Fire And Ice by Diana Palmer Read Free Book Online

eyes that made her flush.
    “Drop the act,” he said quietly. “Be yourself, with me at least.”
    She couldn’t quite catch her breath. He made her feel funny—young and nervous. “It isn’t an act,” she managed shakily.
    His fingers tightened and she stiffened involuntarily. “Porcelain,” he murmured. “Just as beautiful and every bit as brittle. Come on, honey, I’ve been up half the night talking mergers, and I’m dead on my feet. Let’s go.”
    “You’re sure you’re up to flying?” she asked.
    “No, I’m not,” he admitted surprisingly. “That’s why I’ve had my own pilot sent out to fly us to Panama City. I’ve got to make half a dozen phone calls on the way, and even I can’t talk and fly at the same time.”
    She followed along behind him, almost running to keep up. “Jan, did you get my typewriter?” she called, interrupting a lazy conversation between Andy and Jan.
    “Sure did.” Jan grinned. “It’s in the trunk, with our bags.”
    “Do you need that hard-working lady writer image to impress people?” Cannon asked with a maddening, taunting smile.
    “I told you, I like to keep a few articles ahead.” She glanced up at him as he opened the door for her. “And look who’s making cracks about hard work. Do you ever slow down?”
    “In bed,” he admitted.
    She flushed and looked away quickly, aware of a quickening pulse.
    He laughed deep in his throat. “My, what an interesting mind you have. I meant, I do sleep.”
    She shifted restlessly. “It’s a lovely day for a trip!” she said brightly.
    * * *
    The Van Dyne summer home was located just a few miles outside Panama City, Florida. It was surrounded by a high, white stone wall, inside of which was a long and winding paved driveway lined with palm trees and blooming hibiscus. The house itself was also stone, spacious and venerable with mahogany doors and a curving staircase with mahogany banisters. The furniture had a West Indian look; the hall was floored with flagstone. The rest of the house was elegantly furnished and carpeted, with heavy draperies at the big windows and what-nots on shelves and tables—wickedly expensive little what-nots that most women would have given their eyeteeth for.
    Victorine Van Dyne fit into her surroundings perfectly. She was like the furnishings of her summer home—elegant, venerable and charming. She resembled both her sons. Her eyes were dark brown like Cannon’s, but her face was open and friendly, like Andy’s. She was very petite, with a delicate bone structure and a soft, short cloud of pure silver hair framing her ageless face.
    “I’ve heard so much about you both from Cannon and Andrew,” Victorine said with a twinkle in her dark eyes. “Different versions, you understand,” she added mischievously. “I had very little input from Cannon until early this week, when I got quite an earful. But I’m very pleased to meet you.”
    Jan impulsively hugged the smaller woman after Cannon made the introductions, and Victorine returned the embrace with slight reserve. Her attention was on Margie.
    Margie smiled wickedly. “Despite what I’m sure you were told about me, I’m not a member of the world’s oldest profession.”
    Victorine grinned at her. “I was going to ask you how you enjoyed your work.” She laughed. “I guess I’d better ask what you do, first.”
    “She just stays at home and shocks the neighbors,” Cannon said over his shoulder as he disappeared up the stairs with several suitcases. Jan and Andy followed him up, trying hard not to break into laughter.
    “Now,” Victorine said when they were alone. “Suppose you tell me what’s been going on?”
    Margie did, sparing herself nothing. “One thing led to another, and after our first meeting he was convinced that I was a madam. After the second, he wanted to put me in a day-care center. Now, I think he might like to grind me up for sausage,” she added with a grin.
    “Beware, my girl,” the older