The Mistresses Collection. Оливия Гейтс

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       Four

      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.

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