Zachary's Virgin. Catherine Spencer
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the most socially acceptable greeting, perhaps, but possessed of undeniable charm nonetheless. Much like the building, Claire supposed, glancing up at the impressive facade. Neither the fairy-tale nineteenth-century castles nor quaint chalets she was used to, it stood bold and dramatically beautiful in its own right, with soaring timbers, chimneys faced with chunks of river rock worn smooth by centuries of water abrasion, and great shining expanses of glass.
Designed around a central hub from which four wings radiated, it rose three stories to a steeply pitched roof. Entering through wide double doors, Claire gazed around, her senses assaulted by impressions of spacious elegance and mammoth proportions. Everything, from the graceful branched staircase accessing the upper galleries, to the massive beams supporting the vaulted ceiling, to the stone fireplace whose hearth was wide enough to accommodate a grown man, was huge.
Even the Christmas tree stood some twenty feet high and was hung with silver balls the size of fat balloons. As for the leather couches grouped around the hearth, they could have accommodated giants and still left room for normal-size people.
And everywhere, from the long refectory table in the middle of the room, to the deep windowsills, to the antique wicker child’s sleigh beside the fireplace, the brilliant splash of carmine poinsettias drew the eye. If that weren’t enough to complete the Christmas card picture, two beautiful Samoyeds lay on a rug in front of the fire, basking in the heat from the blazing logs.
Joining the lineup of guests checking in, Claire studied the floor plan of the lodge hanging on the wall behind the front desk. Whoever had designed the resort had certainly taken pains to make sure guests were supplied with every possible amenity. In addition to various lounges, a library, and dining room, there was also a banquet room with a dance floor, a movie theater, gymnasium, sauna, indoor pool, and a beauty spa offering everything from facials and manicures to massages. And oh, she could use a soothing massage just then, to ease the aching stiffness caused by so many hours spent in travel!
The couple at the front desk, their check-in complete, moved away and made room for Claire.
“Hi!” The clerk, a young woman whose name tag proclaimed her to be Sally, smiled warmly and scanned the list of names in front of her. “Let’s see, you must be…?”
“Claire Durocher.”
“Oh, sure! All the way from Europe, right? Welcome to Canada!” She glanced again at the list. “Originally, we had you booked into a suite here in the main lodge.”
“Indeed, yes,” Claire said, not liking the sound of the word “originally.” She had slept fitfully on the transatlantic flight, her inner clock was seriously out of kilter, and she hadn’t bathed since she left Paris yesterday afternoon. To find now that she had no room at the inn didn’t bear thinking about. “Such accommodation was what I requested when I made my reservation six months ago, it was confirmed by your office within the week as I’m sure your records show, and it is what I now expect to receive.”
The young clerk’s grin faded a little. “Yeah…well, the thing is, we’ve had to put you in one of our other rooms. It’s rather small but very comfortable and it’s only for a night or two.”
“I do not wish to be confined to a smaller room, nor do I wish to move elsewhere when you decide it is convenient. I wish to be accommodated in the suite I reserved.”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible,” the Sally person said. “The people occupying it last week haven’t left yet.”
“Then put them in the smaller room,” Claire replied, ignoring the little voice inside her that said it was easier simply to accept whatever was available and not make a fuss. She had learned the hard way that if she wanted others to treat her with the respect she craved and which had been so sadly lacking in her childhood, she had to demand the best of—and for—herself.
The hapless Sally shook her head. “You don’t understand, Miss Durocher. They won’t fit. They’re a family of four.”
“Zut!” Claire exclaimed, her tone rising with annoyance.
“Is there a problem?” By comparison, the voice which flowed over her shoulder was smooth and rich as the finest Belgian chocolate.
“Oh, Zach!” The young clerk fairly wilted with relief. “It’s the business with the Dogwood Suite. Miss Durocher is a little upset that it’s not available.”
“Miss Durocher is more than a little upset,” Claire corrected, swinging round to confront the man whose name tag identified him as Zachary Alexander, the owner of the establishment and the person with whom she’d made her reservations. “She is considerably…displeased….”
He stood well over six feet, every lean muscle honed to perfection, the torso tapering gracefully from impressively broad shoulders to narrow hips, the hair thick and dark except for streaks of silver at the temples.
As for the face—oh, it was the face that left her stumbling over her words like an ingenue. Such eyes, as blue as the Bay of Naples in summer and as remote as the tips of the Alps on a perfect winter day. Such a jaw, such cheekbones! And the mouth…!
Her own ran dry at the sight. Zachary Alexander could discipline that mouth all he liked. Make it straight and severe, or allow it to stretch in a tight, unamused smile as he inspected his unhappy guest. But nothing his will imposed could erase the passionate nature betrayed by the curve of the upper lip. This was a sleeping volcano of a man, his fire hidden but no less intense for all that.
“I’m sure we’re all very sorry that you’re…” Again, that ironic smile touched his mouth. “…considerably displeased, but the fact remains that the suite you requested is occupied already so I’m afraid you have no choice but to accept the substitute we’re offering—unless, of course, you’d prefer to sleep outside in the snow?”
You can’t be tired just yet and what child wants to go to bed early on such a warm night? Go wait in the street, Claire, and leave Mama to entertain her gentleman friend in peace, and if you’re very good, maybe there’ll be enough money for a bonbon tomorrow….
Her mother’s voice floated down the years, finding the chink in her armor so susceptible to a brush-off and spurring Claire to take issue with Zachary Alexander’s assumption that she’d meekly make do with whatever consolation prize he chose to throw in her direction. Impaling him in her most peremptory stare, she said, “I have been en route to Topaz Valley for almost twenty-four hours, monsieur, of which six have been spent making connecting flights from Vancouver. I could have flown from my home in Switzerland or my pied à terre in France, to any of the capitals in Europe in less time than it has taken to complete this last limb of my journey and I—”
“Considering that this province alone is approximately twenty-three times the size of your country, that’s hardly surprising.” The reply was polite enough—if one were to discount the fact that he cut her off in mid-sentence, in the sort of patronizing tone that suggested he was dealing with a singularly difficult and backward child. “Add to that the fact that, whereas the population of Switzerland runs to some four hundred and four people per square mile, there are a mere eight point two per square mile in British Columbia, and it—”
“And it is my misfortune to have to do business with the point two—a man of few brains and absolutely no heart!” At the twitch of yet another smile which he barely managed to contain, Claire stamped one booted foot imperiously. “I am tired, I am hungry, I would like to unpack my suitcases, take a long, undisturbed, hot bath, and I am in no mood to tolerate being laughed at or inconvenienced, Monsieur Alexander!”
“And I am in no mood to tolerate your self-indulgent tantrums, Mademoiselle Durocher, so I suggest you lower your voice and modify your attitude. Your suite is not available and that’s all there is to it. The family who should have vacated it yesterday have a sick child who is not fit to travel and until he is recovered, I have no intention of asking them to find some other place to stay.”
It had been years since Claire had blushed but his announcement left her face burning. “I am so sorry,” she