A twelve-foot Noble fir sparkling with Christmas lights stood in one of the window recesses.

Surveying the scene restored his equilibrium somewhat. It was with just such attention to luxury that he’d built Topaz Valley’s reputation. There were plenty of ski resorts which catered to a less discriminating crowd, where hamburgers and pots of chili were the order of the day and the baked goods were obtained commercially. But he’d known that if he was to persuade people to undertake the journey to this remote and beautiful place, he had to make it worth their while.

Satisfied that he was succeeding, he passed through the swing doors at the far end of the room and entered the butler’s pantry leading to the kitchen. A chalkboard propped against a cabinet showed the evening menu: crab chowder and crusty baguettes, poached pear salad, roast partridge with spiced orange salsa and wild rice, brandied mince tarts, peach compote, and a selection of imported and Canadian cheeses with fresh fruit.

As a peace offering, he’d invited Mel to join him for dinner in the dining room, but she’d insisted she wasn’t hungry. Actually, what she’d said was that she’d rather eat dirt, which amounted to the same thing, albeit in less polite terms. Pretty irate himself and feeling perfectly justified in pointing out that she had no business hobnobbing with adult guests in their private quarters, he’d made her grilled cheese sandwiches and left her to sulk at home. Pity she was missing out on her favorite crab chowder, though. Not that she’d exactly starve on grilled cheese, but still…

“Oh, what the hell!” Exasperated, he filled a bowl with soup, swiped some bread, cheese and fruit, and piled the whole lot on a tray. “If I dithered like this in business, I’d be in bankruptcy court within the year,” he muttered, heading for the door.

But parenting refused to be cut and dried. Too often, he simply didn’t know the best route to take, and as Mel grew older and less tractable, he found himself wondering if he was up to the job of bringing up a daughter single-handedly. He wasn’t exactly famous for his insight into the female psyche, after all.

It was still snowing lightly when he went outside a few minutes later, but a smattering of stars now showed through the ragged cloud cover. The air was sharp as crystal, filled with the scent of pine and fir and wood smoke, and quiet as a church.

He paused a moment at the top of the main lodge steps, just to inhale the fragrant peace. This was what he’d worked for, for the last twelve years and he was nuts to let anything spoil the pleasure of his achievement. The holidays were almost here, more than thirty feet of snow had fallen already, and it would take a lot more than a spat over a temporary guest to come between him and his daughter and spoil their Christmas together.

The easiest route to the house was by the path which was always kept plowed for the convenience of visitors, but for anyone familiar with the lay of the land, the fastest way was to hike through the trees and come out on the other side of the property near the hot tub.

Rapping on the family room window as he passed by, he called out, “It’s only me, honey.”

“How come you’re back so soon?” Mel asked, letting him in the side door. “I thought you were staying at the lodge for dinner.”

“I brought you a few treats,” he said, setting the tray on the kitchen table.

“No, thanks.” Barely glancing at it, she returned to the couch and plunked herself back in front of the TV. “I already had some.”

“I hardly call grilled cheese sandwiches special,” he said, determined not to let the rift widen between them. “Come on, Mel, at least look at what I’ve brought for you.”

“Honestly, Dad, I’m not hungry.” She indicated the crumbs left on the plate beside her. “Claire already brought me some snacks from the cocktail party.”

“Why did she feel the need to do that?” he asked evenly.

“She felt sorry for me being left up here all by myself. She doesn’t think I have enough fun.”

“Is that a fact?” he said, wondering how high a man’s blood pressure could go before he fell victim to a sudden stroke or heart attack. “And does she also think you’re half-starved? Is that why she brought you extra food?”

Mel shrugged. “I dunno. She didn’t give a reason.”

Not to you, perhaps, he fumed, but she’ll damned well explain herself to me! Aloud, he said, “I thought we had a rule, Mel. You don’t open the door to strangers.”

“She’s not a stranger, she’s my friend.”

“You can’t possibly know that on such short acquaintance.”

His daughter might still have the face of a child but the eyes she turned his way were full of mysterious female wisdom. “Time doesn’t have anything to do with it, Dad. Sometimes, two people just click.”

Oh, brother! Helplessly, he ran a hand through his hair. “We’ll talk about this in the morning. Right now, I want your word that you’re not going to open that door to anyone else tonight. I won’t be late and I’ll let myself in when I come home.”

She rolled her eyes. “I suppose you want me in bed by nine, as well?”

“Keep up the smart mouth, miss, and you’ll be in bed by eight!”

Sudden tears glittered in her eyes and her chin trembled uncontrollably. “On the other hand,” he went on, utterly defeated, “it is Christmas and I did say you could stay up until ten. Just don’t push your luck, okay?”

“Okay, Daddy.”

He buried a sigh and tramping back the way he’d come, wondered if any other word in the English language was calculated to melt a man’s heart the way “daddy” did. He’d walk through fire for his little girl; slay dragons, battle monsters and lay down his life for her, if he had to. What he wouldn’t do, though, was stand aside and let the busy-body from next door march in and take over.

“One moment, Miss Durocher,” he said, coming into the lounge and cornering her as the rest of the guests began drifting toward the dining room. “I’ve got something I’d like to say to you.”

“Really?” she said, in the sort of surprised tone that suggested she didn’t think him capable of stringing together more than two words at a stretch.

Somehow, up close, her jumpsuit didn’t seem quite as daring. Just very…attractive. He cleared his throat. “Yes. Specifically, I want to know on whose authority you decided to take a hand in my daughter’s upbringing.”

She had quite the most extraordinary eyes he’d ever come across. Large and gray, and enhanced by lashes that were almost certainly not her own, they dominated her delicate face. They focused on him now with the intent curiosity of a scientist inspecting a new, rather low form of alien life. “I’m not sure I understand what you mean.”

“Then let me be more direct. Butt out of my business, particularly as it relates to Melanie.”

She blinked, doing a slow-motion sweep with those ridiculous lashes in such a way that she managed to turn a perfectly ordinary action into something absurdly distracting. “Is this because I invited her to visit me in my chalet, or because I thought to share a few of my excellent hors d’oeuvres with her?”

“Both,” he snapped.

“But why? Where’s the harm?”

“First of all, it’s ridiculous that a guest feel obliged to leave a social function in order to look in on someone else’s child, let alone bring her food as if she was a foundling left on the doorstep. And second—”

“But I didn’t leave the party for that reason. I was feeling a little chilled and realized I had forgotten my wrap, so I went back to get it.”

That was why the jumpsuit looked different! The matching shawl she’d flung around her shoulders covered all the pale, translucent flesh he’d noticed earlier, rendering her marginally less exposed. “I see.”

“Do you?” she said, laughing a little. “I wonder. You look at me so suspiciously, Mr. Alexander, as if you think I might try to corrupt your little one with my wicked, foreign ways. But I assure you, taking her a few inconsequential appetizers was an afterthought, an impulse only, and certainly not intended to cause you such distress.”

She made him feel like a fool, like some gauche country bumpkin who didn’t know how to handle himself with a woman, and he resented it. Placing his hand in the small of her back and urging her toward the dining room, he said, “Well, do me a favor and curb your impulses in future, Miss Durocher. You’re here to enjoy the winter sports and hospitality, not assume responsibility for my daughter.”

“I enjoy her company. It’s no hardship to spend time with her.”

“You’re missing the point.”

“Am I?” she said, practically cooing the question at him. “And what point is that, Mr. Alexander?”

“That if I find myself in need of a baby-sitter, there are plenty on hand without my having to seek help from a visitor. Oh, and one more thing. Unlike the public guest accommodations, your suite isn’t equipped with its own safe. Although my staff is handpicked and utterly trustworthy, you’d be well advised to leave your jewelry in the office safe when you’re not wearing it. The management of the resort is not responsible for valuables carelessly left lying around.”

Unaccountably, she laughed again and shook her braceleted wrist under his nose. “You mean this?” she gurgled, as if they were discussing something found in a box of Cracker Jack.

The woman was too cute for her own good and so filthy rich that she probably wouldn’t give a hoot if she accidentally flushed a few diamonds down the toilet, but he was damned if he was going to be held accountable for it! Skewering her in a glare, he said, “Suit yourself, Ms. Durocher, as long as you’re aware that, in the event of any mishaps, it’ll be your loss, not mine.”

Mon dieu, she thought, shivering as she watched him stalk away, the man was colder than the weather outside, and slightly mad to boot. Surely he had not built such success as he obviously enjoyed by treating all his guests so rudely?

Throughout the dinner, she secretly watched him. He sat several tables removed from hers, too far for her to hear what he said but close enough that she could see the smile he turned on others and how he charmed them with his wit and humor.

The knowledge had an odd effect on her. He was a stranger, after all, and would play no lasting part in her life. Yet his rejection, for surely that was what it was, hurt her. It touched too closely on that part of her life she had left behind, reminding her of events best forgotten.

Determinedly, she turned her attention to the people at her own table. She hadn’t traveled so many miles to let one man spoil her time here. Yes, she had been hasty in assuming the unavailability of the suite she’d reserved was the result of mismanagement, but when she had learned the real reason, she had accepted it with grace. If he could not extend to her the same courtesy and forgive her for her oversight, she would ignore him. If she could.

Sadly, though, he was not a man easily overlooked. Nor was she the only one to think so. At dinner’s end, he went from table to table, inquiring of his guests if the meal had met their expectations, and she saw how he was greeted. On the one hand, he was what people called a man’s man, respected for his intelligence and capability.

But what she noticed most was how the women behaved. How those who were unattached looked at him with hungry eyes; how they managed to draw his attention with a little touch on the arm, an inviting smile. She noticed, too, how he responded, acknowledging their unspoken messages without promising anything—except when he stopped at the table where she sat, and his glance slid over her as if she were invisible, and filled with interest only when he moved on to the person beside her.

So he knew how to be charming as well as anyone, she thought, annoyed by such overt and unwarranted discourtesy. He just did not want to be charming to her.

Well, she would change his mind! Before this Christmas was over, Zachary Alexander would discover that there was more to Claire Durocher than the self-indulgent, empty-headed creature he was determined to make her out to be. By the time she left Topaz Valley, she would have earned his respect, if not his admiration. He might even end up being sorry to see her leave!