Читать книгу Strictly Temporary - Robyn Grady - Страница 9

With that third big burp, not a whole lot stayed down.

The first priority—bathe the wailing baby!—was performed with much haste in the nearby laundry sink. Trinity found the task a slippery business, but when the baby had finally settled down from her upset, the kicking, splashing and happy squeals had made it a surprisingly enjoyable job as well.

After the baby was dried, powdered, rediapered then dressed in one of the outfits bought earlier in town, Trinity swapped her own soiled blouse for a clean one. Hours of rocking, singing and cooing, interspersed with more measured bottle feeds, followed. Far from laying bricks or digging holes, but energy requirements were surprisingly high. Trinity supposed she could have laid the baby back in her carrier and hoped for the best—that she wouldn’t whine—but those big blue eyes were so trusting, she simply couldn’t.

Zack busied himself preparing dinner for the adults—steak and salad—of which not a single bite touched their lips. She was too occupied with the baby, and Trinity supposed Zack might feel guilty eating when she couldn’t. He also made a cot of sorts in one of the recliners—comfortable, high enclosures, plenty of room. When the baby eventually shuddered out one last exhausted sigh and snuggled in, hopefully for the night, Trinity lowered her gently down into her bed and gazed at the peaceful sight for a long, thankful moment. Then she took her weary self and heavy arms off for a lovely hot shower.

Her choice of clothing afterward fell between a business suit or red silk pajamas…large jacket, long pants, all lined with soft brushed cotton. Matching slippers. Easy decision. In the privacy of the bedroom, she slipped into the soft silky folds, feeling too exhausted to worry about whether her attire was appropriate in the company of a man she knew only by reputation, and a bad reputation at that. But she doubted Zack would have the energy to goad. If he was half as tired as she was, he wouldn’t notice whether she stumbled out wrapped in a black cape and gnashing a set of fangs.

Damp hair caught in a messy bun, feeling squeaky-clean and ready to collapse, Trinity lumbered into the living room. She stopped at the foot of the stairs.

But for the rush of wind outside, the house was eerily quiet. The room was completely dark, too, except for the flickering glow emanating from the far wall. Hugging herself, Trinity edged closer. Over the top of the recliners, a glorious sight bit by bit came into view.

Crouched beside the fireplace, her handsome host was busy tending crackling orange-and-blue flames…a hypnotic sight that had Trinity’s lips parting to take in a dash more air. With slow, shifting shadows moving over his body—and the chiseled planes of his face—he seemed to sense her presence and glanced over. His gaze intensified then wandered to absorb her every inch, from the top of her wild bun all the way down to the red pom-poms on her feet. His study was so deliberate—so unapologetically favorable—it was more a self-indulgent, scorching touch. In the space of those few seconds, she’d never felt more like a woman. More desirable.

With just a look.

In one fluid movement, he pushed to his feet and set the poker blindly against the fireplace then moved nearer.

“You look ready for bed.”

His words—low, husky—enveloped her as he stopped an arm’s length away. A heartbeat later, when his scent wove into her lungs, Trinity involuntarily quivered inside and out. The seductive nature of the shadows, the blatant power of his presence…She felt so out of time and place, so unlike herself—if Zack touched her now, God help her, she might forget everything of which she disapproved and simply melt into a puddle at his feet.

“You were incredible.” His lidded gaze dipped to her lips and his chest rumbled. “You must be exhausted.”

Her mouth suddenly gone dry, Trinity tried to clear her swimming head. Yes, she was exhausted. Clearly more exhausted than she’d even thought.

“I knew she’d go down eventually,” she said.

“At one stage I had my doubts.” He flicked a look over at the baby sound asleep in her makeshift bed. “I can’t see her waking anytime soon.”

“Let’s hope. I don’t have one more verse of ‘Bye Baby Bunting’ left in me.”

He tipped his head toward the fireplace.

Her eyes had adjusted more to the lack of light. A thick quilt was lain out with plump white pillows propped up against the other recliners.

“I’ve imagined enjoying a brandy before a quiet fire since four o’clock this afternoon. Care to join me?”

Trinity’s pulse rate picked up a notch. After having spent the previous hands-on hours with him helping where he could, she might feel a little less hostile toward him, but not nearly enough to agree to lying in front of a flickering fireplace, sipping a glass of forty proof. But before she could decline, Zack threw up his hands.

“Yes, I know you think I’m a wolf—”

“Along with anyone else who picks up a magazine or goes on the web.”

He exhaled but his mouth managed to retain his sexy smile. “Anyway, I give my word I won’t use my apparently world-renowned seduction techniques to take advantage of the situation.”

“And I should believe you why?”

“Because you’re not my type, remember?”

Trinity paused. She had said that back at the hotel and anyone who understood the meaning of the saying “water meets its own level” knew it was true. That didn’t negate the fact that Zack Harrison was hot and irresistible and a natural born flirt. Far better to play it safe.

“Maybe I should make myself a cup of cocoa.”

But when she made a move toward the kitchen, he headed her off. “Let’s be civilized about this and meet halfway. Not brandy or cocoa. I propose red wine.”

“You really don’t like to be beaten, do you?”

Rubbing a hand over the broad expanse of his white T-shirted chest, he groaned. “Come on, Trin. Cut me a break. It’s late. We’re both beat. Let’s share a drink and chill a little before we crash.”

She held that breath. Was this poor puppy-dog act one of many from his repertoire—or was she overestimating her own appeal? He dated models, movie stars and heiresses, not girls on strict budgets who lived in studio apartments in Brooklyn. Hell, maybe deep down she wanted him to flirt with her. Maybe even kiss her. She wondered what her friends—her boss—would say. They all knew how she’d felt about men of his ilk. How she still felt.

But he was right. It was late. They were tired. She could let her guard down a little.

“Brandy might knock me out completely,” she smiled and admitted, “but a glass of red wine would be nice.”

In the firelight, his dark eyes glittered with a grin before he crossed to a cabinet that housed a small bar.

Her gaze took him in from top to barefoot toe. In that white T-shirt and black sweatpants he’d changed into earlier, he cut the figure of a prime athlete. The T-shirt’s fabric fell over the contours of his broad shoulders in an easy, tantalizing way that left her wondering who could ever weary of the sight. His legs were long and, from the firm sway of his body as he found bottles and glasses, obviously strong. As Trinity made herself comfortable on the quilt against the downy pillows, she was aware of every fiber relaxing and, at the same time, switching on to an unprecedented buzzing high. Probably not smart but, right now, it felt heavenly.

He brought over a glass for her, a snifter for himself and settled down a respectable distance to her left. After inhaling the wine’s bouquet, she sipped and smiled as the smooth warmth slid down her throat.

“Good?” he asked.

“Hmm, very.”

Satisfied, he leaned back against his pillow, tasted again, then hissed back through his teeth, clearly enjoying the burn of his brandy. But then his brow pinched and he glanced from the fire back at her.

“You know, we really ought to eat something,” he said.

She settled farther into the pillows. “Let’s sit here and just do nothing for five minutes.”

“So I won’t suggest you text your boss. You know you won’t make it back to New York for breakfast.”

Trinity’s insides pitched at the thought of having to explain why she needed a day off when there must be a pack of people who would die for a chance at her job. But then she let her eyes close and she sighed, too exhausted to think about that now.

She murmured, “Five minutes.”

Sometime later, Trinity felt something drift over her waist. Jerked back from sleep, she gasped and her eyes snapped open, but then she released that breath. Beyond the soft crackle of the fire and its shifting shadows, she recognized a man—Zack—settling a spare quilt over her legs.

“If the baby wakes during the night,” he said, collecting his snifter again, “I’ll get her.”

Reclining again, Trinity’s lips twitched. How did he intend to manage a messy diaper change? But the thought was a sweet one. And out of character, she thought. In his everyday life, she imagined Zack Harrison delegating all the mundane stuff, from RSVPing to five-star events to picking up the dry cleaning or sending a prospective female companion a stunning display of long-stemmed roses.

Bet his florist expenses are outrageous.

Overhead, something crashed and clattered on the roof. A branch whipped by the wind against the tiles? Trinity huddled down farther and inched the quilt higher. This snowstorm was really pulling up its sleeves. Could it possibly get any worse?

As the wind howled on like an angry beast outside, together they watched the fire’s gentle flames lick and curl and spit. The atmosphere was lulling…hypnotic. After a time, Zack spoke.

“You’re falling asleep.”

Trinity roused herself. “I was just losing myself in the pictures.”

“Pictures?”

“In the fire.”

He swirled his brandy. “You’re an artistic type.”

“Right-brained, I guess you’d say.” Thinking of the striking image Zack Harrison had drawn earlier—what an amazing natural form model he’d make—she indulged in a secret smile. “I like to sketch.”

“I never made it past stick figures. How are you at physics, chemistry?”

Covering her mouth, she feigned a yawn.

“All right.” His teasing gaze challenged hers. “So tell me. What do you see in the fire?”

“Sometimes I see animals,” she said. “Sometimes people’s faces.”

“And tonight?”

Thoughtful, she angled her head and lost herself in the snaking hypnotic heat of those flames. “I see a baby. I see bottles and giggles, and a few tears. I’ll probably dream about all that, too.”

“You don’t sound as though you’d mind.”

Her gaze dropped. Was it that obvious? Her shoulder came up as she confessed, “She’s a real cutie. It’s going to be hard saying goodbye.”

Out the corner of her eye, she saw his brandy swirl again and caught a whiff of its distinct bouquet before he pointed out, “Imagine how happy her parents will be.”

“Yes.” She tried to push aside her doubts—her own experience as a displaced child never reclaimed—and pinned on a smile. “I’ll imagine that.”

Zack maintained his own neutral look. His jaw didn’t flex. Nostrils didn’t flare. And yet he couldn’t have been more affected.

From the start, Trinity Matthews had done curious things to his normally lucid state of mind, even with claws out, having a go at him. Sitting here while they talked and joked in the firelight had only served to make him hyperaware of that point.

Despite the fact that she disapproved of his personal life—based on trashy tabloid news, he might add—he was sorely attracted to her. He wanted to reach over, bring her close. Damn it, he wanted to kiss her. And in a slow, all consuming, let’s-not-get-out-of-bed-for-a-week kind of way.

The simmering awareness in Trinity’s liquid eyes, the engaging vibe she gave off when she let her guard down…If he traced a fingertip around the curve of her cheek, dropped his head over hers, would she slant toward him? Would she object if he scooped her up and dragged her off to his bed? The temptation was real—ridiculously so.

And that set him back.

Not because he was uncomfortable with any aspect of physical attraction, particularly when the person he wanted was so intelligent, competent and full of her own brand of fire. He admired anyone who wanted to stand by a strong opinion—even when they were wrong. His concern stemmed more from the peculiar sense of depth of his attraction to Trinity Matthews. He’d been intrigued by women before but not this way. Frankly the awareness he was experiencing at this precise moment was a little unsettling.

Clearly it was a product of these unusual circumstances. Here they were—isolated, sharing an unanticipated, highly emotive experience. Yes. That must be the reason for it. This unshakable, unrelenting need.

For several moments, he swirled his drink and stared into the fire. When he’d composed himself—physically, mentally—he pushed to his feet then ran a hand through his hair.

“Guess I’ll grab a shower.”

Looking delicious in those oversize pj’s, lounging against those pillows, Trinity summoned a sleepy smile. “I’ll hold the fort.”

Before he surrendered to the beast within, still scratching and begging to be freed, Zack grabbed his cell off the kitchen counter, climbed the stairs and strode into his loft bedroom. Truth was, if it weren’t for the baby, he’d probably open that cage and see what treats might be forthcoming. But after hearing that poor kid cry after her postbottle accident, watching how well Trinity had cared for her, the least he could do was slap a lock on that door—for the time being at least. All the world knew he wasn’t a family-of-his-own type, however, here and now that child must be their number one priority. But once she was settled elsewhere, whether that be back with her mother or in the hands of the state—

Flinching, he ripped off his T-shirt.

The end result was out of his hands.

Two minutes later, hot water was spraying his back while, with one palm pressed against the glass, Zack took time to lather up his front. When his cell phone rang, his first thought was: go away. Call back. But then his brain clicked into gear and, soapy and dripping wet, he reached out to snatch up the phone. The voice belonged to the woman from Child Services he’d spoken with earlier, a Cressida Cassidy.

“I’m sorry I didn’t get back to you sooner,” Ms. Cassidy said. “I wanted to assure you that the authorities have been informed and a representative from both that department and my own will call tomorrow. The weather’s abysmal. Impassable. I hope you don’t mind caring for the baby overnight.”

“No.” The bathmat already sopping beneath his feet, Zack wiped water off his face. “I mean, that’s fine.”

“Has she settled down?”