Читать книгу The Mistresses Collection - Оливия Гейтс - Страница 24

The next morning, Zack blinked open his eyes long before either of his guests.

Beyond that south wall of windows, snow was still falling and all was buried in a deep sea of white. He’d need a shovel to make it much past the front door. Sure bet, roads were impassable. Child Services wouldn’t be out today. Which meant it was just him, the baby and Trinity Matthews…who, despite her qualms, had slept right alongside him the entire night.

Remembering her peaceful, even breathing, the alluring warmth of her skin, he carefully edged over to face her…then didn’t move for the longest time.

Both hands were clasped on the pillow under her chin as if she were in prayer. A sweep of sable hair fell like a stole around one shoulder’s vibrant red silk. Long, curved eyelashes rested against healthy, flushed cheeks. Her lips were pink, slightly parted and near irresistible.

Yesterday, after they’d learned the Dales were out, that same mouth had been set, determined; she’d wanted to turn back. Later, cradling the baby as if the little girl was her own, her lips had been lifted in a perpetual, caring smile. Last night, those same lips had glistened in the firelight, tempting him to take them. Take her.

He wanted her still.

Zack sucked down a breath. His blood was pumping faster, hotter, and the longer he laid here and dwelled, the harder and more on edge he’d get. He wanted to sift his fingers through that long, silken hair. Longed to gather her close and claim that second kiss. So warm and honeyed, he could taste her now…

Biting down, he moved the quilt back and a moment later ten bare toes were curling into the soft pile rug which had formed the base for their campout bed. Stretching his back, he glanced around. The fire had burned out, and the light over the bar hadn’t blinked back on. Electricity was still out, which meant no power for the landline. Too late to wish he’d had that generator replaced after it had died last year.

He dashed a look over at the kitchen counter.

Had his cell regained reception?

He tiptoed over and tried to thumb the phone on. Still no reception. But the blank screen sparked a thought and he frowned. Trinity had good reason for not making it to New York this morning, but she ought to have at least texted when she’d had the chance. That “five minutes” had turned into the rest of the night.

Knowing Trinity’s history—how she’d grown up a ward of the state—he better understood her decision to stay until the baby’s situation was resolved. With no Mrs. Dale, thank God she had insisted. He couldn’t have handled the mess, the crying and constant soothing that an infant seemed to need. As far as those kinds of occupations went, he was a giant dud. He was a bachelor, unencumbered and unattached. For the foreseeable future, he planned to keep it that way.

His family laughed about it, said he’d change his attitude when the right woman came along, but Zack wasn’t so sure. He enjoyed his freedom too much. And being the odd one out as far as starting his own family was concerned certainly had its advantages. His brothers were good businessmen but their first loyalty was to their immediate families. Which left him to tighten any company slack that from time to time crept in.

Everyone had an ultimate role to fill. Clearly taking over from his father, being chairman of Harrison Hotels, was his. Although folk who read trashy magazines—or wrote for them—might mistake him for little more than a self-centered womanizer.

A shiver raced over his skin and he studied the fireplace again. He should light another log but he wouldn’t risk the noise. Then again, the baby hadn’t made a peep for—he checked his wristwatch—ten straight hours.

Padding back over, he hunkered down.

Her little arms were out of the wrap. Her cheeks were pink. He’d never seen a more angelic face. She might have been a porcelain doll except for the slight rise and fall of her chest. Trinity had mentioned saying goodbye would be hard.

A corner of his mouth hitched up.

She sure is a sweetheart.

His stomach muscles tensed and he pushed to his feet. Hunger pains. With no dinner last night, he really ought to eat.

He was standing in the kitchen, hands on hips, wondering how quietly he could set coffee on the stove when his cell buzzed. The realization sank in—reception was back—and he dived at the counter. Striding down the back hall, he waited until he was in the study to answer.

“Snowstorm, anyone?”

At the voice, Zack relaxed. Not Child Services but Thomas, his younger brother, a regular smart aleck and the sibling he felt closest to. Zack clicked the door shut.

“I’m about to get out the snowplow,” Zack joked.

“Mmm. Sounds like fun.”

Remembering his guests asleep in the living room, Zack crossed to a window view of winter wonderland in April and pressed a palm against the jamb. “It’s not as bad as all that.”

“Surrounded by wilderness. Cut off from society. Give me downtown traffic and Starbucks any day.”

“Don’t mention coffee. Haven’t had this morning’s hit yet.”

“Then I’ll keep it brief. Dad wants to know how it went on that deal yesterday with James Dirkins. When can we expect to close?”

Zack’s arm fell from the jamb. “I need more time.” The line crackled. When Thomas’s words cut in and out, Zack clamped the phone harder to his ear. “What was that?”

“I said I’m sure Dad’s happy to leave the negotiations to you. Where business is concerned, you can make a porcupine quill go down as smooth as Jell-O.”

Admittedly, he was a good negotiator. Success was about keeping emotion out of the mix. A cool head was key. Still…

He remembered Dirkins’s expression yesterday—drawn, reflective…reluctant to hand over his deceased son’s inheritance—and for some reason, an image of Trinity holding the baby flashed into his mind’s eye.

His stomach rolling again, Zack shrugged.

“James Dirkins has a strong personal attachment to the place. I get that.”

“Uh, sorry? Since when did personal matters ever factor into your corporate dealings?”

Zack’s eyebrows snapped together. “Since never. I was just saying.”

Silence echoed down the line.

“Are you all right, Zack? You sound…different.”

“I’m good. Better than good.” He crossed the room and opened the door a crack. He thought he’d heard the baby. “Tell Dad I’ll have the papers signed this week,” he said, cocking an ear and peering out down the hall.

Out in the living room, the baby squeaked.

“Zack, do you have someone with you?”

“Uh-huh.”

“A female?”

“Two.” He thought he heard Thomas drop the phone. Before the questions could fly, he cut his brother off. “It’s a long story.”

“For this, I have a few minutes.”

Grinning, he headed out. “Sorry, buddy. Gotta go.”

Zack found Trinity still sound asleep and the baby lying quietly, looking as if she were waiting for someone to notice she was finally awake. When he bent closer, she caught the movement and focused. The vibrant blue of her eyes took him a little off guard, but when she continued to stare, he tried a small smile. Waited.

She didn’t smile back.

However, neither did she burst into tears, although her brow seemed somehow to pinch as if she were uncomfortable. Zack scrubbed his chin. Must be tough not being able to roll. Maybe he could shift her a little, prop her up. Gingerly he scooped a hand beneath her back and instantly recoiled. Oh, God, she was wet. Make that sopping, right through her outfit. Shuddering, he glanced across. Trinity was still out of it.

Studying the baby again, he whispered, “So what am I supposed to do with you?”

She only stared, her little fingers wiggling on top of the blanket.

He scratched his temple, paced away then back again. He couldn’t bear to think of her lying in those sodden clothes, and yet he couldn’t imagine handling them to change her, either. Every man had his limit and this was his.

Placing thatched fingers on his head, he thought for a long moment. Then he cleared his throat. Not on purpose. Not really.

While the baby only looked harder as though he were some kind of puzzle, Trinity sucked in a breath and, gradually waking, stretched tall one arm. Two seconds later, she sat bolt upright, her violet eyes round and startled. Her gaze found his at the same time she shoved a fall of hair back and held it from her face.

“It wasn’t a dream.”

He rocked on his heels. “Nope. We’re real. And she’s wet.”

Trinity slapped the quilt away and crawled over. As if the baby knew “the one with the bottle” was near, she screwed up her nose and mewed out something that might have been a small cry.

Hands going to her cheeks, Trinity visibly melted. “Oh, poor darling. She must be hungry.”

“There’s a more pressing matter.”

“She needs changing.”

“Oh, yeah.”

“You don’t want to have a go?”

“I could answer that question a number of ways but the conclusions would all be the same.”

She pretended to be surprised. “No?”

“I’m a man who can admit to his shortcomings.”

“A shortcoming implies that you’d like to better yourself and learn.”

“Then I used the wrong word.”

Grinning and shaking her head, Trinity stood to collect the baby.

He’d seen her in the same pajamas last night but now, in the bright morning light rather than flickering shadows, he received the full impact. The shirt and bottoms literally hung off her slender frame. Not a suggestion of a curve or line anywhere. The trousers were so long, they puddled around her feet, the sleeves hung past her fingertips, the front was buttoned as high as it would go…and, hands down, it was the sexiest set of ladies’ nightwear Zack had ever seen.

Stepping back to give her room, his attention was drawn to her face, pillow creased on one side but well rested and already, within a moment of waking, fully animated. As she smiled at the baby, her eyes captured the morning light, which sent them sparkling like a pair of cut amethyst. If he weren’t careful, a man could get hypnotized by eyes like that.

When she lifted the baby up from the recliner, however, reality struck a blow. He heard—almost felt—the squelch and he backed up more, all the way to the kitchen.

“I’ll handle the formula.”

Trinity was rubbing her nose with the baby’s. “I might give her a bath. Freshen her up. Want to help?”

“After I finish bottle duty—sure thing.”

No censuring look this time. She merely drifted off with her bundle toward the laundry room. The way she was grinning and babbling to the baby, she’d forgotten all about her fatigue the previous night and was ready to do it all over again. Great because, unless he was mistaken, more of the same was precisely what was in store this coming day.

Zack waited to hear splashing from the laundry room then happy squeals before placing the formula canister on the counter. Clearly Trinity loved caring for the baby, which meant regardless of her teasing he was off the hook as far as hands-on went. And, seriously, no one wanted the poor kid to burst into tears the moment he took over, least of all him.

A few minutes later, finished with the bottle preparation and curious, he moved into the laundry room. Trinity was drawing the baby out from the tub, laying her on a towel she’d spread on the counter. The front of her pj’s were wet. Strands of hair, too. But with her sleeves rolled up to the elbow, she either didn’t notice or didn’t care, and Zack wondered. What usually made Trinity this happy? Who were her friends? Where did she live in New York? Maybe they’d passed each other on the street. Had caught the same elevator.

But the bigger question was: What was in store for them this evening? He’d displayed mammoth restraint last night. When he’d whipped her over, damn near on top of him, with her breasts through that silk pressed against him and her parted lips so close and tempting, he was still amazed he’d been able to bring his rabid testosterone levels down so quickly. But he’d never forced a lady into anything and had no intention of starting now. He didn’t have to. He’d made up his mind and whenever that happened—whether in the corporate world or the bedroom—the game was as good as won. He’d been gentle on Ms. Matthews up to this point. But when the baby went down tonight, he’d work it so Trinity couldn’t consider the word no. She wasn’t the only one who knew the meaning of resolve.

Carefully drying the baby’s damp, fair curls, Trinity noticed him standing behind her. Her smile flashed wider, white and warm.

“Just in time. Want to shake on some baby powder?”

His stomach kicked. “On the baby?”

“I can powder myself so, yes, the baby.”

He handed over the talc bottle. “You did such a good job last time.”

She shook powder on her palm before patting the white substance pretty much all over the child then reached for an undershirt. Zack cocked his head. It was ridiculously small. Then again, so were those limbs. The way Trinity maneuvered the baby’s head then arms through those tiny openings had Zack biting his lip. The one time he’d tried a similar feat with his firstborn nephew, he’d worried he might snap something. Too delicate. Too difficult. And yet Trinity made it look easy.

“Are you sure you haven’t done this before?”

She hesitated a heartbeat. “A friend gave birth a couple of years back,” she said, reaching for a clean diaper. “I helped with bits here and there.”

“You were never worried you might accidentally let her slide off the counter or prick her with a pin?”

“Well, sure, you have to be careful.”

She lifted the baby’s bottom and slid the diaper underneath. She had the outfit paradigms worked out, too, slipping snug cuffs and sleeves over those teensy fists, one of which the baby had been busy sucking. Now, interrupted, she let out a little cry while those gorgeous blue eyes filled with tears. Zack dragged a hand down his face. He hated to see her upset. How did parents stand this kind of stuff full-time? Then again some fathers didn’t. If his dad had been around more for this kind of thing in those early years, perhaps his parents’ marriage wouldn’t be going through the problems it was now. The Harrison kids loved their time away with their father in Colorado once a year, but their mom had needed more from her husband. Unfortunately, his father had realized too late.

When the numerous snaps were pressed shut, Trinity lifted the baby and cradled her close. “Is the bottle ready?”

“I’ll make sure it’s still warm,” he said, striding out.

A moment later, Trinity walked into the kitchen and he stopped shaking the nipple over his wrist. After dropping a kiss to the whimpering baby’s brow, she asked, “Shall we assume positions?”

He held up the bottle. “Torpedo ready.”

She moved to the recliner. “Lowering into position.”

Seated, she took the bottle. A perfect landing was made and that lulling quiet, interspersed with the sound of suckling, again reigned supreme.

As the baby drank, Zack quietly pulled over his usual dining room chair and, at a safe distance, settled down to watch. When the bottle was half-empty, it dawned; he should have been bored. Surely any novelty had worn off by now. No way would he sit around to watch any other infant feed, and yet here he was absorbed in every movement… . How her baby blues grew drowsier, the way her fingers squeezed the bottle like a kitten padding a soft blanket.

Then again, it wasn’t as if he could go turn on the sports or catch up on the news on his laptop, which was out of battery. If he had other things to do, he’d be off doing them.

He was about to suggest a burp when Trinity eased the bottle away and brought the baby upright. In a blink he was back with a hand towel. Please, Lord, let there be no horrific spitting up this time. After a moment or two rubbing, the baby rewarded them by bringing up a decent amount of wind. Zack let out that breath. Good girl!

Trinity settled farther back into the lounge chair. “Hey, we’re really getting the hang of this.”

Zack’s chest puffed out, too, but, of course, she was speaking to the baby. Those two were the team. He was merely the runner. Which was a novelty. Usually he was the one in the driver’s seat. At the office, he called the shots and others listened. In relationships, he set the tone and parameters or he didn’t call again. He liked to get along but it needed to be on his terms. That’s how he’d managed to stay successful, as well as single. A combination that served him well.

“I’ve been thinking.”

Dragging his gaze away from her lips, Zack brought himself back. “What’s that?”

“Would it be wrong to give her a name while we’re taking care of her? It doesn’t feel right calling her ‘baby’ all the time.”

“What did you have in mind?”

“What girls’ names do you like?”

He went blank. “I’ve never thought about it.”

“Do traditional ones appeal? Emily, Molly, Beatrice?”

“Maybe I’m more New Age.”

“Brook, Fallon, Mira.” She lowered the baby and set the nipple back in her mouth. “Maybe Summer or Skye to go with her eyes.”

Something clicked and he sat straighter.

“I like Bonnie,” he said.

“Pardon?”

“‘Bonnie Blue Eyes.’ It’s a song.” His father used to sometimes sing it.

Her gaze lowered to the baby again and she smiled, softer and more telling than ever. “I like it, too.”

And he liked the way Trinity held her lip between her teeth when she was pleased. The way her eyes lit and throat made that cute humming sound. Hell, he even liked the way she rarely cut him an inch, sniping about past affairs and business decisions, neither of which she knew anything concrete about.

Zack blinked and felt his brow furrow.

Too much reflection. Maybe he was coming down with a strain of cabin fever.

He crossed to the fireplace and while he selected a log from the stack, she asked, “Does your cell have service this morning?”

“I got a call,” he said, finding the matches, “just before you two woke up.”

“Child Services?” Her voice sounded hopeful but also a little troubled.

“I’m sure the baby will be in good hands when she leaves us.”

“I’d just love to know her story. What happened to her mother.”

Same. But they couldn’t do anything about that right now. Settling that log in the fire, he changed the subject.

“My brother Thomas called.”

“The youngest. The one who shot out of the haunted barn’s bedroom first when the light went out.”

“He went on to become a track-and-field star in school.”

Trinity laughed, a light, musical sound that seemed to fill the room, so different to her kitten attempts at a growl.

“Was he checking on how you were holding up in this weather?” she asked.

“That, as well as seeing how I was coming along with a business transaction. We’re negotiating to buy the Dirkins hotel.”

The penny dropped. “So that’s why you were there yesterday afternoon,” she said. “To seal the deal.”

“We’re not there yet.” He struck the match. “The owner’s holding out for more.”

“Fair enough.”

“Except the hotel’s not worth any more. There’s a swag of renovations needed. Updated plumbing and a sheltered forecourt for starters.”

“Maybe he won’t sell.”

“He’ll sell. He just needs more time. He’s thinking with his heart at the moment, not his head.”

“Heaven forbid.”

“Only if you want to succeed in business.” Even when it was understandable. He prodded at the weak flames, coaxing them to grow. “James Dirkins built that place himself in the seventies. He’d wanted to pass it down to his son.”

“What’s changed?”

Zack set the poker aside. “His son died recently—tragically, I’m afraid.”

He heard her gasp and imagined her clinging to the baby—to Bonnie—extra tight.

“Poor man,” she said. “Of course he’d be thinking with his heart. Leave him alone. What’s one more piece of real estate to you?”

She was always so ready to jump on his back. “Dirkins contacted us, not the other way round. A year after the accident, he wants to move on. I want to be the one to buy.”

She looked down as she mulled that over. “Because of your attachment to this area?”

“Partly.”

“Isn’t that thinking with your heart?”

With flames eating into the log now, he drew to his feet. “Clever, but it’s not the same.”

“If you say so.”

His grin held no humor. “Sure, I like this location, but I only go into a venture if I’m certain of its viability.”

And if he ended up offering a little more than the hotel was worth, his decision would be based on future returns not sentiment. That kind of attitude got you in trouble. Lines were blurred, misjudgments made. He wouldn’t forget the time, many years ago now, when he’d bought a car from a friend who’d needed the cash. He’d paid too much and hadn’t cared until the vehicle died a week later. The rings had been gummed up using an oil additive to stop the exhaust from blowing smoke and the engine from ultimately packing it in. The sense of betrayal—of being duped because of attachments, because of trust—had been far worse than any money wasted.

Now Zack took another clearer look at Trinity and the baby and headed for his study.

Levelheaded. That’s the way he was, the way he needed to stay. He was only thankful that sex could be uncomplicated. Someone else could deal with heartstrings.