Read the book: «The Mistresses Collection»
The Mistresses Collection
The Billionaire’s Trophy
Lynne Graham
Scrictly Temporary
Robyn Grady
Whose Bed is it Anyway?
Natalie Anderson
No More Sweet Surrender
Caitlin Crews
A Deal with Di Capua
Cathy Williams
Her Return to King’s Bed
Maureen Child
Never Stay Past Midnight
Mira Lyn Kelly
A Dangerous Solace
Lucy Ellis
One Scret Night
Dolce Vita Trust
Her Little White Lie
Maisey Yates
Their Forbidden Fling
Melanie Milburne
An Inescapable Temptation
Scarlet Wilson
Beach Bar Baby
Heidi Rice
Walk on the Wild side
Natalie Anderson
Claiming His own
Olivia Gates
Uncovering the Silveri Secret
Melanie Milburne
If You Can’t Stand the Heat…
Joss Wood
Sizzle
Katherine Garbera
www.millsandboon.co.uk
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Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
The Billionaire’s Trophy
About the Author
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
EPILOGUE
Scrictly Temporary
About the Author
Dedication
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Epilogue
Whose Bed Is It Anyway?
Back Cover Text
About the Author
Dedication
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
No More Sweet Surrender
About the Author
Dedication
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
A Deal with Di Capua
About the Author
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
Her Return to King’s Bed
About the Author
Dedication
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Never Stay Past Midnight
About the Author
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
EPILOGUE
A Dangerous Solace
About the Author
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
One Scret Night
About the Author
Dedication
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Her Little White Lie
About the Author
Dedication
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
EPILOGUE
Their Forbidden Fling
About the Author
Dedication
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
An Inescapable Temptation
About the Author
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
EPILOGUE
Beach Bar Baby
About the Author
Dedication
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
EPILOGUE
Walk on the Wild Side
About the Author
Dedication
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Claiming His Own
Back Cover Text
About the Author
Dedication
Prologue
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Uncovering the Silveri Secret
About the Author
Dedication
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
If You Can’t Stand the Heat…
Back Cover Text
About the Author
Dedication
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
EPILOGUE
Sizzle
About the Author
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Copyright
The Billionaire’s Trophy
LYNNE GRAHAM was born in Northern Ireland and has been a keen romance reader since her teens. She is very happily married to an understanding husband who has learned to cook since she started to write! Her five children keep her on her toes. She has a very large dog who knocks everything over, a very small terrier who barks a lot, and two cats. When time allows, Lynne is a keen gardener.
CHAPTER ONE
SEBASTIANO CHRISTOU, KNOWN as Bastian to his many friends and acquaintances, studied the huge emerald ring in his hand with seething frustration blazing in his dark golden eyes, his lean darkly handsome features settling into forbidding lines of hauteur. He was holding the Christou betrothal ring, which had, until very recently, adorned the hand of his intended wife, Lilah Siannas.
Ironically, Lilah had not voiced a single word of reproach concerning the terms of the pre-nup agreement presented to her lawyer. Instead, while leaving the pre-nup unsigned, Lilah had become irritatingly unavailable and distant but her burning resentment had ultimately triumphed, culminating in her public statement that the engagement was over and the wedding cancelled. And ever since then Lilah had been noisily painting the town red in the company of a good-looking toyboy millionaire.
Bastian was well aware that Lilah was throwing down a gauntlet she expected him to pick up. He was supposed to be jealous: yet he was not. He was supposed to feel foolish: but he did not. He was supposed to want her so much that he would forget about the pre-nup: only he did not. No, Lilah was playing a losing game for Bastian would never marry a woman without first securing his wealth with a pre-nup agreement. That was a lesson learned well at his grandfather’s knee.
His father had married four times and his three incredibly expensive divorces had decimated the Christou family fortune. Bastian’s grandfather had taught his grandson that love was unnecessary in a successful marriage and that shared goals and principles were more important. Bastian had never been in love but he had often been in lust. Lilah, a tiny exquisite brunette, had excited his need to chase and possess but he had never kidded himself that he loved her. Indeed before he proposed, he had evaluated Lilah’s worth much as though she were an investment. He had recognised the advantage of their similar backgrounds; he had admired her unemotional outlook, excellent education and her skills as a society hostess. But, as he now grimly reminded himself, he had seriously underestimated the strength and pulling power of his fiancée’s avarice.
Bastian thrust the ring back in its case and put it in the safe, angry at the months he had wasted on Lilah, a woman demonstrably unfit to be his wife. He was thirty years old, more than ready to marry and have a family, bored with casual affairs. He had not realised that finding a wife would be such a challenge and he was already wondering how the hell he was supposed to avoid a scene at his sister, Nessa’s wedding in two weeks’ time because Lilah was one of Nessa’s bridesmaids. Lilah would be outraged when Bastian didn’t, at least, try to win her back. She would relish being the focus of all eyes at the wedding and would delight even more in a confrontation, but Bastian did not want his baby sister to be embarrassed or upset on her special day. The only way of avoiding that danger would be for him to arrive with another woman on his arm, for Lilah was too proud to overlook such a statement.
But at this late stage where on earth would he find another woman to act as his partner throughout a weekend of family festivities? A woman who wouldn’t try to trap him into a relationship and who wouldn’t read more than he meant into his invitation? A woman nonetheless capable of pretending to be intimately involved with him, for nothing less would keep Lilah at a distance. Did such a perfect woman exist?
‘Bastian…?’ He spun round as one of his directors strode in with a laptop beneath his arm. ‘I’ve got something amusing to show you—are you in the mood?’
Bastian was not in the mood but Guy Babington was a good friend and he forced a smile to his hard mouth. ‘Always,’ he encouraged.
Guy opened the laptop on the desk and spun it round to display the screen to Bastian. ‘There…recognise her?’
Bastian studied the photo of a stunning blonde with bright blue eyes in a party dress. She was laughing into the camera. ‘No…should I?’
‘Take another look,’ Guy urged. ‘Believe it or not, she works for you.’
‘No way…I would’ve noticed her,’ Bastian instantly declared because she was such a beauty. ‘What’s her picture doing on the Internet? Are you on Facebook?’
Amused, Guy shook his head. ‘I’m on a website advertising a business called Exclusive Companions. It’s an escort agency for professionals, very exclusive,’ he said, rolling his eyes suggestively.
Bastian frowned, his sensual mouth curling a little with distaste. ‘Do you use escorts?’
‘I wouldn’t mind using this blonde,’ Guy confided, ducking the question with a lascivious look.
Bastian elevated an ebony brow. ‘You said she worked for me—’
‘She does—as an intern on a three-month placement on this floor. Emmie…she does research for your PA.’
Astonishment gripped Bastian as he turned his attention back to the screen. ‘That’s Emmie?’ he queried in disbelief, mentally flicking up an image of the young woman as she looked at work: hair tied back, specs anchored on her nose, dowdy clothes. Still frowning, Bastian zeroed his attention in on the dark mole on the centre of the blonde’s cheek as he recalled that the intern had the same beauty mark in the identical place. ‘Diavelos…that is her! She’s actually moonlighting as an escort?’
‘Evidently…but what I’d really like to know is why she dresses to look like the ugly duckling when she comes into work here,’ Guy confided.
‘Her name is Emerald according to the site…’
Sebastiano flipped open his own computer and hit several buttons to access the list of his staff. Yes, it wasn’t Emmie short for Emily or Emma as most people would assume; her true name was indeed Emerald. So, weird and unbelievable as it seemed to him, it was the same woman.
‘Doesn’t she clean up amazingly well?’ Guy chuckled lecherously.
Bastian would not have described the intern as an ugly duckling although he had to admit that on the few occasions she had been around him she had thoroughly irritated him.
‘Sugar is bad for your teeth,’ she had told him when she handed him his coffee, strong and sweet the way he liked it.
‘Manners maketh man,’ she had quipped when he strode through a door ahead of her and they almost collided in the doorway.
But he had noticed that, even clad in the ubiquitous black tights, she had incredibly long legs, the sort a man thought about wrapping round his waist. An escort, he ruminated thoughtfully, a woman whose company was available for hire. If she cleaned up as well as she did in that photo, she would make a very presentable piece of arm candy and, after all, it would be in her own best interests to meet his expectations. Possibly she wasn’t fully aware of the terms of her temporary employment, one condition of which specified that she must do nothing to bring the company into disrepute. And working a lucrative sideline as an escort for rich men definitely didn’t fit the bill of acceptability. He had never used an escort service before, nor would he have considered doing so in normal circumstances, but for this particular occasion he liked the idea of a woman he could hire to accompany him to his sister’s wedding. He would not have to ask anyone for a favour, nor would he have to pretend an interest in a woman that he didn’t feel anything for and there would be no room for misunderstandings in such an arrangement: he would pay Exclusive Companions and she would deliver the act he told her to deliver. In fact the more he thought about it, the more he liked that idea; she would be as much under his control as a robot.
Emmie swallowed back a yawn with difficulty while Bastian Christou’s PA, Marie, gave her exhaustive details on the company she wanted her to research. Her hand unwittingly rubbed at her aching leg, which always bothered her when she was on her feet too much. Her right leg had been badly injured in a car crash when she was twelve and for years afterwards Emmie had been disabled, initially forced to use a wheelchair and only later recovering sufficiently to get around on crutches. Indeed, without experimental surgery she would never have walked unaided again and so grateful was she still for that surgery that she always shrugged off the occasional ache as unworthy of note or fuss.
Unfortunately, her tiredness made concentration a virtual impossibility and, not for the first time, Emmie marvelled that she had ever believed that an unpaid internship would be the perfect solution to her unemployment crisis. After months working a temporary dead-end job in the local library, Emmie had been willing to try anything to get her career out of the doldrums. She had jumped, however, from the frying pan straight into the fire. Although she had several friends working for no money to gain some experience for their all-important CVs they were all, without exception, still in receipt of parental financial support.
Emmie was rather less fortunate in that field. Although she had an excellent business degree the economic downturn meant there were few graduate jobs and the few that there were went to applicants with the skills and practical know-how that were only attainable from actual employment. After countless unsuccessful applications, Emmie had known that she needed work experience to improve her chances and she had initially been ecstatic when she got through a tough assessment centre and first won the internship at Christou Holdings, one of the most aggressive and successful software companies in London.
Never having lived in the city as an independent adult, she had not initially appreciated what a challenge it would be simply to make ends meet. And then, her estranged mother, Odette, had got in touch out of the blue and had offered Emmie her spare room and Emmie had snatched gratefully at the opportunity for cheap lodgings without which she could not have hoped to accept the job. It had not once occurred to her that Odette might have an ulterior motive in inviting her to stay. Naively, Emmie had simply been eager for the opportunity to get to know the mother she had last seen when she was twelve years old. From that age Emmie and her two siblings had been raised by her eldest sister, Kat, in the Lake District and, although she had recognised Kat’s dismay when she learned of the London scheme and Emmie’s plan to live with their mother, Kat had not interfered and had merely warned her sibling that Odette could be ‘difficult’. Well, the word difficult didn’t begin to cover the problems she was having, Emmie reflected heavily, hoping that she wasn’t in for yet another long-running row when she got home later.
Her first unsettling discovery after moving in with Odette had been the disturbing revelation that her mother made her very comfortable living through an Internet-based escort agency. The even bigger shock that followed had been Odette’s firm conviction that Emmie should join her list of escorts and earn her keep that way. When Emmie had refused and had instead taken on waitressing work five nights a week, Odette had been furious and, even though Emmie was handing over every penny of her meagre earnings to her mother, Odette was still angry and dissatisfied with her daughter.
Perhaps the most upsetting experience of all for Emmie had been the dawning awareness that her mother didn’t love her, cherished no fond wish to get to know her better and certainly didn’t regret having left her to her sister’s care at twelve years old. That learning curve had been steep and painful and had made Emmie appreciate that she had gone to live with her mother in the hope of reviving a relationship that had only ever existed in her own imagination. Sadly, Odette was not the maternal type. Her children were simply the by-products of relationships that had gone wrong and it honestly seemed as though Odette had never managed to form an attachment to any of her daughters.
‘Ah, Marie…’ a familiar dark accented drawl pronounced from the doorway. ‘The meeting is about to start. Emmie can take the minutes for us.’
Emmie spun round, faint colour blooming in her cheeks as she focused on Bastian Christou’s tall powerful frame. The Greek entrepreneur was a popular choice for profiles in leading business publications and she had read all about him long before she came to work for him. He took a brilliant photograph but was even more eye-catching in the flesh, where his height and breadth and the gleaming luxuriance of the ruthlessly cropped black hair that framed his lean, darkly handsome features were disturbingly noticeable even in a crowd. Of course he was taller than most men, something Emmie tended to notice because she was five feet nine inches tall but he topped her by a comfortable six inches. In truth he had the charisma and looks that no woman could ignore, added to a sun-kissed complexion the shade of dulled gold and the perfectly formed features of a fallen angel. His mother, she had read, had been a famous Italian film star and he looked exactly like her, right down to the burnished dark eyes that were currently engaged in roaming over her as though she were edible and he were starving. Startled by that analogy and the intensity of his continuing appraisal, Emmie tensed and jerked her chin up while throwing him a look of frowning enquiry, for he had never looked at her in that way before. Perhaps his reaction was an illustration of the strange mood that Marie had warned her that her boss was in, doubtless fallout from the broken engagement that nobody had yet dared to mention in his presence, she reasoned uncertainly.
‘Of course,’ Marie responded equably. A slender, efficient brunette in her early forties, she rose from her seat to follow her boss back out of the office.
Bastian surveyed his quarry, Emmie, and wondered what her first smile would look like. He was accustomed to women smiling at him, not at all accustomed to one scowling and challenging him with her head tilted at a scornfully unimpressed angle. Yet there was something familiar about her, some quality that nagged at him, making him feel that he must have seen her or met her before somewhere. That niggling awareness irritated him, for he was well aware that she did not move in his social circles but indeed hailed from some hayseed background in the north. Unless, of course, he thought abruptly, he had previously come across her when she was acting as an escort to someone he knew…Now that was a genuine possibility, he acknowledged with distaste, wondering what on earth she was doing getting involved in such a seedy way of life at her age. Or was he being naïve? Beautiful women could reap rich rewards and an enviable lifestyle from such pursuits. Indeed if she was to meet the right rich man and marry him, she could set herself up for life.
Bastian had learned at a young age that most such women used their beauty like a commodity, expecting it to work for them and win them special treatment. His own mother had belonged to that group. Why should Emmie Marshall be any different? He watched her take notes during the meeting, noting the faint dark shadows circling her eyes and the translucent quality of her skin. He did not think he had ever seen skin that perfect on anyone other than a child. She propped her chin on an upturned hand, head at a slant that defined her slender neck and delicate jawline. A fine strand of corn-gold hair had escaped from her ponytail to trail across her cheekbone. He marvelled that he hadn’t noticed the quality of her looks sooner. But then the loose shirts and trailing mid-length skirts she wore with the specs provided an off-putting disguise and the attention had to linger to note that soft, full pink mouth with its delicious pout and very slight hint of an overbite, and appreciate that the eyes behind the unattractive spectacles were a truly dazzling bright blue. In some astonishment, Bastian registered that he was developing a hard-on while he imagined those pillowy lips pouting just for his benefit. And for how many others had she performed that arousing trick as part of her escort duties? he asked himself grimly, squashing his arousal at source, for while he never bedded innocents he had an innate aversion to sex being traded for a price. And he already knew what her price was, didn’t he?
‘Emerald’s rarely available. She’s very much in demand,’ the voice at the other end of the phone had informed him smoothly when he phoned the escort agency. ‘I can offer you Jasmine or—’
‘It has to be Emerald,’ he had countered. ‘She’s the only one I want. I’ll make it very well worth her while to choose me as a client.’
And then Bastian had negotiated, a skill at which he excelled, and he had learned once again—had he ever doubted it?—that for the right price he could have anything he wanted, including the rarely available and already fully booked Emerald currently falling asleep across the table from him. He had bought her services for the weekend and he had paid an enormous price for the privilege. It amused him that she evidently had not the slightest idea of the fact and yet he marvelled that any woman could so irresponsibly sell her time and attention to strangers, who might abuse her trust. Her curling lashes were down on her cheekbones, her slim shoulders drooping as she sank lower into her seat. He stretched out a long leg below the table, found her feet and nudged them sharply with the toe of one shoe. She jolted awake again, her wide startled blue eyes flying straight to him in dismay, her full lips parting, cheeks reddening with embarrassment. He wondered who she had entertained the night before and whether sex had figured. Nine out of ten men would expect sex for what he had paid for her services. He wondered how she would feel about that and how he felt about that…no, never, no way was he going there, he thought in disgust.
Emmie collided slap-bang-crash with smouldering dark golden eyes that reminded her of a tiger’s eyes and that fast her ability to breathe vanished while a humming warmth prickled and then pulsed between her legs. Shock rippled through her in reaction to that sexual response, for it had been a long time since she had felt like that. Emmie was wary and seldom reacted to attractive men, having found them invariably vain and self-serving. She was very picky, so picky she had yet to choose a first lover, although she had come very close to losing her virginity at university when she fell in love. Of course that relationship had gone pear-shaped the instant Toby looked at her and said, ‘I can’t believe I’m going to bed with a girl the living image of Sapphire…’
Wham, that astonishing admission had hit Emmie right where it hurt, crushing her confidence and her faith in the love he had pledged. Being the sister of a world-famous supermodel and, even worse, her identical twin had often made Emmie feel as though she had no identity or individuality of her own. Time after time men had made her feel like an imperfect copy or stand-in for her flawless sister and the resemblance between the two women was so strong that, to sidestep that humiliating association being made, Emmie generally played down her best assets and avoided her twin’s company. Now she wondered what it was about Bastian Christou that got to her. Lashes cloaking her gaze, she studied him, her heart beating very fast. Why had he looked at her like that? All right, his engagement was over and he was supposedly a free agent again, but what was he playing at? Men didn’t, as a rule, see beyond the plain, unflattering clothing she wore. And his former fiancée was as different from Emmie in appearance as to be almost another species, being tiny, dark and glittery rather like a manic fairy, Emmie recalled from her one fleeting glimpse of the imperious little Greek socialite. Lifting her chin, Emmie gazed steadily back at him.
Reluctant amusement rippled through Bastian’s powerful frame. She had nerve and he liked that; he liked that very much.
‘In my office—five minutes,’ he told her coolly, thrusting back his chair and rising to his full intimidating height.
‘He must want to check the minutes. I hope you kept pace,’ Marie commented. ‘At one point there, I was afraid you might be falling asleep.’
Emmie winced. ‘It was a possibility…’ Until your boss kicked me awake. The awareness that Bastian Christou had noticed that she was dropping off made her want to cringe and she wondered if that was what he wanted to speak to her about. After all he had never bothered to speak to her before except in passing and he channelled any instructions through Marie.
‘Is there no way you can chuck in the waitressing?’ Marie enquired in an undertone.
‘Sadly not, but I do have only another few weeks to go here,’ Emmie pointed out, relieved she had chosen to be honest with the older woman about the fact that she was working two jobs to survive.
‘I hope the long hours you’re working to do this pay off,’ Marie retorted wryly.
And from the tone of that remark, Emmie gathered that Marie saw little prospect of her being offered a full-time position with the company. In truth Emmie hadn’t really expected the internship to lead to a permanent job but naturally she had hoped to be proven wrong in that assessment. She knew that it was much more likely that another unpaid intern would be offered the position she had vacated. Why should employers take on extra staff and pay them when they could get young eager workers for nothing?
Emmie walked into Bastian’s office for the first time and glanced around, taking in the cool contemporary furnishings and artworks, the almost palpable opulence of a décor where no expense had been spared. But then Bastian Christou had no need to count the cost of anything. A genius in the field of software development and an exceptional businessman, he had single-handedly built an international company out of the best-selling program he had developed before he even left university and had become an enormously wealthy man while still very young.
‘Close the door,’ he told her, his deep voice setting up a vibration along her spine. He was a very masculine man and it had nothing to do with his physical size. Raw masculinity was etched in his hard bone structure, shrewd eyes and the authority and assurance with which he spoke. Although he was always perfectly groomed there was nothing metrosexual about him. One had only to see Bastian Christou with his sleeves rolled up on his strong forearms, his tie torn off and collar unbuttoned to show a slice of bronzed flesh to know that he was all male in a way so few men still dared to be.
Emmie pressed the door shut and turned back, a shiver of disconcerting awareness filtering through her tall, slender length as she met his keen, intelligent eyes. Beautiful eyes, she thought absently, as arrestingly bright as starlight in that strong face. Her body betrayed her instantly as if, having found the chink in her armour with this one man, it had forced that tiny loophole into a dangerous crack, for her breasts stirred and swelled heavily within her bra so that it felt tight and uncomfortable. Her colour fluctuated as her nipples stung into straining peaks and suddenly she was as tongue-tied as an awkward adolescent.
‘Miss Marshall,’ Bastian drawled, tracking her every change of expression. ‘Or may I call you Emmie?’
‘Emmie’s fine,’ she muttered at the height of a drawn-in breath.
‘Or do you prefer Emerald?’
Taken aback by that rare use of her baptismal name, Emmie hovered uncertainly. ‘I don’t use that name…’
‘You…don’t?’ A winged ebony brow climbed as though she had surprised him and when he bent his head over the laptop on the desk, it was a relief for her to have a moment to catch her breath again while watching the light from the window behind her gleam over the glossy sheen of his luxuriant black hair.
Catching herself on that thought, she didn’t know what was wrong with her and only wished she could kick her brain back into gear. Yes, he was a good-looking guy but that didn’t impress her, it being her experience that handsome men were usually very aware that they were handsome and invariably offended if a woman didn’t react with admiration. Not that Bastian Christou struck her as belonging to that category, she acknowledged grudgingly. She was of such minuscule importance on his scale that she was sure he couldn’t care less how she reacted to him. No, it was her own self and her pride that were affronted by her breathless, nervous state in his presence. A grown woman didn’t lose her ability to reason around an attractive man, at least not if she expected to be taken seriously as an employee in an executive office that was still very much a man’s world.
‘No, I don’t use that name…never have,’ Emmie proclaimed with a strained smile, recalling that he could only have got that name from her job application because she only employed it when officialdom required it. Perhaps it had lingered on his mind because it was unusual.
Bastian Christou looked up with a slight smile and inexplicably that smile of his suddenly chilled Emmie to her bone marrow. ‘But that’s not quite true, is it?’
Frozen there in front of his desk, Emmie blinked rapidly, unnerved by the ESP promptings that were warning her of a threat when there was no possible threat that she could see. ‘Sorry?’ she questioned uncertainly, having lost the thread of the conversation.
‘It’s untrue that you don’t use the name Emerald,’ Bastian declared, swivelling his laptop round for her to view what was on the screen.
Emmie’s soft mouth fell wide when she saw the picture he was referring to, shock and disbelief vibrating through her from head to toe because she could not imagine how a personal photograph of hers could have ended up on the Internet for anyone to see. It had been taken at her graduation party on one of the very rare occasions when she dressed up and threw caution to the wind and the photo was still in her digital camera…or at least she had thought it was. ‘What’s this? Where did you find that photo?’ she gasped strickenly.
‘On the website belonging to the Exclusive Companions escort agency,’ Bastian confided, noting that she had turned as white as a sheet at his admission and experiencing an entirely unexpected pang of conscience because she contrived to appear genuinely shattered by his discovery. Of course, he reasoned, that merely proved that she had the useful skill of being a good actress in a challenging situation.
‘Exclusive C-Companions?’ Emmie stammered, for it was her mother’s business and she knew that her photograph could not have been uploaded to that website without her mother’s involvement. She was absolutely appalled and stared fixedly at that colourful image with a sinking heart. How on earth could Odette do that to her? Her mother knew she wanted no involvement with her business. ‘How did you find this?’
‘Not because I was visiting the website,’ Bastian asserted with dry emphasis. ‘Someone else who works here drew it to my attention.’
Nausea curled in her sensitive tummy. Who else knew? How many people? Inwardly she cringed in embarrassment. Who else was now convinced that she worked as an escort outside office hours? My goodness, was everyone she worked with talking about this behind her back? Humiliation clawed at her and she cursed the day she had moved in with her mother. What on earth was her picture doing on the website when she didn’t work as an escort? But who on earth would ever believe that now?
‘It is you, isn’t it?’ Bastian Christou pressed.
In silence, Emmie gritted her teeth and nodded agreement, unable to see how she could lie on that score. ‘But it’s not what you think—’
‘Allow me to know what to think,’ Bastian Christou murmured, smooth as glass.
‘It’s none of your business!’ Emmie told him, her mortification yielding to a sudden rush of resentment.
‘I’m afraid it is my business,’ Bastian countered levelly. ‘Your employment contract with this company states that you’re not allowed to do anything which might bring the company into disrepute and I’m afraid that advertising yourself on the Internet as an escort would fall within that category.’
Emmie lost colour. She could not believe that a foolish action of her mother’s might have put her job at risk, but she could also understand that it was an association that any employer might consider distasteful and suspect. ‘I’ll deal with it,’ she said flatly, her full lips compressing with determination.
‘How will you deal with it?’ Bastian asked, glittering dark eyes pinned to her with growing curiosity, his attention lingering on that soft full mouth. He wanted to rip off the spectacles and tug her hair out of that ugly ponytail and see her beauty as nature had intended it to be seen: that mane of golden hair, clear, flawless skin and glorious eyes. When most women went to great lengths to look the best they could, why the hell did she hide her beauty as though it were something to be ashamed of? And then unveil that beauty to be an escort? Had she been afraid from the start that someone in the office might recognise that photo and realise she was leading a double life? It was the only explanation he could see that made sense of such a disguise.
‘I’ll have the photo taken down from the website. It shouldn’t be there,’ she declared defensively. ‘I don’t actually work as an escort—’
‘But clearly you have a connection to the agency,’ Bastian pointed out, amused by her vehemence, her eagerness to persuade him that he had somehow misunderstood. She had little hope of getting far with that objective when he had so recently booked and paid for her services, he conceded grimly.
Emmie squirmed, determined not to admit the degrading truth that her connection to the escort agency was through her mother. ‘I promise you that I’ll deal with it and that photo will be taken down as soon as I can get it organised.’
‘If you’re tied into an employment contract with the agency it won’t be that simple a matter,’ Bastian warned her and he pushed a business card across the desk towards her. ‘Feel free to contact this lawyer if you need advice or assistance on that score.’
‘There is no contract. I told you…I don’t work as an escort,’ Emmie repeated doggedly, her colour high because she knew he didn’t believe her and she didn’t really blame him for that when her photo was on the website for all to see. She was mortified by the entire conversation but surprised that he was offering her a legal contact who could help her cut ties that didn’t actually exist. Fortunately, the only tie Emmie had to Exclusive Companions was her blood tie to her manipulative mother.
‘Tell me, why isn’t the HR department dealing with this?’ she queried.
‘I felt the issue needed to be dealt with immediately and without spreading the news round the office.’
Exerting self-control, Emmie clenched her teeth together. ‘Thanks. I appreciate that,’ she felt forced to say with very real gratitude.
‘Take the rest of the day off to handle this business,’ Bastian advised, further surprising her with his consideration. ‘I’ll clear it with Marie.’
Thoroughly disconcerted by that generous suggestion, Emmie stiffened, but she was very grateful for the chance to go straight home and confront her mother about what she had done as it was scarcely something she could ignore.
‘A stitch in time saves nine,’ Emmie muttered shakily, taut with rage and embarrassment and frustration that she could not clear her own name but, on another level, very grateful to have discovered that her face was on that website, so that she could demand it be removed forthwith.
Bastian elevated a satiric brow. ‘Another one of your funny little homilies?’
‘I was talking to myself,’ Emmie breathed curtly, flushing slightly because she had picked up the habit of uttering proverbs when she was a child and tended to blurt them out mindlessly when she was nervous or apprehensive.
So far, so good, Bastian reflected cynically when she had left his office, having reacted exactly as he had expected her to and engaged in a frantic cover-up. Even so, she would get that photo down from the site and cut her ties to the agency, which would perfectly suit his requirements. He had no desire for anyone to discover that he was keeping company with an escort and once she was removed from the site there would be less risk of that happening.
CHAPTER TWO
ODETTE WAS USING her laptop in her elegant lounge when Emmie entered the apartment. Her mother was a tall woman in her fifties with the same classic blonde looks that had raised Saffy, Emmie’s twin sister, to supermodel status and universal acclaim.
‘My word, you’re home early…did the old office sweatshop burn down?’ the older woman commented flippantly.
Emmie’s face was already flushed by the speed with which she had walked from the bus but now her slender hands clenched as anger rose inside her. ‘You put my photo on your website without my permission,’ she accused.
Impervious to her daughter’s tension, Odette lifted and dropped a slim shoulder, her unconcern patent. ‘Photos of very beautiful girls improve business. Lots of my clients have phoned asking specially for you and I simply say you’re already booked—but if you weren’t so stubborn, you could be making a fortune.’
‘You must have taken that photo from my camera.’ Emmie was disconcerted by her mother’s lack of reaction to her accusation.
Odette’s blue eyes, so like her daughter’s, were cold as a winter sky. ‘Yes. I can’t see why that should be a problem—’
‘You…can’t? But you know that I don’t want any involvement in your business—’
‘Although you’re quite happy to live off my earnings from running an escort agency!’ Odette sliced back with stinging effect.
Emmie reddened. ‘That’s not true. I’m not living off you. I give you everything I earn from waitressing—’
Odette lifted a scornful brow. ‘Which amounts to peanuts!’ she exclaimed. ‘If I rented out that room, I could be making three times as much for it. Instead I decided to be generous and help you out with your career. Is this all the thanks I get for it?’
Emmie hovered uncomfortably. ‘You know I’m grateful, but I still want that photo taken down from the site. I’m not an escort and I don’t want people thinking that I am—’
Odette settled resentful blue eyes on her. ‘My girls aren’t prostitutes. I’ve told you that before. They are companions, professional companions, guaranteed to be presentable and pleasant. Sex isn’t included in the package.’
‘As far as you know,’ Emmie added jerkily. ‘You don’t know how your escorts behave if a man asks for something more and is willing to pay for it—’
Odette rose gracefully upright. ‘No, I don’t,’ she conceded. ‘I’m not their keeper or their mother,’ she said. ‘I’m only the manager who takes the bookings and runs credit and character checks on the clients. Why are you so prudish and suspicious of my business, Emmie? The girls on my books are educated middle-class young women, who want to make a decent income. Some of them are paying their way through college…’
‘I’m not condemning their choices, I’m only saying that it’s not a choice I would make,’ Emmie declared, lifting her head high and wondering why she was feeling so guilty and ungrateful. ‘Will you take down that photo right now, please?’
‘You’re making such a fuss about nothing,’ Odette complained. ‘You wouldn’t think twice about posting that photo on one of those social networking sites you use—’
‘That’s different. You must take that photo down and remove any mention of me from the site,’ Emmie reiterated. ‘Whether you accept it or not, being associated with an escort site is damaging to my reputation, and have you even thought about what it could do to Saffy’s reputation? The embarrassment this could cause her?’
‘What the heck has Saffy got to do with this?’ her mother demanded tartly.
‘My face is her face, or have you forgotten that we’re identical twins?’ Emmie retorted impatiently, wishing the older woman would stop trying to play dumb when she was as wily as a box of ferrets. ‘Saffy would go spare about this if she found out—’
Odette was unmoved. ‘And why should that bother you? She’s already made a fortune out of her face and body. She’s got a lot more wit than you have but, let’s face it, according to what Topsy has told me, you and your twin are not exactly close.’
Emmie stiffened at that reference to her youngest sister, who had taken to occasionally visiting their mother and had no doubt innocently let slip personal details that Odette would happily use against her daughters if it suited her to do so. ‘Saffy and I may not be close but I wouldn’t do anything to harm her or her career,’ she proffered tautly. ‘And I certainly wouldn’t want to embarrass her the way I was embarrassed when someone showed me my photo on your website today. I’m really upset about this—please tell me you’ll take the photo down now…’
Odette expelled her breath on an irritable hiss, her annoyance palpable. ‘I will—if it really means that much to you—’
‘It does. Thank you,’ Emmie pronounced stiltedly, realising in frustration that she had said nothing that she intended to say and that once again Odette had contrived to talk her down and act as the victim rather than the perpetrator. Her mother had not even apologised for stealing that photo and using it on her website, she reflected in frustration as she walked towards her bedroom to get changed for her shift at the café where she worked weeknights. But then, another voice reminded her grimly, she could not really afford to have a no-holds-barred row with her mother while Odette was allowing her to occupy her spare room. Accepting favours always came with a price.
‘Unfortunately, it’s no longer quite as simple as that,’ Odette remarked softly.
Emmie spun round in confusion. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘I’ve already taken a booking for you—’
Emmie was stunned into momentary silence. ‘How can you have taken a booking for me when I don’t work as an escort for you?’ she asked drily.
‘The client offered me so much money, I agreed,’ her mother admitted without shame or embarrassment. ‘I need the money and, let’s be frank, so do you.’
‘Well, you’re just going to have to give the money right back again!’ Emmie shot back at her mother in angry disbelief. ‘I’m not for hire!’
‘He’s a businessman. He sent a contract over by courier and I signed it on your behalf—’
‘But that can’t be legally binding when I don’t work for you!’ Emmie protested.
‘How are you going to prove that you don’t work for me when your profile is on the website?’ Odette enquired dulcetly.
At that suggestion of outright blackmail, Emmie went rigid. ‘It’s nothing to do with me. Return his money—’
Odette pushed her laptop aside and stood up. ‘It’s not that simple. I had outstanding bills and I’ve paid them. There’s still a healthy cut of that money set aside for you—’
‘I don’t want it!’ Emmie flung back at her furiously. ‘I’m not going to be forced into acting as an escort so that you can make money out of me…It’s not going to happen!’
‘But I have no way of paying the money back,’ her mother declared.
‘That’s not my problem,’ Emmie stated curtly. ‘Although I had no idea you had financial problems—’
‘It’s a tough world out there and an escort is a luxury. This guy’s young, rich and handsome, so you can’t complain on that score,’ Odette told her with derision.
‘I don’t care…I’m not doing it, not for you, not for anyone!’
‘Let me tell you just how much he was willing to pay to take you abroad for a weekend,’ Odette urged thinly and she mentioned a figure of thousands of pounds that shocked Emmie rigid, for there was a much greater sum of money involved than she could ever have imagined.
‘Odette…’ Emmie said shakily. ‘It doesn’t matter what he paid you or what you signed. You can’t sell me or my time like a product. I’m not for sale, and after the number of arguments we’ve had on this subject, I can’t believe that you went ahead and accepted a booking for me knowing how I felt about the idea.’
The older woman settled icy blue eyes on her defiant daughter. ‘You owe me, Emmie, and I intend to collect.’
‘How do I owe you?’ Emmie prompted painfully. ‘You never bothered with me from the age of twelve. You never visited or wrote or phoned or even paid towards my upkeep—’
‘I had a hard time surviving. And you were all quite happy living with your sister, Kat,’ Odette argued tautly. ‘But when it really mattered, I was still there for you—’
Emmie’s facial muscles were locked tight with self-discipline. ‘And when was that?’
‘When you needed surgery for your damaged leg. When you were desperate to walk again, I came through for you,’ her mother declared impressively.
Emmie was knocked sideways by that announcement. ‘You’re saying that you paid for the surgery I had on my leg?’ She gasped in shock.
‘Where did you think Kat got the money from?’ her mother enquired drily.
Emmie was too distraught at what she had been told to continue reasoning with her unrepentant parent. She changed for her shift at the café and went to work in a daze. Was it true that Odette had paid for her surgery? It was a supreme irony that as a teenager it had not even occurred to Emmie to wonder where her oldest sister, Kat, had got the cash to pay for Emmie’s private surgery abroad. Even though Emmie was now in her twenties it had never occurred to her to ask, an oversight that now struck her as unforgivably obtuse and selfish. Emmie knew how much that surgery had meant to her at the time, how desperately she had craved the normality and the independence of no longer needing assistance in almost everything she did. She was dumbfounded by the assurance that her mother had paid to make her deepest wish come true.
While she served meals and drinks that evening, her mind was lost on another plane. Her sister, Saffy, had never overcome her guilt that she had not been injured in that same crash and she had been fiercely protective of her injured twin in the aftermath. Saffy had never understood that the continual presence of her physical perfection and glowing health had only made Emmie all the more aware of what she had lost. Emmie’s teenaged experience of infirmity had been wretched and she had often been depressed. People had continually looked away from the awkward gait caused by her disability, embarrassed by her, embarrassed for her, pitying, avoiding her as if her brain might be as damaged as her body. At the same time Saffy, blonde, beautiful, sporty and gregarious, had been the most popular girl in school. Emmie hadn’t resented her twin and she hadn’t been jealous either, but that was when she had learned to hate the wounding comparisons that people made between the two girls, one so perfect, the other so physically flawed. Those feelings had been compounded from early childhood by Odette’s resentful attitude to having had twins when she had only wanted one child. Even worse, Emmie had proved to be a heavy responsibility, underweight when born and often ill afterwards, a sickly child continually requiring extra care and attention. Emmie was always painfully aware that in those days Odette had found caring for her too heavy a responsibility.
Her mother was in bed when Emmie got home and although it was a relief not to have to face the older woman again Emmie was still in turmoil. Odette might once have been a neglectful parent but that costly surgery had transformed Emmie’s life, not least giving her her freedom and independence back. If her mother had paid for that operation, Emmie did owe her a debt. But surely that didn’t mean she was honour bound to perform escort duties for some stranger? Hadn’t Odette said ‘a weekend abroad’? My goodness, could such an arrangement be any more bizarre or dangerous? A whole weekend out of the country? He could be a white slaver and she might never be heard of again.
‘I’d like to see that contract,’ Emmie told her mother staunchly over breakfast, determined not to let her emotions take control of her again. She needed a solution and another argument would be counter-productive.
A couple of minutes later, Odette passed her a slim document. Emmie glanced down it and leafed to the last page to see the signature and what she saw there astonished her. Sebastiano Christou! How was that possible? How could Emmie’s boss be the man who had booked her as an escort? The same boss who had informed her that her supposed second career as an escort ran contrary to company policy? Emmie was so enraged by the sight of that particular name that she was vaguely surprised steam didn’t pump from her ears. She stuffed the contract into her bag. ‘I’ll handle this,’ she told the older woman tautly.
Evidently having expected more of a reaction from her, her mother said, ‘Aren’t you surprised by the identity of the client?’
‘Should I be?’
‘You do work for the guy—’
‘Oh, so you’re aware of that?’ Emmie fielded thinly.
‘Of course I am. It puts a whole new spin on office romance,’ Odette remarked mockingly.
‘Believe me,’ Emmie declared as she stood up, ‘there’s nothing romantic about this situation.’
Rage was powering Emmie like adrenalin by the time she reached the office. Bastian Christou was a complete hypocrite. Unbelievably, the same guy who had paid a ridiculous sum for her services as an escort had dared to warn her that her working in such a role threatened to bring his company into disrepute. But at least now she knew why he had been looking at her so oddly, doubtless imagining that if she worked as an escort she was a much more sexually exciting and adventurous personality than she appeared on the surface. Well, we’ll just see about that, Emmie reflected, furiously gritting her teeth together.
‘Mr Christou and I discussed a private matter yesterday and I need to see him as soon as possible to update him on…er, a recent development,’ Emmie informed Marie.
Her eyes carefully veiled, Bastian’s PA passed no comment and swept up her phone.
‘Go on ahead,’ she urged then, before adding, ‘Be careful, Emmie—’
‘Careful?’ Emmie queried, glancing back over her shoulder.
‘Before Lilah, Bastian had a bad track record with women,’ his PA murmured warningly.
Her face flaming at the type of development that the other woman so obviously suspected, Emmie knocked on the office door and entered. Bastian surveyed her from his stance by the window, his arrogant dark head set at a questioning angle, his brilliant eyes narrowed. Emmie dug the contract from her bag and slapped it down on the desk top in explanation.
‘So, you know,’ Bastian remarked evenly, not one whit perturbed by her aggressive body language.
‘And now it’s time for you to know that it’s not on, not happening in this lifetime!’ Emmie specified with emphatic bite. ‘But what I really can’t believe is that you talked of how my photo on that website could bring your company into disrepute and then you went ahead and booked me!’
‘I realised that you were the perfect match for my requirements,’ Bastian fielded with characteristic cool, noting that with that pink warming her cheeks and her animated expression she was glowingly alive, like a candle that had suddenly been lit for the first time. ‘However, if you don’t want to do it, return the fee and we’ll say no more about it.’
Return the fee? Consternation at that practical suggestion filtered through Emmie’s anger because she didn’t have a penny in the world, indeed still had an overdraft on her bank account from her student days. Odette had admitted to having already spent some of the money and Emmie had no way of replacing it, nor was she naïve enough to believe that she had a prayer of persuading her materialistic mother to hand over what remained of that cash. ‘I can’t believe that you can still look me in the eye…’ she said with scorn, side-stepping the money issue.
Bastian strolled forward, lean, darkly handsome features infuriatingly calm and assured. He was disturbingly graceful in motion, not a visible ounce of tension in his big powerful frame as he stepped unexpectedly into her space and without warning whisked the spectacles off her nose to examine them. ‘These are clear glass…what do you wear them for?’
‘Give me those back!’ Emmie snapped, fit to be tied at his cheek.
With a sardonic laugh, Bastian tossed them aside and reached instead for the clip pinning her thick hair to the back of her head.
‘What on earth do you think you’re doing?’ Emmie gasped, overpowered by his proximity and totally disconcerted by his bold approach.
The clip went the same way as the spectacles and released the heavy golden fall of her hair round her taut shoulders. ‘Maybe I wanted to see what I was paying for,’ Bastian said succinctly, indifferent to whether or not he caused offence. After all, wasn’t he hiring her to do a job? Why should he pussyfoot around her sensibilities?
Rampant disbelief gripped Emmie as she focused on his devastating face, struggling to block out the hard male beauty of his bronzed features, refusing to acknowledge it when he was being so objectionable. ‘How dare you?’ she snapped furiously.
‘It’s the truth even if you don’t like it,’ Bastian countered drily, watching her dark pupils dilate in a betraying sign of sexual awareness, emphasising the incredible blue of her eyes all the more. Even up close, she was dazzling, skin luminous, eyes bright, mouth sugar-pink and luscious. Raw hunger pulsed at his groin, the kick of instant and intense arousal taking him by surprise. Yes, she was very beautiful but he was accustomed to beautiful women and repulsed by those who sought payment for their attention. Unfortunately the natural repugnance he had expected to feel around her wasn’t working as the barrier he had hoped it would.
‘You haven’t bought me…you can’t buy what isn’t for sale!’ Emmie flung back at him in fierce rejection, reacting to the maddening buzz in the atmosphere that was firing a sensation of uneasy warmth between her thighs and unnerving her.
‘Yet I’ve still managed to buy your time for the whole of one weekend.’ Bastian savoured the fact, dark eyes glittering golden as hot sunlight below level black brows.
‘No…no way!’
‘Then return the fee and we’ll forget about the arrangement,’ Bastian responded lazily again. ‘I’m not in the market for an unwilling escort. In the wrong frame of mind you would be useless to me.’
Emmie backed away from him, pausing to scoop up the clip and the spectacles he had carelessly abandoned on his desk. He was forcing her to accept unwelcome facts. Of course he wanted the money back if she wasn’t prepared to deliver the service he had booked and she wasn’t able to return his wretched money to him! It put her between a rock and a hard place and frustration roared through her. Had Odette won their battle so easily? She could deny all connection to her mother’s escort agency and leave Bastian Christou to pursue the return of the money he had paid, but that would undoubtedly plunge Odette into serious legal and financial trouble. And the woman who had financed the surgery that had given Emmie the opportunity to live a normal able-bodied life again deserved better than that from her, Emmie conceded reluctantly. the gift of that life-enhancing surgery truly was a debt that could never be repaid.
‘Why the disguise?’ Bastian enquired indolently. ‘Are you afraid of being recognised in the day job?’
Emmie went pink again. ‘Something like that.’
She couldn’t tell him the truth, had never told anyone the truth. When Saffy’s face had gone global and her twin was constantly pictured in the media, Emmie had no longer felt that her face was her own. Even more awkwardly, people had started mistaking her for Saffy in the street and it had got embarrassing: strangers approaching her asking for autographs and photos, men coming on to her, people getting angry and abusive when she insisted that she wasn’t the famous Sapphire because they didn’t believe her. The attention had mortified and intimidated her, making her feel like a fake copy of her famous sister, incapable of satisfying people’s expectations. She had always been a very private person and could never have put herself on show as her sibling had done to make a living in front of the cameras. She had never had that kind of confidence in her face and body.
Bastian relaxed back against the side of his desk. ‘If you make a good job of the role I have for you I’ll pay you a bonus,’ he told her smoothly. ‘This is very much a business arrangement, not a pleasure trip.’
Emmie wondered if this was what he always did when a woman became difficult: offer her more money, clothes, jewellery, whatever? Did he often use his wealth as a bribe?
‘Are you in the habit of using an escort service?’ Emmie enquired flatly.
‘You will be the first…and the last,’ he informed her grimly.
‘And why didn’t you tell me what you’d done when you spoke to me yesterday about the photo on the website? Wasn’t that complete hypocrisy?’ she asked him drily again.
‘Common sense. If I take you to my sister’s wedding, I naturally don’t want your escort identity to still be visible online,’ he pointed out coolly. ‘And I’m not a hypocrite. What You see is what you get. I’m a very forthright guy.’
‘Your sister’s wedding? You want me to accompany you to a family occasion?’ Emmie prompted in surprise.
‘I don’t want anything to take the gloss off my sister, Nessa’s big day,’ Bastian admitted. ‘Seeing me with you will persuade her that I have moved on from my broken engagement and that will make Nessa happy. She’s a very soft-hearted soul. And as my ex is one of her bridesmaids, it will be more comfortable for everyone present if I have a partner of my own.’
‘One of her bridesmaids?’ Emmie grimaced at the concept. ‘Sticky—’
‘But less so with you on my arm,’ he confirmed. ‘May I assume that you will be accompanying me to my home in Greece?’
Emmie gulped at the prospect, thinking frantically about how she could possibly repay the fee he had paid, knowing that, short of a lottery win, she could not. There was no way out, no convenient escape route. What was one weekend to be spent in the company of family and wedding guests? It sounded innocent, safe. She swallowed hard and then nodded in surrender, curling lashes lowering over her angry gaze.
‘All that remains is the provision of suitable clothing for you to wear over the weekend,’ Bastian remarked.
‘That won’t be necessary—’
‘It will be,’ Bastian contradicted, derisive eyes dropping to scan her loose shirt and ill-fitting skirt. ‘I’ll organise a stylist and personal shopper to furnish you with what you will require. Naturally I’ll cover the bills. I have your phone number. I’ll text you with the details.’
Emmie swallowed hard, dislike and resentment combining in a tangled knot of defiance inside her. He was treating her like an inanimate object to be correctly packaged for public show. He saw her as an escort, a woman for hire and, even though she told herself that she was doing this for her mother’s benefit and to repay a debt, it was an utterly humiliating process and not an experience that she would forget in a hurry.
CHAPTER THREE
OUT OF THE corner of her eye, Emmie saw heads turning as she walked through the airport. She was mentally offering up a prayer that that would be all the attention she attracted when a man with a camera stepped right into her path. ‘Stop right there, Sapphire!’
Head high, face expressionless, Emmie sidestepped him, not even bothering to pause and contradict his assumption that she was her sister because she had learned that people and the paparazzi in particular refused to credit that she was not who they thought she was. After all, a photo of Sapphire was worth a lot of money and no pap ever wanted to admit that he had made a mistake. Dressed as she was in designer gear, Emmie knew there was even less chance than usual of anyone believing that she was not her twin. The mini wardrobe of new garments packed into the sleek case she was wheeling was not bargain-basement fare by anyone’s standards. Indeed Emmie had never in her life worn such expensive clothing and, ironically, knowing that she looked her best had lifted her confidence. That acknowledged, however, the prospect of a weekend at the Christou family home still had her nerves leaping about like jumping beans. There was a tight hard knot of anxiety in her abdomen as well, for nothing she had since learned about the Greek billionaire had eased her misgivings in the slightest.
Before his engagement Bastian had been a notorious womaniser and her Internet searches had offered her fertile information on his likes and dislikes for, in common with many rich, high-profile men, he had occasionally fallen victim to the kind of lover who sold her story of their intimate dealings to a newspaper for cash. There had been a sordid little tale of a chaotic affair with two sisters, more than one cringe-worthy reference to his penchant for early-morning sex and all the usual fillers about the extravagant gifts he bought, how easily he got bored, how quickly and coldly he severed ties when he lost interest. At the office he was a neat freak with everything in its place and no clutter and definitely on the emotionally detached side of sociable. Emmie had learned nothing else worthy of note and very little about his true nature. He was extremely intelligent but, having studied his career, she had already known that for a fact. He had built his business from the ground up and it had soared to meteoric heights.
Bastian saw Emmie walking towards him and experienced a rare instant of shock. She was a vision of golden loveliness and sophisticated elegance in tailored cropped trousers, sky-high heels and a soft clingy top. He tensed. Perfect for the role, he told himself sharply; nobody would doubt the veracity of his relationship with a woman who resembled a screen goddess with her simply amazing face, long lazy walk and incredibly shapely legs. OK, shorn of disguise and in the right clothing, Emmie Marshall was absolutely gorgeous, but he was not personally affected, he assured himself on the back of the reminder that he had always preferred small, curvy brunettes. But the cut of his trousers still felt too neat and his strong jawline clenched hard. A little reaction was normal, he conceded grudgingly. He would be dead from the neck down if he didn’t react to Emmie at all and didn’t wonder if that luscious pink-tinted mouth would taste as good as it looked. Only at the last possible moment did he finally appreciate that she was being pursued by a couple of men waving cameras and he could not work out why he had not noticed them first. He signalled his bodyguards to protect her from the intrusion.
‘Emmie…’ he breathed.
‘Mr Christou,’ Emmie replied glacially, resisting with all her might the sheer raw charisma of Sebastiano Christou, sheathed in a dark designer suit perfectly tailored to his lean powerful frame, his jawline darkened by faint stubble, heavily lidded dark golden eyes fringed by amazing black lashes resting on her like a gun to a target. Bull’s eye, she thought maniacally, a burst of heat warming her pelvis, breasts high and taut, her entire body positively leaping into a terrifying state of electrically charged sexual awareness.
‘Bastian…’ he traded drily a split second before he reached for her.
Emmie was so startled by the manoeuvre that she froze like a rabbit in headlights. She had convinced herself that she had nothing to worry about with Bastian Christou. After all, he wasn’t going to be getting much time alone with her at a big family wedding. Not only was she not his type, being blonde and about a foot too tall, but he also only wanted her on his arm for show. And then he kissed her and her every conviction that she was safe fell at the first hurdle.
He caressed the corner of her mouth with his firm male lips and she tingled all over, every sense awakening. Her lips parted and then he surged in like an invasion force and took shameless advantage. It was an explosive kiss and she was lost in it as unfamiliar excitement blasted through her slender body with every delving dart of his skilful tongue. It was agonisingly intimate, much more so than any kiss had ever been for her. Little tremors of shocked reaction quivered through her, the inner burn at her core exercising an almost unbearable ache as he set her back from him with strong hands, eyes so dark they glittered like polished jet in his hard face. Her legs felt dislocated from the rest of her body and that ache, that ache she dimly recognised as unfulfilled desire, clawed cruelly at her. For a split second she wanted to snatch him back into her arms and conduct a wild experiment on him. It didn’t matter that he was her boss or that they were in a public place. All that was driving her in that moment was a fierce need to feel that same wild conscience-free excitement again and see where it would take her.
‘I wasn’t expecting actual ph-physical contact,’ Emmie told him shakily while in the background a man with a camera argued volubly with one of Bastian’s security men.
‘You can’t be that naïve. We’re supposed to be lovers. Anyway, what’s a kiss worth?’ Bastian derided with an elegant shrug of dismissal.
On her terms it had been more than a kiss; it had been the kind of intoxication she felt as if she had been waiting for all her life. But that was a silly immature thought more worthy of a teenage fantasist than a grown-up, she scolded herself, fighting to stay cool and in control. A kiss was just a kiss: he was right. And that he should know how to do it so well was hardly surprising with his reputation. Even less surprising was that she should finally lust after a man in earnest. It was only proof that she was a normal breathing woman, nothing she needed to agonise about…at least as long as she didn’t surrender to the temptation.
Bastian was still seething with himself as they boarded his private jet, hostile eyes veiled, jawline clenched, handsome mouth compressed. Diavelos, she was a freaking escort, admittedly not a hooker, but he remained deeply suspicious as to exactly what following such a profession entailed. Obviously pleasing men went hand in hand with the role, so was it really a revelation that she turned him on hard and fast? No, to cope with such a job she had to be a practised flirt and seductress and confident she could handle a man. Well, there was no way that she was going to get the chance to handle him! He had principles, standards and hell would freeze over before he went to bed with a hired escort!
Listening to Bastian growl at the steward’s efforts to ensure his comfort, Emmie rolled her eyes and picked up a magazine. He was in a bad mood and he wasn’t polite enough to keep it to himself. Those lustrous eyes below those thick sooty lashes were positively smouldering, his spectacular bone structure set like granite below his bronzed skin. Why? He was the one who had launched the kissing thing. Men! Who needed them? Odette always had, she reflected unhappily.
Emmie had few happy memories of her childhood years with her mother. Odette had divorced her father when he went bankrupt. It had been a very bitter divorce and when the twins’ father had remarried and begun a second family, he had immediately decided to forget that he already had two children. Emmie had last seen her father when she was twelve years old. She knew where he lived, knew what his wife looked like and the names of her half siblings: that was the joy of the Internet, which enabled spying from afar and which had satisfied her curiosity. With her sister, Kat’s encouragement she had written to her father when she was a teenager requesting contact but he had never bothered to respond, his silence making his lack of interest clear. His detachment teamed with her mother’s lack of affection had hurt deeply.
While she was still getting work as a model, Odette had enjoyed a never-ending stream of men in her life and she had brought every one of those men home. The only one who had even been passably nice and semi-interested in Odette’s daughters had been the father of Emmie’s youngest sister, Topsy, a South American polo player, whose affair with her mother had died a natural death when he went home again.
Emmie had sworn that she would never need a man in her life. Men were demanding and difficult; men took over; men were selfish. She watched Bastian help himself to a drink from the built-in bar without offering her anything and suppressed a sigh: he was putting out enough moody bad-tempered vibes to cast a claustrophobic storm cloud inside the spacious cabin.
‘You sulk like a girl…Do you throw a tantrum afterwards as well?’ Emmie heard herself say without even thinking about what she was saying. But she was fed up, really fed up. Here she was dressed up exactly as he had requested, punctual, smiling…well, not perhaps smiling, she conceded reluctantly, but at least she was willing to try, which was more than he was.
In astonishment, Bastian swung round and settled outraged golden eyes on her in disbelief. ‘What did you say?’
‘You’re very temperamental and I’m doing the best I can but I suppose I shouldn’t have used those particular words,’ Emmie responded ruefully. ‘If it wouldn’t be too much trouble, I’d like a drink as well. A pure orange if you have it…’
The slightest tinge of colour accentuated his carved cheekbones at the unspoken reminder that he had not offered her a drink. He lifted a bottle and uncapped it.
‘It’s all right, you can relax,’ Emmie told him with helpless amusement as he extended the glass to her. ‘I already know you don’t have any manners.’
‘What the hell gives you the idea that you have the right to insult me?’ Bastian thundered down at her.
Emmie was not intimidated. ‘I didn’t think it was an insult to tell you the truth. You never say please or thank you and you walk through every door first. You’re a very rich and powerful man, most people you meet are subordinate to you and naturally you have learned to take advantage of that. Might is right. Money talks. That’s how the world works, so I can’t even blame you for it.’
Bastian was stunned by the level of sheer indignation rising inside him, but then he could not remember ever having been attacked in such a way by a woman before. Generally women bored him stiff with their fawning flattery. Who did she, a little office worker going nowhere, think she was to criticise him? And if this was ‘trying to please’, what did she do for an encore? Pull a gun on him?
‘I do not take advantage of my employees!’ Bastian shot back at her, because although he would very much have liked to say otherwise he could not recall the words ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ ever figuring much in his vocabulary. But then he was a man of few words, he reminded himself furiously, but he made those few words count and issued clear concise instructions that were rarely misunderstood. In addition, for the past two years running his company had won an award for being one of the best to work for, offering as it did unrivalled working conditions to its employees.
‘Well, you certainly take advantage of Marie,’ Emmie fielded without hesitation. ‘I did her time sheets and I know that for a fact. I’m sure you pay her an excellent salary—’
‘I do,’ Bastian sliced in grittily on the score of his trusted PA, while wondering how on earth he would tolerate Emmie for an entire weekend without killing her.
‘But I doubt if it’s enough to warrant keeping a married mother of three working until eight at night on Christmas Eve,’ Emmie tossed back. ‘Or for taking her abroad to work on her fortieth birthday, so that she had to reschedule her party.’
‘I didn’t ask Marie to work late on Christmas Eve. As for her birthday, as I have no idea when her birthday is I can’t comment. But I will point out that if she didn’t choose to mention a prior arrangement to me, you can’t blame me for it!’
‘It was Christmas Eve. You told her the work was urgent and she did it,’ Emmie expanded gently. ‘Of course she did. She’s very diligent. A considerate employer would have appreciated her position on that particular day of the year.’
Bastian ground his even white teeth together. ‘Keep quiet,’ he told her harshly. ‘I don’t want to hear another word out of you for the remainder of the flight!’
Emmie made a teasing zip-up gesture across her lips, which went down like a lead balloon. She veiled her eyes, cloaking the amusement there and then glanced at him again. She knew she was annoying him and she didn’t feel the slightest bit guilty. Well, he shouldn’t have kissed her, she reasoned, still resenting that breaking down of boundaries. That had been a step too far in their pretence. She glanced up again, collided unwarily with burning golden eyes and felt heat surge as if he had lit a torch inside her. Her cheeks burned. Standing there, tall, lean and dark as sin, even with that brooding sardonic slant to his hard chiselled features, he was too gorgeous for words.
‘You shouldn’t have kissed me,’ Emmie said abruptly into the heavy silence.
‘And how do you expect to put on a convincing act of being my girlfriend in my home if you can’t cope with one little kiss?’ Bastian derided.
‘There was no need for you to touch me. There were no witnesses at the airport who needed to be convinced of anything,’ Emmie pointed out. ‘We’ll get along better if you respect the ground rules—’
‘What ground rules?’ Bastian demanded grimly.
‘Please don’t touch me unless you absolutely have to.’ Emmie studied him with clear blue eyes and lifted her chin. ‘You may have bought my time but don’t make the mistake of believing you’ve bought anything else.’
‘Are you saying that you have never slept with a client?’ Bastian pressed with so much incredulity in his voice that she wanted to slap him hard.
‘Never,’ Emmie told him vehemently.
‘Next you’ll be telling me you’re a virgin and pure as driven snow!’ Bastian exclaimed, throwing his long powerful body down into a seat and flipping open his laptop with an air of purpose.
As that was exactly what she was and little opportunity had recently arisen for her to redress the condition, Emmie compressed her lips and returned her attention to the magazine she had abandoned. she had said what she had to say because she needed him to know upfront that sex was not an option. For an instant, she wished she could simply tell Bastian Christou the truth, but the prospect of explaining that her mother ran an escort agency and had virtually blackmailed her into accepting his booking stuck in her throat. It would be too degrading to admit that her mother would do virtually anything for money. After all, mud always stuck. He wouldn’t believe that she had never worked as an escort before either, and that he was, in fact, her first and last client. Anyway, why was she worrying about what he thought of her? Why should that matter to her? Bastian Christou was simply a filthy-rich, domineering and very spoilt male and she wasn’t one bit surprised that he had had to hire an escort rather than approach an obliging female friend for assistance. She wouldn’t be a bit surprised to discover that he didn’t have any female friends.
In a state of festering irritation, Bastian watched Emmie sleep, a long slender hand topped with delicate pale pink nails tucked below her cheek, luscious lips parting infinitesimally on every breath, superbly long elegant legs stretched out and crossed at the ankle—very dainty ankles too—golden hair tumbling like a waterfall of glorious silk across her sweater. For an escort, she wasn’t very good on the entertainment front, he mused, his full sensual mouth compressing. Of course to be fair if she had chitter-chattered all the way from London, he would have been ready to strangle her by now, but the complete unconcern and indifference to his opinion that had allowed her to fall asleep in his company was almost an insult. If he was honest, he had expected her to flirt like mad and make a move on him, using the opportunity he had given her to get close to him. As a young, extremely rich and presentable man he was accustomed to receiving that attitude from her sex. Women tried to impress him, charm him, seduce him…They didn’t just fall asleep as if he were a piece of furniture! Bastian ground his perfect teeth together again, struggling to suppress the suspicion that he was disappointed that she wasn’t all over him like a rash.
Emmie slept right up until the jet landed in Athens and stumbled drowsily onto the helicopter that was to convey them the final leg of their journey to the island of Treikos. ‘Your own island…I should’ve expected that, shouldn’t I?’ she mumbled abstractedly, speaking her thoughts out loud. ‘Owning your own island is almost textbook Greek billionaire.’
‘Treikos belongs to my grandfather, Theron,’ Bastian said flatly.
‘I take it…your mood hasn’t improved?’ Emmie remarked gingerly.
‘There is nothing wrong with my mood!’ Bastian ground out, what little patience he possessed challenged beyond tolerance level.
Eyes flaming gold below sinfully long black lashes, he was moving his hands in a violent arc, suddenly for the first time striking Emmie as thoroughly foreign and exotic. He said more as well but she couldn’t hear him because of the noisy ignition of the helicopter. Getting airborne again was a relief while she deliberated on the way she had been reacting to him. Her cheeks reddened on the awareness that she had taken her resentment of her position out on him when it would have been more just to take it out on her mother. She had needled Bastian, criticised him, even scorned him. Right there and then, she was shaken to have to accept that she could behave like that. She swallowed hard. He had paid a small fortune for a pleasant companion and had instead received a venomous and truculent one.
As it would have been quite impossible to communicate with him while they were airborne due to the noise level inside the helicopter, Emmie dug a pen out of her bag and wrote on the back of her hand and then extended it to him so that he could see what she had written.
When it came to women, Bastian considered himself to be incapable of surprise at anything a woman did, but when Emmie printed ‘I’m sorry’ on the back of her hand and thrust her apology at him, he was strongly disconcerted by her approach. He blinked, looked again and then suddenly he wanted to laugh, but he didn’t want to hurt her feelings when he genuinely admired the wholehearted honesty of her admission that she had been challenging company. In answer he caught her hand in his and kissed her fingertips in forgiveness.
Equally startled, Emmie tugged her hand back, fingers tingling from that brief salutation. He had style and he really didn’t sulk, she conceded guiltily. But it was partly his fault that she had been behaving badly. Good grief, that kiss had knocked her sideways and she hadn’t been able to cope with that! She had believed that she had made a total fool of herself when she responded to him. She stole a sidewise glance at his bold bronzed profile. But she was undoubtedly dealing with a guy who always got a response out of a woman. He was downright beautiful and she could have kissed him for an hour without getting bored, stunned by the bonfire of reaction one kiss could light in her body. Even so, what she was experiencing was only sexual attraction and perhaps she had never felt it so strongly before, she reasoned, wishing she didn’t want him to do it again, wishing she were back safe in his office where such temptation had been unknown and he had been a distant figure whom someone as insignificant as her rarely saw, never mind got close to.
‘You were right about the manners,’ Bastian admitted wryly as he helped her out of the helicopter again, his bodyguard bringing up the rear. ‘I have no excuse. I spent years at an exclusive English public school where I learned every courtesy. Then I went to visit my mother in Italy one summer when I was fourteen and…er, lost the habit—’
Surprised by that far from arrogant and generous concession, Emmie turned to look at him. ‘Why? What happened?’
‘My mother said that every time I opened a door for her it made her feel like an old lady and that all the thank-yous I used made me sound like a waiter.’
‘I know some women do believe that a man being courteous to a woman these days is sexist,’ Emmie allowed, resisting a strong urge to criticise his parent. ‘But I don’t think that way.’
‘Obviously not.’ Dark eyes dancing with raw amusement, Bastian shot her a glance, making her maddeningly conscious of his thick dark eyelashes. ‘I was trying so hard to impress my mother, and make her proud of me because I didn’t see her very often, but evidently I overdid it.’
Or his mother was an unfeeling shrew, Emmie reflected in pained silence, in much the same way as Emmie had been to judge Bastian on appearances and assume that his wealth and status explained his seeming lack of manners.
‘I suppose I was sort of prejudiced about you,’ Emmie admitted ruefully.
‘Ditto,’ Bastian added.
‘I’ll try very hard not to hold your money against you,’ Emmie muttered.
Bastian almost laughed out loud, for it was the very first time it had been suggested to him that his fortune could act as a source of prejudice. ‘And I will try equally hard not to cherish misconceptions about your…er, profession outside the office.’
Emmie winced. ‘Don’t use that word, “profession”,’ she advised. ‘It’s misleading when you think of that reference to “the oldest profession of all”.’
‘You’re right. That wasn’t tactful.’
Feeling almost in charity with him, Emmie was taken aback when he reached down and closed his hand round hers and her bright blue eyes dropped to their linked fingers in silent question.
‘We’re in view of the house. We now have those witnesses you said we needed before I could touch you,’ he extended in calm justification.
Emmie was tense, intent on the sheer novelty value of Bastian smiling at her, even if it was fake and for public show. Good grief, it was an incredible smile that utterly transformed his face, chasing the detachment she had so often glimpsed there. Reddening, she looked ahead of her and only just managed not to gasp like an overexcited child at the sight of the huge white rambling modern house sprawling along the edge of the beach. ‘That’s your home?’
‘I demolished my father’s old house and had this one built about six years back. Before that I stayed with my grandfather, who lives on the other side of the island…’
It was a massive house. Nervous butterflies leapt in her tummy at the thought of the family occasion she was about to crash in her false identity of girlfriend, not to mention the ex-fiancée, who she assumed would be present the night before the wedding in her role as bridesmaid.
‘You know we haven’t discussed any sort of cover story,’ she pointed out belatedly. ‘Where will I say we met?’
‘The office. Keep it simple but I doubt if you’ll be asked nosy questions. As a rule my relations are afraid of offending me and should be civil and reserved,’ Bastian reassured her.
That didn’t exactly suggest a warm and friendly welcome to Emmie and she felt more than ever like an intruder on private territory. It wasn’t possible to get more personal than seeing someone’s home and family. The warmth of his hand on hers was strangely comforting in spite of the fact that it was only part of the masquerade. He had such big hands that her hand felt lost in his. She sucked in a sustaining breath.
‘Stop stressing,’ Bastian urged. ‘You’re only here to smooth over any potential unpleasantness on my sister’s big day.’
That was not a comment designed to give Emmie a swollen head, she conceded with reluctant amusement. ‘Won’t your ex resent me being there?’ she asked abruptly.
‘She doesn’t care enough to resent you,’ Bastian drawled without expression.
‘And this is the woman you were planning to marry?’ Emmie prompted in a voice of disbelief.
‘Some of us don’t pin much faith on hearts and flowers.’
And then a private conversation became impossible as they climbed the steps to the front door where the housekeeper, a widely smiling older woman, was already shooting a flood of welcoming Greek to Bastian and he was replying in kind.
‘They’re all out by the pool,’ he explained, releasing her hand to lead the way through a vast echoing hall ornamented with a sweeping staircase.
Emmie breathed in deeply, smoothing damp palms down over her trousered legs and straightening her slender back when she heard the noise of voices, splashing and the shouts of excited children. Bastian strode ahead of her out into the sunshine again and a young blonde woman leapt up with a delighted grin to call, ‘Bastian! I thought you were never going to get here!’
As Bastian had momentarily forgotten her presence, Emmie hovered uncertainly by the poolside, infuriatingly conscious that she was the focus of all eyes but his. And then someone cannoned into her, knocking her off balance in her high heels and she went flying with a cry of fright into the pool. It happened so fast that she had no way of trying to stabilise herself and her head struck the edge of something hard and blackness claimed her.
Emmie recovered consciousness to find herself lying flat on a gigantic bed in soaking wet clothes. Pain was pulsing at the back of her head and she moaned, lifting her hand to gently trace the source of the sizeable bump beneath her hair.
‘Do you feel sick?’ a familiar voice asked and she lifted her swimming head and began to sit up only to find a large hand planted to her midriff to press her down flat again. ‘Lie still. You gave your head a hell of a thump,’ Bastian told her harshly.
‘Yes…’ Eyes opening, she focused dizzily on Bastian standing over her, clad only in a towel, a startling enough vision to make her stiffen. ‘You’re not dressed—’
‘Yes, and you’re dripping all over my bed,’ Bastian informed her.
A sudden shiver took hold of Emmie and she registered the wet cling of her sodden garments and groaned out loud. She was still staring at the most perfect set of masculine abs she had ever seen outside a movie screen. Stripped, Bastian had the musculature of a Greek god—not a very original thought, she conceded abstractedly, considering who and what he was.
‘Emmie…the doctor’s coming.’ Bastian bent down and scooped her up into his arms without warning. A muffled squeak of surprise escaped her. ‘What are you doing?’
‘I’m putting you in the bathroom so that you can get out of your wet clothes,’ Bastian told her with immense practicality. ‘Do you think you can stand up?’
‘I’ll have to,’ she muttered as he very carefully settled her down on her bare feet. ‘What happened?’
‘One of the teenagers rammed you and you fell in the pool. You were knocked out—’
‘My word, I might have drowned,’ Emmie framed shakily, her knees buckling under her. ‘I’m sorry, I’m feeling dizzy—’
Bastian hauled her up against him and sat down on the side of a raised bath.
‘Don’t you dare try to help me take my clothes off!’ Emmie warned him.
Face taut with frustration, Bastian lowered her limp body down onto the tiled floor. ‘Do you really think I’m likely to touch you inappropriately in the condition you’re in?’ he enquired angrily.
Shivering violently with the chill of her damp clothing, Emmie rested her brow down on her raised knees. ‘Just leave me…I’ll be OK—’
‘You really do have a very low opinion of me, don’t you?’ Bastian growled like an angry bear.
‘Sorry,’ Emmie whispered, on the edge of tears because she felt so weak while she was now also being tormented by the disastrous start she had made to her weekend with Bastian. So much for the girlfriend he wanted to use as cover! One minute inside the door she had taken a header into the pool and rendered herself unconscious and a liability.
In answer, Bastian trailed her sweater off over her head and tossed it aside. He draped a towelling robe round her pale slight shoulders, gazing down at her while wondering why she looked so absurdly vulnerable, fluffy lashes drooping, full lower lip trembling. He didn’t get involved with women who looked that breakable and had no idea what to do with her.
Emmie managed to dig her arms into the sleeves of the robe to at least cover her bra. She felt absolutely humiliated as Bastian lifted her upright again, urging her to hang onto the edge of the vanity while he freed her from her trousers with as much seductive intent as he might have used towards a cardboard cut-out. She thought of the surgical scars marring her leg and hoped he wouldn’t notice them. Tears stung her eyes. ‘I’m sorry about this!’
‘Why are you apologising?’ Bastian demanded impatiently while he struggled to behave like a man of honour and not sneak a glance at the truly spectacular female figure he had briefly unveiled. Unfortunately his own body was rather less disciplined and was already betraying him with very masculine efficiency. He cursed under his breath, wondering what it was about her that made his hormones react as if she were a rocket attack. She was destroying his self-discipline and he was well aware that experiencing desire while she was feeling wretched was the act of a selfish, unfeeling bastard. Which he was, Bastian fully accepted that, knew he was no candidate for sainthood. Of course, he wasn’t going to do anything about the inconvenient way she made him respond with every flash of those stunning blue eyes, he reminded himself grimly. But with bleak humour he recalled how he had suspected that she might go out of her way to lure him into having sex with her. It was a suspicion that now struck him as insane. There she was hunched in the robe as though she were in the presence of a ravening beast of masculinity likely to rip it off her; no, there was nothing flirtatious or seductive about her behaviour. When had he got so big-headed that he assumed that every woman wanted him? And why was he even thinking such peculiar things?
‘I gather you got me out of the pool.’ Emmie guessed the reason for his lack of clothing.
‘Ne…yes,’ he confirmed in English.
Emmie walked back into the bedroom slowly and made for the bed. ‘I just want to lie down for a while and then I’ll get dressed and come downstairs to join you,’ she promised.
‘I don’t think so. We’ll abide by what the doctor advises when he arrives.’
Having settled back against the pillows, Emmie looked at him and turned bright red. He wasn’t shy anyway. Poised in what appeared to be the doorway of another room, he had cast off the towel and was pulling on a pair of black boxers. Perhaps he didn’t realise that she could see his astonishingly beautiful tawny body rippling with well-honed muscle with every fluid movement. She closed her eyes tight shut. She wanted to apologise again but knew that irritated him and sealed her lips, watching him leave, shockingly elegant again in a dark grey suit. Two less suited personalities than she and Bastian had never been born.
A knock sounded on the door and Emmie sat up to see a young blonde woman looking in at her. ‘Do you feel well enough for a visitor?’ she asked with a smile. ‘I’m Bastian’s sister, Nessa.’
‘Of course, come in,’ Emmie encouraged awkwardly, thinking that she would never have known to look at brother and sister that they were even distantly related, for Nessa was small, curvy and blonde.
‘I’ve never seen my brother move so fast in his life as when he dived into the pool.’
‘Sorry for all the fuss.’ Emmie sighed ruefully. ‘Who knocked into me?’
‘One of my teenaged cousins. His parents are really embarrassed and they wanted to come up and apologise because it could have been a serious accident,’ Nessa pointed out. ‘We’re very lucky that Bastian realised you’d hit your head going into the water.’
‘I’m all right though. Accidents happen,’ Emmie responded lightly.
‘How’s your head?’ Nessa asked ‘Do you mind if I stay a while?’
‘I have a bump, that’s all. Of course you can stay,’ Emmie answered, charmed by Nessa’s smiling friendliness.
‘Are you sure you’re OK?’ Bastian’s sister prompted worriedly, touching Emmie’s hand. ‘My goodness, your skin is icy cold! Get into bed and warm up. I’ll get you a drink!’
Emmie scrambled below the duvet and rested her head back on the piled up pillows, very much appreciating Nessa’s kind-heartedness because it made her feel less of a nuisance. ‘You should be with your guests,’ she said guiltily.
‘Technically they’re Bastian’s guests because this is his house but they’re all family,’ Nessa told her, disappearing through one of the doors and reappearing with a glass, which she thrust into Emmie’s hand. ‘Drink it. I’m sure I read some place that it’s good for someone in shock.’
Emmie drank and then began to cough as brandy burned the back of her throat, for she really hadn’t expected to be given an alcoholic drink. The rich liquid raced like a flame though down into her chilled tummy.
‘So, tell me about you and Bastian…’ Nessa perched on the bed beside Emmie, bright brown eyes leaping with warmth and curiosity. ‘I was over the moon when I realised he’d met someone else, and so quickly too…like magic—’
‘Oh, yes, pure magic,’ Emmie agreed uneasily, thinking how very young and refreshingly unspoilt Nessa seemed.
‘You are so beautiful!’ Nessa commented with satisfaction. ‘Lilah will tear her hair out when she sees you—’
‘As long as it’s not mine. I don’t want to upset anyone—’
‘I know she’s one of my bridesmaids but she’s treated my brother very badly,’ Nessa proclaimed, condemnation tightening her pretty face. ‘He deserved better and she should have dropped out of my wedding, not insisted on carrying out her role when it’s no longer appropriate.’
‘Perhaps Lilah didn’t want to let you down,’ Emmie suggested, sipping at the brandy while appreciating that Bastian’s sister was not at all attached to her brother’s former fiancée.
‘No, she wants Bastian back,’ Nessa contradicted, her conviction sending a current of alarm through Emmie. ‘She doesn’t know my brother as well as she thinks she does though. He’s tough—’
‘I know.’
‘He had to be tough. By the time he was eighteen years old he had lived through four divorces and three stepmothers. People don’t understand what he went through and what all that did to him,’ Nessa declared, fiercely defensive of her half sibling. ‘My mother was the only one who didn’t treat him badly.’
‘That’s something to be grateful for,’ Emmie soothed, curious but keen to stem the flood of information, which she did not feel entitled to receive because she knew Bastian wouldn’t appreciate her knowing such private stuff.
‘Bastian’s never had a family life. He doesn’t know what one is.’
‘Childhood can be challenging,’ Emmie commented vaguely, touched by Nessa’s innocence, comprehending why her brother was prepared to go to such lengths to ensure she wasn’t upset on her wedding day.
Nessa grimaced. ‘Well, I was lucky. I was spoilt rotten by my mum. But Bastian didn’t have an easy time.’
‘He’s a very confident, private man,’ Emmie remarked with gentle emphasis.
‘That’s why I’m telling you this—so that you understand him better. I mean, if you’re waiting for him to tell you anything, you’ll wait for ever.’ Nessa pulled a comic face on the score of her brother’s reticence. ‘The minute I heard you worked with him I knew you would be a normal woman and that’s exactly what I think he needs.’
The two women were interrupted by another knock on the door, telegraphing the arrival of the doctor with Bastian in tow.
‘You don’t need to stay,’ Emmie informed Bastian with a stiff smile.
‘I’m afraid I do. Dr Papadopoulos doesn’t speak any English.’
Suppressing the suspicion that she would never ever get the last word with Bastian, Emmie nodded agreement, poker-faced. Bastian translated the doctor’s questions and then Emmie’s head was examined. The older man finally said that he thought that there wasn’t much wrong with her that couldn’t be cured by a good night’s sleep. He then gave her painkillers for her headache and departed.
‘I’ll get up now,’ Emmie told Bastian before he could leave with the doctor.
‘You heard the doctor…rest,’ Bastian spelt out grittily, noting that the mascara streaks on her cheeks suggested that she had been crying and was probably not half as composed as she would like him to believe. ‘I would have been happier if he had agreed you needed to be checked out at the nearest hospital.’
‘I’m OK…and this household doesn’t need all that fuss the night before Nessa’s wedding,’ Emmie reasoned, knowing that that would carry more weight with him than any other argument.
‘You could go home and try to sue me,’ Bastian commented grimly.
Emmie groaned out loud. ‘I’m not going to sue anyone. I’m not like that.’
His face remained impassive.
Alone again and too warm now in the robe, Emmie took it off, stripped off her damp underwear and slid back naked into the comfortable bed. A little nap would brighten her up, she told herself, but Bastian’s remark, his concern that she might try to sue him for her accident, had troubled her. What sort of a life had he had and what sort of experiences that even a minor mishap taking place in his home could make him that cynical and distrustful? After all, she had suffered no lasting injury. Was he so used to being targeted by greedy people? That accustomed to those who tried to take advantage of his wealth?
CHAPTER FOUR
TWO HOURS LATER, Emmie wakened from a restful doze. Her head no longer throbbed and she felt a good deal stronger and calmer. While she slept her suitcase had arrived and she opened it up and pulled out clothes for the evening ahead. Apparently there was to be some sort of a party to which The locals were invited. She showered and washed her tangled hair, drying it carefully and renewing her make-up. The party dress was fuchsia pink with a jewelled neckline and short full skirt that swirled with every step she took in the toning shoes. She was ready for anything and prepared to be a pleasant companion, she told herself staunchly while she walked down the magnificent staircase.
In the hall below, Bastian was engaged in greeting dinner guests with his grandfather, Nessa and her bridegroom, Leonides. He frowned in surprise when he saw Emmie actually up and out of bed. And then ten seconds later, overpowered by one of the curious contradictions that continually afflicted him in her radius, he wanted to sweep her straight back between the sheets with him for company. In all his many years of freedom he had never met a woman who could hold a candle to Emmie Marshall with her golden hair bouncing on her slim shoulders, her big blue eyes bright as stars while a natural smile flashed like sunshine across her succulent pink mouth when Nessa saw her and grinned. Well, his sister certainly liked her; in fact Nessa was behaving rather as though he had got engaged again. It would do no harm to depress his sister’s expectations a little after the honeymoon and mention with regret that he had moved on. As he would have to move on, he told himself impatiently, and stop fantasising about riding Emmie’s perfect body with her legs locked round his waist, her beautiful face aglow with desire. His tall, well-built body already tense, Bastian shifted restively at the charge of unholy lust firing his every hormone to a needy flame. He had never wanted any woman as badly as he wanted Emmie at that moment.
‘So, you’re Emmie…’ A tall white-haired elderly man greeted her with a pleasant smile and a handshake. ‘I’m relieved that Bastian didn’t succeed in drowning you in his pool on your first visit,’ he confided. ‘I’m his grandfather, Theron Christou.’
During the meal that followed, Emmie struggled to eat. Nessa had insisted that she sit beside her and Leonides while Bastian was at the head of the table next to his grandfather. Even though she was hungry she was hopelessly on edge, her fingers curving to her wine glass for something solid to hold onto because every time she glanced up she met black-fringed dark golden eyes that sent her thoughts and her speech into a complete loop even as her heart hammered and her mouth ran dry, leaving her thirsty, constantly sipping and yet still overheated. She could not control the slow burn that travelled to her feminine core every time she met Bastian’s stunning eyes and, even worse, she could not suppress the sense of intense longing that constantly gripped her. This wasn’t her, this was not the woman she was, she argued angrily with herself. She had never been the type to get over-excited by a man or whose body yearned for the touch of one. Indeed she had often thought such promptings belonged more to fantasy than reality and now all of a sudden she was finding out how naïve she had been.
After dinner, the guests moved to a large room, furnished with a buffet, a bar and a DJ where many of the islanders were already arriving with gifts and good wishes for the bridal couple. Bastian banded a guiding arm to her waist and introduced her to what seemed like dozens of people. Her head swam with names unattached to faces, and the lush scent of his cologne spiced with clean, warm male set up gooseflesh across her skin. She had never been so aware of a man, of every fluid movement of his lean, hot body, the rich timbre of his dark accented drawl above her head, the ridiculously arousing feel of the long fingers flexing against her hipbone. Her breasts were full and taut below her clothing, the tips swollen and tingling, and down below in a place she rarely thought about she was tender and embarrassingly damp. It was sheer insanity to react that way to Bastian Christou but every time she connected with his lustrous dark eyes, rational thought vanished.
Desire could make anyone stupid, she reasoned as the evening marched on with the bride and groom very much the centre of attention. Bastian was a gorgeous guy and inexperience made her vulnerable to his indescribably potent sexual charisma. Maybe she had set the bar too high before taking a lover because she had wanted to find trust, honesty and caring with one special man. Maybe if she had been a little more sophisticated she could have laughed and ignored Bastian. As it was, she was wickedly, weakly conscious of his every move, every word, every glance and it felt as if she had a bomb ticking down to detonation inside her.
‘Let’s dance,’ Bastian breathed above her head, guiding her onto the crowded floor, and she shivered, feet hesitant to follow because she didn’t want to slow dance with him, didn’t want to take that risk of getting physically closer. But it was getting late and soon she would be able to retire to bed, duty done, she reckoned, as bendy and inviting as a concrete post when he tilted her hips towards his and closed his strong arms around her.
Momentarily she shivered with reaction, blindsided by the hard muscular steel of him against her softer curves, helplessly intoxicated by that sheer masculinity laced with the intimacy of his evocative scent. He tipped up her head and kissed her before she knew what he was doing, and the kiss from those firm male lips cut through her like a knife blade slashing through butter, burning and arousing wherever it touched. As her nipples constricted into stiff, straining buds a sliding sensation curled low in her pelvis, leaving her knees trembling and an inarticulate sound breaking from her throat.
Bastian lifted his proud dark head. ‘I want you, moraki mou,’ he husked.
The compelling beauty of his face at that instant inflamed her. She didn’t feel like herself any more: she felt wild, hungry, out of control, all the things she never allowed herself to be. That thought kicked off alarm bells in the back of her head but her body and the unquenchable craving for him that she couldn’t fight held her fast, pinned as close to him as his own skin. He was as turned on as she was and that knowledge was strangely soothing. The brutally hard ridge of his erection against her stomach was inescapable and shamelessly thrilling on a level she refused to think about.
‘You set me on fire,’ he growled almost accusingly. ‘I don’t do one-night stands—’
‘Neither do I,’ she sliced in breathlessly.
Dark eyes smouldered brilliant gold over her flushed face. ‘Tonight we break the rules—’
‘No…’ she framed feverishly and then he kissed her again, his hard mouth stealing her protest with a passionate intensity she could not resist.
He guided her through the crush of party-goers with a word here, a wave there, smoothly ensuring that nobody intercepted them and slowed their progress. She mounted the stairs by his side, ever so slightly dizzy, lower limbs a little clumsy and, away from the music, the noise and the bright lights, suddenly conscious that she was not quite sober. How much wine had she drunk? And she had not eaten much at dinner, she recalled vaguely. Drinking on an empty tummy after that huge brandy Nessa had pressed on her—how foolish could a woman be? But the burn of that scorching kiss was still on her swollen mouth, firing an unbearable ache between her legs and destroying her self-discipline.
A lean brown hand closing round hers, he pulled her into the bedroom she had vacated earlier. His hands cradled her face, glittering dark eyes heavily lidded with desire. ‘Once we get back to London this didn’t happen. It will be our secret,’ he told her arrogantly.
‘It’s not going to happen,’ she faltered, taken aback by that ruthless assurance that warned her there would be no future beyond the next dawn. ‘I’m not cheap—’
His fingertips grazed her delicate jawbone. ‘You want me.’
Madly, insanely, crazily, she acknowledged, still fighting to think straight.
One night, Bastian was bargaining with himself, one rare night of self-indulgence that smashed his usual boundaries. She wasn’t cheap? He had got that unsavoury message, wished he hadn’t and wanted the strength of mind to evict her from his bedroom but he could no longer fight his devouring hunger for her. He pulled off his jacket with impatient hands and ripped loose his collar before he reached for her and crushed her succulent mouth below his again. Gathering her up to him, he brought her down on the bed, stretching down a hand to flip off her high heels.
His hard, demanding mouth and the plunging stab of his tongue were like a drug Emmie craved, a need as powerful and natural as taking a next breath. In a minute she promised herself that she would stop him, call a halt, assert logic, but with every demanding kiss he demolished her mental misgivings. She was flat on the bed, rejoicing in his weight, which seemed to answer some of the longing clawing at her, when he lifted her up and ran down the zip of her dress.
‘Bastian…we—’ mustn’t, she intended to say but he enveloped her in the folds of her dress as he trailed it off over her head.
‘We must,’ he contradicted, second-guessing her words while burying his carnal mouth against the pulse beating raggedly at her collarbone, licking the salt from her skin with a wicked tongue, tracing a trail down to the shallow valley between her small high breasts, fingers already dealing with her bra, everything moving so fast she couldn’t keep track of it or call a pause.
‘I want to be sensible,’ she argued frantically, spooked by the out-of-control feeling she was experiencing.
‘Sensible?’ he exclaimed with incredulity, straddling her prone length to rip off his shirt with positive violence, buttons flying in all directions. ‘There’s nothing sensible about feeling like this. Some actions are driven by instinct, koukla mou.’
Either instinct or appreciation kept her still, her dazed blue gaze welded to the smooth muscular planes of his magnificent brown torso. Heat hummed at the heart of her and the ache stirred again stronger than ever. her bra was gone and she hadn’t even noticed it going, was suddenly much more aware of the burn of his eyes over her bare breasts, the devastating touch of expert fingers rubbing against the unbearably swollen tips. Her spine bowed, her body reaching upward in a helpless arch as long fingers grazed down her leg and came to a sudden stop to retrace their path over the roughened stretch of skin he had detected.
‘What’s this?’ he breathed, glancing down.
Emmie froze, more naked and vulnerable in that moment than she would have been had she wakened to find herself walking nude down a street, and she turned paper pale. ‘I had surgery…years ago…there was something wrong with my leg,’ she explained jerkily. ‘You see, I’ve got some ugly scars. I’m not perfect—’
‘I don’t want or need perfect,’ Bastian declared hungrily, running a caressing but unconcerned hand over the marks he had discovered.
‘But I do want you,’ he breathed thickly, eyes hot gold below sooty lashes. ‘I’m as hard as a rock.’
Her pallor receded, her face burning with sudden colour as he sprang off the bed and shed his tailored trousers, the male bulge of arousal prominent in his fitted boxers. Shyness and uncertainty and apprehension engulfed her. She didn’t know what to do or how to behave and yet still he was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen and she couldn’t take her eyes off him. That lithe tawny body called to hers on a visceral level. Desire, she was discovering, incited much more overwhelming responses than she could ever have guessed. She had never dreamt she could want to touch a man so badly.
Bastian used his mouth to tease her rosy nipples, suckling and lingering to torment while he kneaded the full mounds of her breasts. Little involuntary sounds escaped her throat and when he ran a hand up her inner thigh she literally stopped breathing, the ache stirring again and overriding every other impulse. He raked a finger down over the tight, damp fabric of her knickers and she shuddered, intolerably conscious of the swollen damp flesh pulsing between her splayed thighs. Every reflex and hormonal reaction in her entire body seemed to be centred there.
‘A woman has never made me feel this desperate,’ Bastian growled in a tone of bemused disbelief as he tugged off the last barrier between them.
Emmie recognised that he was shaken up too and the fierce wanting that drove her no longer seemed quite so shameful. She stared up at him, loving the hard, angular bone structure that gave his features such charismatic strength, the smouldering eyes beneath the lush curling lashes, marvelling that mere days earlier he had still been a stranger. Nobody had ever made her feel the way he made her feel. He touched her where she frantically needed to be touched, a fingertip whispering over the bundle of nerve endings below her mound, and she jerked as if he had burned her, her entire body coming alive with electric reaction.
He snaked down her body with strong supple power and spread her thighs, and her fingers knotted into his luxuriant black hair to stop him before the first breathtaking sensation of his sensual assault engulfed her feverish body. her teeth chattered together, shock winging through her at the ferocious intensity of her own response. He explored her with his mouth and his fingers and she twisted and arched and gasped over and over again, lost to sensation, lost to the violent need he had incited. Hungry heat spiralled in her pelvis and rose to an excruciating height and she was quivering and moaning and rising closer to the climax she sensed when he rose over her and plunged deep into her.
Pain and pleasure combined with explosive effect. Even as the involuntary ripples of orgasm clenched round his hard shaft and pulsed wildly through her she cried out in pain and he fell still, frowning down with perplexed eyes at her dismayed face.
‘Don’t stop!’ she told him urgently, too mortified by her own cry to be willing to draw such stark attention to what she had just sacrificed. That was not something she was prepared to discuss and she dimly hoped that continuation and a more natural conclusion would stifle comment. She had not known that first time sex would hurt, suspected that she should have warned him in advance but could not imagine what words she might have employed with which to share her deepest secret.
For that reason, she squeezed her eyes tightly shut, her cheeks burning, and tried to concentrate on the extraordinary feel of him inside her as he shifted position.
‘Are you all right?’ Bastian asked tautly.
‘Of course, I am,’ she parried, for that fleeting pain had speedily receded, leaving her with only the erotic sense of his alien fullness stretching her and sinking deeper into her receptive body.
‘If I was too rough, I’m sorry…you feel amazing,’ Bastian confided with ragged emphasis, easing back with care before sinking into her again. His movement provoked a melting wave of honeyed heat in her lower body, making her heart thump fast and hard again. The excitement gathered like the eye of a storm inside her chest, every sensation intensified by his fluid rhythm.
Suddenly she was caught up in the same endeavour, fully a partner, no longer an uncertain onlooker. Her heart pounding like mad, she bucked and lifted her hips beneath him, meeting his thrusts, urging him on as the writhing electric excitement and the frenzy of need overwhelmed the last remnants of her control. She could feel herself reaching another height and she plunged over the edge with a startled cry of pleasure, quivering in the waves of ecstasy while he drove into her one last time. He vented a harsh groan of satisfaction and shuddered over her and she felt him spill inside her.
He shifted and pressed his mouth in a brief salutation to her damp brow. ‘That was an unforgettable experience, moraki mou…’
Unforgettable for her as well, Emmie acknowledged in a daze. Even though their intimacy had begun on a note of pain he had twice brought her to a climax and she was blissfully relaxed and adrift on a fluffy cloud of well-being. She squashed the misgivings already trying to infiltrate her. She wasn’t going to turn all girly and silly in the aftermath, she assured herself with determination. He had surpassed her expectations but all they had shared was their bodies, nothing more. Nobody fancied themselves in love, nobody needed to get hurt, least of all her. She was in full control of her emotions.
Bastian rolled back from her and studied her with frowning golden eyes the colour of burning amber. ‘So, what’s going on here?’ he queried, black brows pleating. ‘I don’t want to misjudge you and assume that this was some bizarre set-up.’
CHAPTER FIVE
TAKEN ABACK BY Bastian’s provocative statement, Emmie blinked away her drowsiness and lifted her head up off the pillow. ‘A…set-up? Bizarre?’ she repeated blankly in her confusion. ‘What on earth are you talking about?’
‘By all means, tell me if I’m wrong,’ Bastian urged, wide sensual mouth tense. ‘But I believe you were a virgin.’
Emmie sat up, hugging the sheet defensively to her breasts. Suddenly, her face was literally burning with mortification, for she had been hoping that he either hadn’t noticed or hadn’t guessed what had been amiss with her. ‘Yes?’ she gritted in a so-what tone of discouragement.
‘Then why throw yourself away on me?’ Bastian asked flatly. ‘I’m not proud that you succeeded in enticing me into bed but I wasn’t expecting anything more from you than a typical shag.’
Emmie tensed in sheer shock and anger at his accusation. ‘Look, I did not entice you!’ she snapped back.
‘You’re so beautiful that you’ve naturally been enticing me from the moment we met at the airport,’ Bastian extended grudgingly and, recognising his pronounced discomfiture in the aftermath of his sexual satisfaction, he labelled himself a total hypocrite and sprang out of bed to distance himself from her. But he had done what he should not have done and now he had to deal with the fallout. She had proved to be a temptation he could not resist. But what he could not comprehend was that Emmie Marshall had also been a virgin. That did not make sense, nor did it match the characteristics of the adventurous and more experienced woman he had believed she had to be to work as an escort.
‘Believe me, it wasn’t intentional!’ Emmie fired back, thrusting back the bedding and snatching up the towelling robe folded over a nearby chair. She dug her arms into it and tied the sash tight, adjusting the lapels to cover every piece of skin that she could for the last thing she now wanted to be was naked in any way around Bastian Christou. A typical shag? Was that all her body had meant to him? Could he possibly be any more insulting?
‘I wasn’t expecting a hired escort to be a virgin. I don’t pay for sex either, I never have and never will, but I’ll naturally compensate you for your…er, generosity—’ Bastian selected the word with razor-edged care ‘—with diamonds and hope that they meet your expectations.’
Emmie had honestly believed that she could not feel any worse but now and without the smallest warning it was as if the bottom had fallen out of her world, leaving her hovering in sickening limbo. He truly did believe that she would want to be paid in some way for having slept with him! She was shattered and simultaneously cut to the quick by his view of her. Seemingly he saw her as barely one step removed from a hooker. A man didn’t normally offer a woman diamonds in reward after sex, at least not in her world. And this was the male she had chosen to sleep with? She could only despise her blind stupidity.
In the buzzing silence, Bastian noted her pallor and the tightness of her delicate bone structure. ‘Have I got this situation wrong? You did say quite plainly upfront that you weren’t cheap—’
‘But that didn’t mean that I put a price on my body like a whore!’ Emmie shot back at him wrathfully, a shudder of mortified rage writhing through her tall slender figure as she stood there, stiff with disbelief. ‘I meant that I don’t do casual sex, that’s what I meant! I wasn’t talking about money or jewels or anything of that nature!’
‘Since I’ve clearly offended you, I apologise,’ Bastian fielded curtly. ‘But what else was I to think when you made that comment about not being cheap? You’re an escort, whose company I paid for. It didn’t take a fertile imagination to leap to the conclusion that you would expect some further form of remuneration for including sex in our arrangement…’
And that was the exact instant in which Emmie finally recognised what a dreadful, indefensible mistake she had made in going to bed with him, for not for one moment had he forgotten that she was an escort whose time he had purchased. Not for one moment had he truly buried his suspicions about exactly what being an escort might entail. She was the one who had forgotten the barriers between them; she was the one who had somehow crucially forgotten that he was paying for the role she was playing. Humiliation and regret touched her deep.
‘I already told you that I wasn’t an escort!’ she slammed back at him fierily, golden hair tumbling round her flushed cheekbones. ‘But you wouldn’t believe me!’
‘I saw your photo on that website. I phoned up and I booked you. If you weren’t an escort, how would that be possible?’ Bastian demanded drily, unimpressed, a tall commanding figure for all his state of undress.
‘It’s not that simple,’ Emmie parried, her shoulders bowing as a wave of sudden weariness engulfed her. She sank stiffly down on the sofa by the far wall, as far as she could get from him and still be in the same room. Nothing but the unlovely truth would suffice, she registered dully. She did not have a choice: she had to tell him the truth to clear her name.
Emmie breathed in deep and lifted her head high, refusing to be apologetic about what she could not help. ‘My mother owns the escort agency—’
‘Your…mother?’ Bastian said incredulously, striding into the dressing room to tug a pair of jeans and a T-shirt out of the built-in closets that lined the walls. Her mother ran an escort agency? He was astonished and appalled by that startling piece of information.
‘Yes, my mother,’ Emmie confirmed between compressed lips and then went on to explain a little about her background and how her elder sister had raised her and her siblings after Odette had put her younger daughters into foster care. ‘I hadn’t seen Odette since I was twelve and when she rang out of the blue and said I could live with her for free while I worked unpaid for your company, I leapt at the opportunity. It wasn’t just that I needed a low-cost place to live…’ She hesitated and her cheeks warmed, her eyes veiling to conceal her vulnerability. ‘I thought it would be a great way to finally get to know my mother as well.’
Wincing at the troubled note in her voice that she could not hide, Bastian zipped up his jeans. ‘Did you know about the agency before you moved in with her?’
‘Of course not, and the minute I did move in and she told me about it she immediately began nagging at me to work as one of her escorts,’ Emmie admitted ruefully, trying not to stare as he hauled on the tee, dragging it down over his amazingly muscular bronzed abdomen. Embarrassed colour stung her face with unwelcome heat. ‘She was very annoyed when I took a job as a waitress instead—’
‘You work as a waitress as well?’ Bastian prompted with a frown of a surprise, his attention lingering on the soft full curve of her delicious mouth, which was still swollen from his kisses. That fast he wanted her again, that fast it was a challenge to concentrate on what she was saying, and he paced restively across the room, exasperated by his overactive sex drive and yet awesomely unfamiliar with the modest art of listening to a woman talk and actually recognising her distress.
‘Five nights a week. I needed the money,’ Emmie pointed out reluctantly. ‘But I suspect that my mother was counting on me agreeing to work as an escort for her when she asked me to move in—in fact that’s probably the only reason she invited me to live with her in the first place. She took the photo from my camera to put it on her website. I didn’t know about it. I would never have agreed to that.’
‘So, if you weren’t working as one of your mother’s escorts, what the hell are you doing here with me?’ Bastian demanded bluntly, dark eyes glittering suspiciously as he searched her pale tight face, judging her sincerity, recognising her discomfort in confiding such things about her mother. As a son who had often been embarrassed by parental behaviour, Bastian had sympathy enough with her on that score.
‘I’m afraid my mother brought out the big guns to persuade me to accept the booking with you,’ Emmie confided with an unamused laugh, her facial muscles locking tight with self-discipline as she broached an even more personal topic. ‘You saw the scarring on my leg…’
‘Ne…yes,’ Bastian responded in Greek again, reacting to her clear discomfiture.
Emmie compressed her lips. ‘When I was younger, my leg was badly injured in a car crash and I ended up in a wheelchair. Eventually I graduated from the chair on to crutches. I was disabled and if I hadn’t had a private and very expensive operation abroad I would probably still be on crutches. That surgery enabled me to walk again and turned my life around. After my mother accepted your booking she told me that she had paid for that surgery and that I owed her.’
His face hardened. ‘You didn’t owe anyone anything, least of all a woman so keen to use you—and possibly your body as well—as a source of profit.’
‘I felt I owed her,’ Emmie contradicted with quiet dignity. ‘That operation meant so much to me. It gave me normality back. When my mother admitted that she was short of money I was willing to be an escort for one weekend for her out of gratitude.’
‘Therefore, you’ve genuinely never worked as an escort before,’ Bastian breathed harshly, events finally falling into place and comprehension with it. ‘But why did she keep that photo of you on her website?’
‘She thought it brought in more business and when her clients asked for me, she simply said I was fully booked,’ Emmie advanced heavily.
‘Ne…yes. She tried that gambit with me until I offered her so much money she was ready to blackmail you into providing the service for my benefit,’ Bastian told her with palpable distaste. ‘Why didn’t you tell me all this from the start? I would never have got mixed up in this nonsense!’
Emmie tensed and stood up. ‘I couldn’t get the money back off Odette so what would have been the point?’
‘I’m not a complete bastard,’ Bastian retorted in a raw driven undertone.
Emmie disagreed but said nothing. A typical shag, words for ever etched on her soul to shame and hurt. No, she wasn’t so brave and unafraid now, was she? Being forced to confront the image Bastian had of her was the most humiliating experience of her life. That she had impulsively leapt into bed with him and surrendered her virginity was something she was convinced she would regret until the day she died. Now, she badly wanted privacy. She had said what she had to say and had nothing else to add.
‘This is your bedroom, isn’t it?’ Emmie guessed, pushing a heavy hand through her hair. ‘I should have realised earlier when you got dressed here but after I bashed my head I wasn’t really thinking clearly. Tell me, did you ever plan to respect the ground rules of being with an escort? How could you think it was OK in these circumstances to expect me to share a room and a bed with you?’
Face grim, Bastian strode across the room and flung another door wide. ‘Make yourself at home in there,’ he urged.
Emmie wasted no time in picking up her suitcase, which was spilling garments, in both arms and stalking through the door. She walked back and entered the bathroom to remove her toiletries, ignoring the spill of her clothing beside the bed. There was just no way she could pick up her knickers without feeling demeaned, she acknowledged wretchedly, shame threatening to overwhelm her.
‘What are you planning to do tomorrow?’ Bastian enquired coolly.
Emmie turned her head, bright blue eyes equally cool. ‘What you paid me to do. I like your sister, Nessa. I’ll still act like your partner but strictly in a hands-off way.’
She closed the door, turned the key in the lock with a click and breathed again. Good grief, she hurt! But then what had she expected from what could only be a casual sexual encounter? Well, certainly not the level of humiliation that he had unleashed, she replied inwardly. A knock sounded on the door and she froze, lovely face paling again.
Swallowing hard, she unlocked it. Bastian handed her an armful of her clothes and she grasped them, tilting her chin in defiance, refusing to cringe.
‘One more thing,’ he breathed tightly. ‘Are you using any form of contraception?’
Her eyes widened to their fullest extent.
‘I gather that’s a no?’ Bastian prompted. ‘Unfortunately I didn’t either. I forgot—’
‘You…forgot?’ Emmie exclaimed in disbelief.
‘I’ve been in an exclusive relationship for a long time and precautions were unnecessary,’ he stated curtly. ‘I had a recent health check and can confirm that I’m free of any infection but there’s obviously a risk that you could conceive.’
By the end of that speech, Emmie had lost all her angry colour. She clutched her clothes tightly to her chest. ‘Oh, my word…I hope not.’
‘If there is a problem, be assured that you will have my full support.’ His dark eyes gleamed like polished ebony below his lush lashes and her heart thumped rata-tat-tat in a tattoo below her breastbone. It shamed her that even in that instant of stark fear she could still react like a schoolgirl to his raw dark charisma. ‘I don’t know if it will be any consolation…but I regret what happened between us as much as you do.’
Emmie nodded, face blank, said goodnight and closed the door, not bothering to lock it again, ESP telling her that she had nothing more to fear from Bastian. So, he had regrets…well, bully for Mr Insensitive! A typical shag, not a label she would ever forget, not how she would have wanted to remember her first serious sexual experience. She sped into the en suite shower and washed herself thoroughly. There was a dulled ache between her legs and her full mouth turned down at the corners. Suck it up, she told herself angrily. She was the author of her own misfortune but surely she had been punished enough? An unplanned pregnancy would be a disaster for her. Suppressing that concern on the belief that there was no advantage to foreseeing trouble that might not happen, Emmie got into bed and lay in the darkness, tears trickling down her cheeks.
CHAPTER SIX
EMMIE NIBBLED WITHOUT appetite at a piece of toast, no criticism of the truly sumptuous breakfast that had been delivered to her in bed: she simply wasn’t very hungry, and when a knock sounded on the door that led onto the corridor, she froze and paled.
‘Come in!’ she called, stiff as a stick of rock.
Bastian’s sister, clad in a dressing gown with her upswept bridal hairdo gleaming with pearl pins, erupted through the door, her eyes anxious. ‘I can’t believe you’re still in bed, Emmie!’ she exclaimed.
‘Sorry, I slept in. Do you need help with anything?’ Emmie asked guiltily, wondering what had happened to etch that worried look on the other young woman’s face.
‘Lilah arrived first thing this morning and she won’t leave Bastian alone!’ Nessa relayed with unconcealed resentment. ‘You should be down there protecting him!’
‘I think Bastian’s well able to protect himself,’ Emmie replied gently, but she couldn’t prevent her facial muscles from tightening at the prospect of meeting Bastian’s ex, the day after she herself had slept with him.
Nessa frowned and stared back at Emmie. ‘Do you really not care?’
Emmie belatedly recalled the role she was supposed to be playing and registered that she wasn’t acting as a concerned girlfriend might. Or at least the sort of girlfriend who let all her feelings hang out in conversation with his sister. ‘I’ll be downstairs as soon as I’m dressed,’ she promised ruefully. ‘But stop worrying. I honestly don’t think he wants Lilah back.’
‘I’ve known men as clever as my brother trapped by gold-diggers before…not least our father,’ Nessa countered with surprising cynicism. ‘Lilah will do and say anything to get Bastian back. She’s a barracuda and he took her by surprise—she didn’t expect him to just let her go when she broke off the engagement!’
Wide-eyed at that information, Emmie gazed back at Nessa. ‘Is it wrong of me to admit that she sounds a bit much for me to handle?’
Nessa laughed and sighed. ‘Don’t let Lilah intimidate you. You’re the woman Bastian brought to my wedding.’
The bride’s phone buzzed and she pulled it out, muttered something about a make-up session and fled. Emmie pushed away the tray and got out of bed. It was time to do what she had been paid to do…what her mother had been paid for Emmie to do, she adjusted wryly, while recalling Bastian’s attitude to what Odette had done. Maybe she should have stood her ground and ignored Odette’s efforts to guilt her daughter into doing something so much against her own principles. And if it was true that her weakness had brought down the roof on herself, well, she was paying the price, she acknowledged unhappily, for the prospect of acting like Bastian’s girlfriend around the barracuda was not an inviting one. Emmie would have been much happier had she never had to lay eyes on Bastian again but sadly that escape route wasn’t open to her, and if she was uncomfortable now, it was also her fault for having allowed their relationship to become embarrassingly intimate, she reflected unhappily.
Bastian watched Emmie descend the stairs in a flowing blue maxi dress that matched her beautiful eyes. Five seconds later he was imagining a necklace of sapphires round her unadorned throat and five seconds after that he was meeting her eyes and registering that she might look like a goddess but she was a goddess of the iceberg variety, not the warm, chatty type. Frustration growled through Bastian, who was not in a good mood. So, he had got it wrong, so he had hurt her feelings, been less than tactful, but did she have to continue to hold that against him? He had apologised, hadn’t he? As a male who rarely apologised he attached a great deal of significance to that apology. He watched Emmie’s face light up with a sudden warm smile when the parents of the teenager who had knocked her flying into the pool the day before approached her and he noted the effort she was making to put his uncle and aunt at ease. Lilah would still have been complaining and nursing her bruises and making everyone around her feel bad about the accident, but then Emmie, whatever else she was, didn’t revel in being the centre of attention. As Bastian sprang upright to go and greet his supposed partner he saw Lilah’s face tighten. No, even Lilah hadn’t counted on a beauty of Emmie’s calibre coming along to distract him, he conceded with a shot of unexpected amusement. And that was all this weird way he was feeling was, all the irrational thinking he had been doing and dwelling on mistakes, which was so not his style, Bastian thought impatiently, gritting his teeth. Emmie was simply a distraction, a very pleasant, very sexy distraction in the wake of the weeks of media drama that Lilah had enjoyed whipping up.
Emmie saw Bastian first, breathtakingly handsome in his pearl grey morning suit. Her heart skipped a beat and her mouth ran dry and she really didn’t want to meet his eyes and was grateful when his uncle and aunt engaged her in conversation. Over their shoulders, she glimpsed Bastian’s ex, Lilah, staring at her fixedly. Lilah was wearing a black and white frothy bridesmaid dress that made her tiny figure look more than ever like a delicate fairy’s. Her heart-shaped face and almond brown eyes glowed between the wings of her waterfall-straight dark hair. she was quite exquisite in a dainty doll-like way and suddenly Emmie felt like a great hulking giantess, standing as she did comfortably six feet tall in her heels.
‘Emmie…’ Bastian murmured, leaning close so that his breath warmed her cheek and the scent of his cologne brought back a shattering memory of how it had felt to be in his arms the night before when such a recollection was least welcome. He rested a light hand against her spine, a contact that made her bristle like a Rottweiler ready to attack. ‘I’m relieved you’re here. I’m having a trying morning.’
‘Misery loves company,’ Emmie remarked, noting the petulant expression Lilah was now sporting. Nessa thought her brother’s ex was a gold-digger but right then, her own ego bruised as it was by Bastian’s rough treatment, Emmie thought he deserved to fall victim to a gold-digger.
‘Never a rose without a thorn,’ Bastian quipped in the same style, disconcerting Emmie with the comeback.
‘You actually have a sense of humour,’ Emmie noted, pleased by her tone of indifference, for he would have had to torture her to get a warmer reaction out of her.
‘No, Lilah killed it. She arrived an hour ago and upset Nessa within the first five minutes,’ Bastian told her wryly.
‘Nessa will be fine. Your sister is worried about you.’ Although goodness knows why that would be, said Emmie’s inflection.
‘All you have to do is act as though we’re inseparable,’ Bastian informed her half under his breath.
‘That’s quite a challenge, Bastian.’
A hand closed over her slim shoulder as Bastian turned her round, forcing her to collide with his glittering dark eyes. ‘It wasn’t a challenge for you last night, glyka mou.’
Last night? The discovery that he fought dirty did not surprise Emmie and mortified colour leapt into her cheeks, her brittle composure splintering at that full-on reminder of her weakness. ‘Yes, but then I had drunk a little too much,’ she countered in a forced whisper while smiling with determination at a couple walking past them. ‘And even a frog could contrive to look like Prince Charming in the condition I was in.’
Bastian flipped her round to face him again. ‘You were not drunk,’ he ground out in an aggressive undertone.
‘I don’t see why it should bother you so much…you weren’t the virgin who ended up with the frog!’ Emmie snapped back at him vitriolically.
Smouldering black-lashed golden eyes assailed her, a line of dark colour suddenly accentuating his high cheekbones. His beautiful mouth compressed with iron control. ‘I suggest we drop the subject.’
‘You mentioned it first,’ Emmie reminded him with spirit.
Bastian muttered something in Greek that sounded nasty.
‘I’m sorry but I really do hate you,’ Emmie confided shakily.
It was dawning on Bastian that the apology had not been worth its weight in gold or indeed in any currency, and he was genuinely quite shocked that he had not been able to charm Emmie into forgiving him. A fleet of limousines pulled up to take the bridal party and her relatives to the village church, and with difficulty Bastian suppressed his roaring sense of annoyance with the world in general to appreciate the pretty picture his kid sister made as she came down the stairs in her wedding dress.
Emmie sat silent in the limo driving them at a stately pace along the picturesque road, which was bounded by sandy beach on one side and olive groves and hills on the other. She wished she had not voiced that final outburst and longed even for better control over emotions that seemed to be operating on a terrifyingly high-powered level unfamiliar to her. But she had told Bastian the truth, the absolute truth: she hated him for even briefly thinking that she might be the kind of woman who sold her body for profit, but she hated herself for having succumbed to his dubious charms even more. Nor did she need a brain transplant to appreciate that Bastian Christou was not accustomed to being handed the frozen mitt—his expectation that his blue-blooded birth, power, influence and great wealth entitled him to more flattering treatment fairly shone from the tension in his bold bronzed profile.
The silence nibbled at her nerves and conscience reminded her that she had promised to deliver the companionship he had paid for. ‘Where did Nessa meet Leonides?’
‘She’s known him all her life. His father is the island doctor. Nessa and Leonides started school together, went to uni in tandem and have been a couple virtually ever since.’
‘That’s so romantic,’ Emmie commented. ‘They must know each other so well.’
‘But they’re very young to be getting married,’ Bastian remarked in a tone of disapproval. ‘Nessa’s already talking about starting a family.’
‘Sometimes people know what they want at an early age. What age is she?’
‘The same age as you. Have you similar dreams?’ Bastian enquired a shade drily.
‘Good grief, no!’ Emmie declared with a grimace at the idea. ‘I wouldn’t know what to do with a husband or children. I’m a career girl.’
The pretty little church by the harbour was packed with well-wishers. Bastian settled Emmie into a front pew and left her there because he was standing as Leonides’ best man. Emmie settled back to enjoy the unfamiliar Greek wedding ceremony, which seemed rather more colourful than the English version as the bearded priest swung his incense burner and chanted. Nessa looked ravishingly happy and, seeing the way bride and groom looked at each other, Emmie found that she was smiling until Lilah cast her a chilling glance over a bony shoulder that was pure malice. After posing for photos outside the church in the sunshine with Lilah moving closer to Bastian at every opportunity while giggling girlishly and clinging to his arm, Emmie could only think what bad taste in women Bastian had. Lilah was so horribly fake and gushy. Bastian might be extremely clever in business but he couldn’t be the sharpest tool in the box when he had decided to marry a woman as artificial as Lilah.
The reception back at the house followed, caterers moving around with trays of champagne while Emmie stuck masochistically to water and simmered when Bastian raised a fine ebony brow as though mocking her abstinence. That man, she would surely have killed him outright for his audacity had he meant anything to her, which he didn’t, she assured herself soothingly, taking a seat at the top table while Lilah watched Bastian fan out Emmie’s napkin for her with sullen dark eyes.
‘To forgive is divine,’ Bastian teased.
‘Men hate those they have hurt,’ Emmie shot back at him thinly.
‘But I don’t hate you. You know, if you would try to be logical about this instead of emotional—’
‘I am not being emotional,’ Emmie seethed back at him, rage sparkling in her lovely eyes. He infuriated her. That she still thought he was gorgeous, found her gaze absently lingering on his spectacular bone structure or compelling eyes, only added fuel to her furious resentment.
‘I think you’re a very emotional individual,’ Bastian returned with a derisive edge to his dark drawl.
‘Better than having about as much feeling in me as a block of wood!’
Bastian watched his sister take to the floor with her new husband. Nessa was wreathed in smiles. The job was done and his sister was content, he told himself grimly. Why was he bothering to even try mending fences with the most challenging woman he had ever met? He had always avoided difficult, demanding personalities. His sister caught his eye and swivelled her gaze towards Lilah, and Bastian stood up to lead the chief bridesmaid onto the floor.
Emmie watched in consternation as Bastian led the tiny brunette onto the dance floor. Lilah behaved like a light that had been switched on full beam, all animation, smiles and chatter. Emmie’s mouth folded down at the corners. Maybe he was going to end up back with his ex. They had been together a long time and ties that close weren’t easy to break. Maybe Emmie had simply been a face-saving piece of arm candy on Bastian’s terms, retaliation because Lilah had broken off their engagement. And Lilah was exquisite, there was no denying that. Emmie watched the tiny brunette nestle intimately into Bastian’s tall powerful frame and her hands knotted into fists below the table and her teeth ground together. Typical guy, he had told her to stick to him like glue to keep Lilah at bay and now he was encouraging the other woman. Feeling hot moisture sting her eyes, Emmie was dismayed enough to slide out of her chair and head for the powder room off the main hall.
What on earth was the matter with her? She wasn’t jealous, had never been jealous of a man in her life. No, all that was wrong with her was that she felt foolish and ashamed and humiliated that she had had sex with Bastian. Satisfied with that explanation, Emmie returned to the hall and found Lilah squarely planted in her path.
‘You’re Emmie,’ Lilah remarked with her cut-glass laugh.
And Emmie cringed, thinking, Good grief, he’s told her he was with me last night! There was something so knowing and nasty about Lilah’s scornful smile. ‘And you’re Lilah,’ Emmie responded flatly.
‘Bastian picked you up at the office, I believe—how sweet but how lazy of him. Men can be such bastards,’ Lilah trilled like the evil fairy as Emmie stared down at the brunette feeling sick with embarrassment, guilt and discomfiture. ‘He’s using you to get at me. Don’t you have any pride?’
‘Don’t you?’ Emmie dared. ‘We’re not having this conversation.’
And Emmie swept on past, with her head held high, pale and trembling a little and grateful to have escaped Bastian’s shrewish former fiancée. If the brunette had really cared for him would she ever have risked losing him in the first place? As Emmie crossed the room to Bastian’s side she was seethingly conscious of his stunning dark golden gaze clinging to her. She mightn’t like him but she adored his eyes. Suddenly it was hard to drag oxygen into her lungs and a flock of butterflies were dive-bombing her tummy. He reached out and closed a hand over hers to draw her close with an ease she resented. He seemed to feel no discomfiture at all over what had happened between them the night before. Colour crawled up Emmie’s cheeks, her nostrils flaring on the hot evocative scent of him that close to her, memory dragging her down and down so deep and fast she was lost within seconds. Her heartbeat quickened as she recalled the driving intensity of his body over and inside hers and an instant surge of heat snapped her nipples painfully tight and mushroomed in her pelvis.
‘We need to talk, glyka mou,’ Bastian breathed in a roughened undertone, but it was the very last thing he wanted to do. Her slender body was trembling infinitesimally beneath his arm and that close to the warmth of her he had an instant erection. Hunger was raging through him like a bush fire and all he wanted to do was drag her back to his bed and keep her there fully occupied until he felt normal again, cool again, himself again. Instead he thrust open the door into the conservatory and walked her in there.
‘What are you doing?’ Emmie demanded thinly. ‘I don’t want to be alone with you. The show of togetherness is only for public viewing!’
Smouldering golden eyes fringed by lush black lashes zeroed in on her. ‘Stop fighting with me. It’s childish. I apologised—’
‘The man apologised!’ Emmie scorned. ‘I’m impressed.’
‘You really do know how to press my buttons,’ Bastian growled, golden eyes bright with anger as he hauled her into his arms. ‘We start again afresh now—’
‘No,’ Emmie cut in, face uncertain and hectically pink as she looked up at him, fiercely resisting temptation. He had made a fool of her once; she wouldn’t let him do it to her twice.
‘I want you to be the same way you were with me last night,’ Bastian admitted darkly.
‘A tipsy stupid pushover?’ Emmie snapped. ‘Not a chance!’
He brought his hot devouring lips down on hers and it was like a lethal rocket attack on her treacherous body, sending a wave of melting heat to her feminine core with a kiss so boldly sexual and exciting that it left her head swimming and her knees weak. Her hands clutched at his shoulders to keep her upright, a drowning, quivering, overwhelming awareness engulfing her like a tide as her every skin cell lit up like a traffic light. He kept on kissing her, his tongue delving hungrily, one lean hand massaging the pouting curve of her breasts, releasing a whimper of sound from her throat as he rubbed her straining nipples through the fabric. His fingers reached down to yank up the skirt of her dress, trailed along her thigh and she froze, dragging her mouth free in desperation.
‘No, Bastian.’
‘Maybe some guys get off on rejection—I don’t!’ he bit out angrily.
The ache between her slender thighs hurt along with the knowledge that she could not satisfy her outrageous craving for him. ‘Monday I’ll be back at work for two short weeks and we pretend none of this ever happened…OK?’ she pressed in desperation.
‘If that’s what you want,’ Bastian framed between gritted teeth.
Emmie simply nodded. It had to be what she wanted. After all, no relationship between her and Bastian could go anywhere but the bedroom. He was a billionaire businessman, for goodness’ sake, way out of her league and right now he was at a loose end and probably frustrated because he had a high-voltage libido and he was just out of a long relationship. All he could possibly want from her was sex and she refused to lower herself to that level. A typical shag, she reminded herself doggedly of his comment about his expectations of her the night before, which represented all too clearly how he saw her: as an escort for hire, an easy little office girl, surprising only in her lack of experience and currently the only available sexual option below his roof because most of his guests were his relatives.
He freed her and Emmie returned to the ballroom, shaken but determined to stay in control. She followed everyone else out to the big hall where Nessa stood on the upper landing of the stairs, posing for the hovering photographer to throw her bouquet. Twenty seconds later, the bouquet pitched down into Emmie’s startled arms and Nessa whooped with satisfaction.
‘I don’t think so,’ Lilah Siannas derided, treating Emmie to a contemptuous appraisal.
Emmie ignored the brunette and was literally watching the clock to calculate how soon she could excuse herself and retire to her room for the night. After all, once the bride and groom had departed, her role was surely at an end.
His simmering gaze pinned to Emmie’s retreat up the stairs, Bastian knocked back a brandy without respecting the vintage and gritted his teeth: Emmie had thrown in the towel while Lilah was behaving like a demented stalker. Suddenly, Bastian was out of all patience with the entire female sex and he crossed the room to join his grandfather and make a suggestion about how they could best spend what remained of the night. Theron’s lean weathered face lit up in surprise and pleasure.
‘No, I don’t want to talk about it,’ he told the old man grimly.
Emmie wakened when a maid brought her breakfast. She had slept like a log, exhausted by the strain of keeping up a front on Nessa’s wedding day. In the warmth of the sunlight now filling the room, she felt stronger and brighter, and she took a quick shower to freshen up before sitting down at the table out on the balcony where her breakfast awaited her. The view of the empty beach and the turquoise sea arched over by a clear blue sky was fantastic. A text beeped on her cell phone and she lifted it.
‘Be ready to leave at nine. I will not be travelling with you. Thank you for your assistance.’
It was from Bastian, no x at the end, nothing personal. A sharp sense of disappointment pierced Emmie and she questioned her response. After all, her role was at an end and as she had refused Bastian the night before he naturally saw no point in further contact with her. She was once again the woman he had hired to do a job and the job was done, she reminded herself painfully, disconcerted that her eyes were filling with stinging tears. What the heck was wrong with her? This was how the cookie crumbled when he was a billionaire and she was an office worker…unless she fell pregnant, a little voice whispered in the back of her mind, sending a cooling shiver of consternation through her. With that possibility in mind it might be more sensible to be a little less aggressive in her attitude to him, she reasoned unhappily, and she stood up, wondering if Bastian was still in his room. Not even sure of what she planned to say, she went to the door between their rooms on impulse and knocked. She was shocked when the door jerked open to reveal Lilah.
‘Oh…’ Emmie breathed, losing colour and falling back a step.
A complacent smile on her lips, Lilah preened in the doorway, making the most of Emmie’s surprise at her being in Bastian’s bedroom.
‘You’re being sent straight back to London,’ Lilah pointed out as though her presence in Bastian’s room and Emmie’s travel itinerary were connected, which very probably they were, Emmie reflected with a sinking heart and a despondent sense of humiliation. If Bastian was back with his ex, Emmie was too much of an embarrassing extra to keep below the same roof.
‘Yes,’ Emmie agreed with no expression at all, too proud to betray her mortification to the other woman but feeling vindicated in her decision not to take Bastian’s apparent interest in her seriously the night before. Evidently he was back in the arms of his ex. That hadn’t taken long. Bastian had been on the rebound; that was the only reason he had come after her but, clearly and understandably, it was Lilah whom he had really wanted. For no reason that she could comprehend, Emmie felt gutted, absolutely gutted by that obvious fact.
The door closed. Dry-eyed, facial muscles locked tight, Emmie packed her case. She had better hope she wasn’t pregnant for, in this situation, what a disaster such an unwelcome development would be!
CHAPTER SEVEN
THREE WEEKS LATER, Emmie ripped open a pregnancy-testing kit during her break at the café and pulled out the instruction leaflet. Her heart was beating as fast as a drum, sheer tension slicking her taut face with a sheen of perspiration. After all, she was already homeless and pretty much jobless and she most definitely did not need to be pregnant into the bargain. Admittedly, she had sore breasts and was feeling sick round the clock. But so what? It was a bug she had picked up some place, a stupid bug, she told herself frantically.
At the same time, in the considerably greater comfort of his office in the City, Bastian was tossing aside his phone after contacting Emmie’s mother, Odette Taylor. That had proved to be a fruitless call. Evidently Emmie had moved out without leaving a forwarding address and her fond parent neither knew nor cared where she had gone. That was the point when Bastian realised that he had hit a brick wall. Of course, he hadn’t expected to learn that Emmie had already left his employ when he arrived back in London but he still had to see her, had to check she was all right. He owed her that consideration at least, Bastian reasoned grimly, and as far as he was aware his PA, Marie, was the only member of his staff who had got to know Emmie in any depth. He called the efficient brunette in and after a couple of going-nowhere minutes of tactful probing lost patience and simply admitted that he wanted to contact Emmie.
Back in the tiny café staffroom, Emmie scanned the test wand again with swimming eyes. She wanted to sob and scream like a little child for the pregnancy test had proved positive and for a couple of shameful minutes nothing less than terror controlled Emmie. A baby…she was going to have a baby and the pregnancy was already making her as sick as a dog! She felt awful, truly awful! And yet she couldn’t contemplate a termination because she was all too well aware that had Odette had that option, neither she nor her sisters might ever have been born. Didn’t her baby deserve love and appreciation? She could not reject her child simply because the timing didn’t suit, the pregnancy was unplanned and she had no supportive man in the picture. Emmie released her breath on a dismissive hiss on that latter score. With the single exception of Kat, neither Emmie nor her siblings had enjoyed the advantage of a caring father in their lives.
‘It’s getting busy out here!’ her boss called through the door to bring her break to an early conclusion.
Emmie straightened her overall, locked her bag away again and returned to work. She had no choice now but to go home to her sister, Kat, she reflected guiltily. At present she was sleeping on a friend’s sofa and she wasn’t earning enough at the café to pay rent and eat at the same time. Kat ran a guesthouse in the Lake District and would probably be glad to have help with the cleaning and catering, Emmie thought, striving for a more positive angle than a daunting image of herself being forced to run home like a helpless teenager, who couldn’t cope with the adult world. Of course she could have approached her sister Saffy for assistance: Saffy owned an apartment in London. But the prospect of asking for help from her very much more successful twin was too humiliating for Emmie. She could not imagine the shrewd and worldly-wise Saffy ever making such a basic mistake as to fall accidentally pregnant. In short Emmie literally cringed at the idea of having to admit to her twin how very badly her own move to London had gone for her.
Bastian was able to pick Emmie out from across the café. She wore a candy-pink overall that was a little too short for such a leggy young woman and she looked incredibly pale. Maybe she just wasn’t wearing make-up, he reasoned, taking a seat in a booth while still studying her tall slender figure. Her head turned, treating him to a flash of dazzling blue eyes, luscious pink lips parting to show a glimpse of the oddly enticing gap between her two front teeth. His body, recently proven to be woodenly impervious to the charms of more available women, reacted with an instant arousal that set his teeth on edge. Emmie saw him and stilled in obvious dismay. Bastian smiled regardless, shifted lean brown fingers in fluid invitation, mentally willing her to move in his direction.
The potent pull of Bastian in the flesh was so powerful that Emmie felt as if she were being yanked across the floor by a force stronger than she was. She approached him reluctantly, notepad in hand, mouth dry, every muscle strained taut. ‘What are you doing here?’ she asked breathlessly.
‘When do you finish?’
Emmie collided with dark golden eyes as compelling as chains snaking out to entrap her body. She supposed there was no avoiding what had to be faced. He had a right to know about the pregnancy. His preference for Lilah did not enter the equation because that was personal, his personal business. All that should really matter to Emmie was that she was carrying his child; however the shock of that discovery was still rippling through her like the aftermath of an earthquake. ‘My shift ends at ten.’
‘I’ll be waiting.’ Without further ado, Bastian sprang up and strode outside: decisive, impatient, stubbornly practical, she affixed ruefully. She knew he would have demanded she leave right now in the middle of her shift had he believed he could bully her into doing so.
When she emerged from the café at closing time a limousine was parked by the kerb.
‘Miss Marshall?’ the driver asked out of the window before getting out to whip open the passenger door for her. Emmie swallowed hard, struggled to suppress the nausea in her stomach, and climbed in. She was disconcerted by the discovery that the limo was empty and asked Bastian’s driver where he was taking her.
‘I’m to drive you back to Mr Christou’s apartment.’
Emmie pushed her weary head back against the headrest. She didn’t care at the moment where she was going, was only grateful that she did not have to walk there. If she had to make her big announcement, it was better to do so where they would not be overheard or interrupted. How would he react? Would he be angry, resentful, bitter? Would he offer to pay for a termination or even suggest adoption as an alternative? The driver escorted her into a luxury block of apartments and, tucking her into a lift, pressed the correct button for her.
Bastian impatiently paced the wooden floor of his elegant lounge. He was convinced that he knew what she was going to tell him: he had suspected the truth the minute her strained eyes had met his. Three weeks ago, Emmie had been considerably more cheerful and calm and he could not credit that escaping her harpy of a mother had left her in such low spirits. Now Bastian, who was confident that he excelled at solving problems, was bent on working out how he could best turn an apparent negative into a positive.
A man in a suit had the door of Bastian’s apartment standing open for her arrival when she stepped out of the lift into a stylishly decorated hallway. Crossing it, Emmie tightened the sash on her raincoat and dug her nervous hands into her pockets, pushing her shoulders back as she entered the dimly lit apartment, noting the long expanses of window that denoted a penthouse, the clean lines of sleek contemporary furniture and the same lack of clutter that distinguished Bastian’s office. Even on that level they didn’t suit each other, Emmie mused, for she was a great hoarder of sentimental bits and pieces.
Bastian strode forward. ‘Take your coat off. Make yourself comfortable,’ he urged huskily.
Emmie flicked a glance at his lean, darkly handsome face and the lustrous brilliance of his dark, thickly lashed eyes and turned pink and uncomfortable. He was spectacularly good-looking and had the most colossal impact on her every time she saw him. Heat flickering like an uneasy flame low in her pelvis, she undid her coat, shrugged it off, sat down, and pressed her knees and her hands together like a child urged to be on her very best behaviour. ‘It’s not good news,’ she told him awkwardly.
Bastian’s gaze roamed across her flawless face and down over the elegant lines of her willowy figure with instinctive appreciation. There was something special about her and he still didn’t know what it was but it was a quality that shouted at him every time he saw her. ‘That depends on how you look at it.’
‘I’m pregnant,’ Emmie delivered curtly. ‘And no matter how you look at it, it’s a problem. I don’t want a child right now when I’m only at the start of my career and yet I couldn’t live with having an abortion just because it’s a case of bad timing—’
‘I could take the baby,’ Bastian interrupted.
Thoroughly taken aback by that suggestion, Emmie lifted her head and stared back at him with bright blue eyes of disbelief. ‘You can’t be serious?’
‘Why not? I was prepared to get married to have a family. How is this situation different?’
‘If you had married, you would have had a wife—’
‘Don’t be prejudiced. I would make an excellent single father. Certainly, I know all the things a father shouldn’t do,’ Bastian proffered with brutal honesty. ‘My father was an appalling role model.’
‘So was mine…er—’
‘All I’m saying is that if you don’t want the baby, I do—’
‘I didn’t say I didn’t want it!’ Emmie protested, dismayed by his attitude and suddenly feeling ridiculously protective of the new life forming inside her. And yet on another level, she respected him for his unexpected willingness to get involved and take responsibility. ‘I think it’s just that I don’t know what to do now.’
‘We don’t have to make any serious decisions for months yet,’ Bastian pointed out soothingly.
‘I do want my baby,’ Emmie started to confide but her tummy was rolling about like a ship on a stormy sea and she was forced to leap back upright. ‘Where’s the cloakroom?’ she gasped in dismay.
Luckily, she made it there in time and was sick for the second time that evening. Afterwards, limp and drained, she leant across the vanity unit to freshen up and peered at her bloodshot eyes and extreme pallor in the mirror. She looked like death warmed over, she conceded painfully.
‘Should I call a doctor?’ Bastian greeted her right outside the door, which embarrassed her. ‘Take you to a hospital?’
‘No, I assume this is what the books call morning sickness, only it seems to strike me at all hours of the day,’ Emmie told him morosely, rubbing her cheeks on the recollection of how pale she had looked and then wondering why she was bothering…as if that were going to make a difference and transform her from a humble waitress clad in an ugly overall into a sexually appealing woman! Why on earth would she even want to appeal to him now?
‘I didn’t think you would be affected by anything of that nature this early,’ Bastian remarked.
‘That makes two of us, but I already feel pretty sick most of the time.’
‘Where are you staying at the minute?’ Bastian asked.
Emmie reddened and sat down again. ‘How did you know I’d moved out of my mother’s flat?’
‘I tried to contact you there.’
‘She was still trying to get me to accept bookings from her clients,’ Emmie admitted reluctantly. ‘I had no choice but to leave.’
‘I thought she would continue to put you under pressure. Where are you currently staying?’ he asked again.
Emmie admitted she was sleeping on a sofa at a friend’s house. ‘There’s not much else I can do. I’m not earning enough to pay rent,’ she admitted stiffly, mortified by the difference in their financial situations but determined to be as honest as she could be.
Bastian’s face tensed, his wildly sensual mouth compressing into a taut line. ‘That is something I can help with. I own several apartments for the use of employees flying in from abroad. You can move into one of them.’
Emmie frowned. ‘I couldn’t possibly—’
‘Of course you can,’ Bastian cut in firmly. ‘I’m responsible for the situation you’re in. It’s the least I can do.’
Emmie swallowed hard on the pride threatening to choke her. The prospect of sleeping on a sofa for another night had little appeal and she couldn’t possibly inconvenience her friend by staying with her for much longer. Being homeless was frightening, Emmie acknowledged wretchedly. The security of a roof over her head would give her a much-needed breathing space, which she could use to decide what to do next. ‘OK, but I’m only agreeing because I don’t have any other option.’
Bastian pulled his phone out and spoke to someone at length in his own language. ‘The place will be fully stocked for your use by the time we arrive,’ he asserted. ‘Give me the address where you have been staying and I will arrange to have your belongings conveyed to the apartment for you.’
He made everything sound so easy. Although she could not help being impressed she also knew that nothing could have better illustrated the vast gulf between them—the extent of his wealth and power versus her poverty and lack of influence. Only that did not mean she had to be weak or meek, she reflected, tilting her chin. But sometimes accepting a helping hand when life was tough was the most sensible move.
Two hours later, Bastian gave Emmie a tour of the apartment he had offered her. It contained every luxury she could think of, from a stock of DVDs and a power shower to a fridge freezer stocked with every necessity. ‘I’ll be very comfortable here,’ Emmie remarked carefully. ‘But you have to promise to tell me when you need it for someone who works for you.’
Dark golden eyes accentuated by luxuriant black lashes focused on her intently and her heart hammered hard beneath her breastbone. ‘Right now, your needs are more important. Let’s face it, that’s my baby you’re carrying,’ he traded levelly. ‘Naturally you’re my first priority.’
The possessive note of that comment about the baby disconcerted her. Her soft pink lips parted. ‘Is that really how you feel? Do you like children?’
‘Never really thought about it. I don’t dislike them,’ Bastian declared pensively. ‘But the child you have, whether it’s a boy or a girl, will be my heir.’
‘Even though we’re not married?’
‘It will still be my child with my blood in its veins.’
There was something rather basic and territorial about that statement and Emmie was even more surprised. She recognised that he had not only adapted to the idea of becoming a father but had also warmed to the prospect.
‘To be blunt, I’ve never been in a hurry to get married,’ Bastian admitted drily. ‘Watching my father screw up matrimonially four times over soured me on the institution.’
‘I can understand that. So you think that having a child without having to tie yourself down to marriage might actually suit you better?’ Emmie queried, keen to understand his point of view.
‘Only time will answer that question. In the morning I’ll make enquiries and organise an obstetrician for you,’ Bastian continued. ‘You must have proper medical care.’
‘You can be very…bossy.’ Emmie selected the label with care, because in spite of the shock news she had given him he had been remarkably kind and considerate and she didn’t want to seem ungrateful.
A wicked grin that was the very essence of masculine charisma sliced across Bastian’s beautifully shaped and stubborn mouth. ‘You could say that being dominant comes naturally to me, glyka mou. Or even beware of Greeks bearing gifts,’ he teased.
‘Needs must when the devil rides,’ she quoted, her gaze compulsively welded to that grin, and she was as short of breath as if all the oxygen had been sucked out of the atmosphere.
‘I’m not the devil. I only want to do what’s best for you,’ Bastian told her thickly, staring down at her with smouldering golden eyes.
Emmie felt her treacherous body react to his proximity and the husky, sexy note in his deep voice. Her nipples tingled, awareness washing through her in an exhilarating overload of sudden sexual energy. But this time, Emmie fought what she was feeling to the last ditch. She stepped hurriedly back from him, her cheeks burning as she deliberately turned her head away from him to avoid eye contact. She was hugely attracted to him but could not forget his renewed intimacy with Lilah on the night of his sister’s wedding. Although there had been no reference in the gossip columns to a reconciliation between Bastian and his former fiancée, Emmie didn’t want to risk getting more deeply involved with a man already entangled with another woman. Wasn’t it worrying enough that she was pregnant by him? The last thing she needed now was to let her overwrought emotions persuade her that she was in some way attached to Bastian Christou.
‘Emmie…’ he breathed thickly, stroking a fingertip very lightly over the back of her hand, making her quiver and long to twist round and hurl herself into his arms like a lovesick fool. But she wasn’t lovesick and she wasn’t a fool, she told herself fiercely.
‘Let’s not complicate things,’ Emmie pleaded in a charged undertone. She found him almost impossible to resist but there was such a thing as common sense and it was way past time she exerted it over her more self-destructive promptings. And going to bed with Bastian again would definitely come under the heading of destructive, she thought painfully.
Bastian closed a strong hand to her shoulder and turned her back to face him. Diamond-bright dark eyes locked to hers enquiringly. ‘We’re already complicated.’
‘Exactly, and you’re helping me out here, which I’m very grateful for,’ she said shakily. ‘But—’
His winged black brows drew together. ‘Just as you didn’t expect diamonds, I’m not expecting any kind of reward for helping out,’ he told her drily.
Discomfited at the way he had interpreted her statement, Emmie reddened. ‘That wasn’t what I meant.’
Bastian had her cornered in the hall, his lean, powerful body squarely planted between her and the front door. ‘Then what did you mean?’ he pressed.
Emmie jerked an awkward shoulder in the tense silence that had fallen. ‘I know you slept with Lilah the night of the wedding—’
Bastian lifted a frowning black brow, dark eyes widening in surprise. ‘No, I didn’t—’
‘She was in your room the next morning.’
‘But I wasn’t,’ Bastian riposted with hard emphasis. ‘I spent the night at my grandfather’s and we sat up playing poker until the early hours. I lost a packet to the wily old buzzard too. If Lilah was in my room she was there uninvited. Think about it, Emmie. Do you think I’m such a fool that I would hire you to keep her at bay and then get back into bed with her again?’
Emmie didn’t know what to think. ‘She even knew that I was leaving the island—’
‘Anyone in the house could have given her that information as I made the arrangements for your departure with my staff before I left the night before.’ Bastian frowned down at her and slowly shook his handsome head. ‘Obviously Lilah would have wanted you to think that I had been with her and she knew that I was spending the night at Theron’s. I can’t believe you fell for it.’
Mortified by that assessment, Emmie said nothing. The doorbell buzzed and Bastian yanked the door open. The suitcase she had taken to her friend’s house was carted over the threshold. ‘Is this all that you have?’ Bastian asked in surprise.
‘No, I left some stuff boxed up at my mother’s,’ Emmie admitted wryly.
‘I’ll sort that out for you as well,’ Bastian declared, carrying the case into the bedroom and then striding back to the front door with an air of relief. ‘I’ll phone you tomorrow…check that you’re all right.’
And that fast he was gone and Emmie was left blinking at the space he had occupied and guiltily suppressing a strong sense of disappointment. Her bringing up the subject of Lilah and falsely accusing him had evidently stifled any desire on his part to make their relationship more intimate, she registered ruefully. Had he truly spent that night at his grandfather’s house?
‘There are two heartbeats,’ the obstetrician informed Emmie. ‘You’re carrying twins.’
‘Twins?’ Emmie listened transfixed to the galloping pace of her babies’ heartbeats. She was only eight weeks into her pregnancy and was amazed at how much could already be seen on a scan.
‘I think this is why you’ve been feeling so sick. Severe nausea is more common with a twin pregnancy,’ the older man informed her.
Emmie rested her head back down and wondered how Bastian would react to the news. The prospect of two babies unnerved her, raised as she had been on horror stories of how hard her mother had found it to cope with twins. Her heart sank as a rather more practical concern struck her: how many years would it be before she could hope to earn enough to afford childcare for two children? And if she couldn’t earn enough, how would she ever get her independence back? Was she destined to live off Bastian’s largesse for years to come?
For the present, Bastian was keeping her and Emmie wasn’t comfortable with that arrangement, no matter how often he pointed out that the baby that was putting her out of commission with nausea was as much his responsibility as hers. During the past two weeks while Emmie struggled to cope with the almost constant sickness, which even medication had failed to banish, Bastian had become a surprisingly regular visitor. He would call in to check up on her on his way home, sometimes he would order in food for them both and stay a while and on two occasions he had sent the limo to pick her up and bring her back to his penthouse to enjoy a meal cooked by his housekeeper. The new relationship they had forged had limits though, Emmie acknowledged tautly. Bastian would ask her how her visit to the obstetrician he had engaged had gone but he wouldn’t accompany her or make his questions too personal. In the same way he had made no further attempt to renew the intimacy they had so briefly enjoyed.
Spending time with Bastian on a platonic basis, however, was torture for Emmie and she was thoroughly ashamed of that truth. It was as though, having been programmed to react to him once, her body could not learn how to block the signals of attraction. She had to consciously will herself not to stare at him, not to lean closer, indeed not to touch him in any way. It disconcerted her that even feeling unwell couldn’t stifle the strong sexual feelings Bastian still awakened in her.
Before she could lose her nerve she texted her news to Bastian, reasoning that that was less emotional than telling him face to face.
‘Had scan. We’re having twins,’ ran her text.
And the text was sent before she could think better of using that royal ‘we’ as if they were a couple, rather than two very different people attempting to find common ground as potential parents on the strength of an accidental pregnancy.
Twins? An unholy grin of satisfaction illuminated Bastian’s lean dark features in the midst of the meeting he was chairing. He totally forgot what he had been saying while texting back a one-word response. Emmie was having two babies and he thought that was terrific news. He had been a lonely only child for more years than he cared to count but his child would have company and a sibling to play with. He left the meeting to instruct Marie to send Emmie flowers. He saw the flash of surprise in his PA’s face when she heard the name and realised where Emmie was living and frowned, wishing he could bring the relationship out of the closet. Unfortunately, Emmie didn’t want people gossiping about them and preferred to stay in the background of his life while totally ignoring the reality that a child could not be hidden indefinitely.
Bastian, however, didn’t want to stage an argument with Emmie and lay down the law. How could he when she was getting so thin he would do almost anything to persuade her to eat a decent meal? Her doctor had given her medication but it had yet to provide a cure. Before his very eyes the constant sickness was wearing her health down, stripping away her delicate curves, giving her face a pinched look. Concealing his concern, respecting the boundaries set by someone else went against the grain with Bastian, but he continually told himself that it would all be worth it for the end result.
After all, all his life he had dreaded the idea of getting married, fearing that he would somehow repeat his father’s mistakes. He had deemed Lilah a safe choice, only realising what a nightmare she could be after they had parted. Conversely, Bastian choosing to stay single and childless would devastate his grandfather, who was obsessed with the continuation of the family tree. But, quite unexpectedly, Emmie was giving Bastian the best of both worlds: a child without the risk and the restrictions of marriage. Theron would be shocked that Bastian’s children were illegitimate but Bastian was convinced that however he felt the old man would not ignore his great-grandchildren’s arrival into the world.
‘Fantastic…’ ran Bastian’s text and it came back too fast in response to Emmie’s announcement to be a polite fiction.
CHAPTER EIGHT
EMMIE SMILED WITH pleasure at Bastian’s very positive reaction and on impulse texted him back again inviting him to join her for dinner. She wasn’t a versatile cook but she could manage a decent steak. She was even more pleased when Bastian’s flowers arrived. Having set the table in the alcove off the lounge, she changed into the dress she had worn the night before Nessa’s wedding. Although it was a much tighter fit over her enlarged breasts, the rest of her was as slender as ever and the zip went up easily.
Bastian was punctual and she hurried to answer the door. His brilliant dark-lashed eyes roamed over her leggy figure in the fuchsia-pink dress and she blushed furiously, embarrassed that she had gone to so much trouble to make the most of her appearance.
‘Are we celebrating?’ Bastian enquired, studying her with hungry intensity. ‘I love that dress.’
‘You seemed pleased about the twins,’ Emmie pointed out awkwardly, feeling painfully self-conscious with his full attention trained to her. Her nipples prickled and lengthened, the sensitive tips scraping against the lace cup of the bra cupping the full mounds. A clenching sensation low in her pelvis made her press her thighs together and squirm with shame. Without even trying Bastian lit her up like a bonfire inside, she acknowledged in fierce mortification.
Something primal flamed and smouldered in the depth of Bastian’s dark deep-set eyes and without warning he reached for her, pulling her into the hard, unyielding heat of his lean, powerful body. His mouth plunged down in hot, urgent demand on hers. Excitement exploded through Emmie and she couldn’t breathe for the wild clamour of her thundering heart and the heightened effect on her senses.
‘Tell me yes…’ Bastian growled into her hair as she snatched in a quivering breath, struggling not to shudder in reaction as he ran lean fingers up a slender thigh below the hem of her dress, roving tantalisingly close to the source of the intimate ache making her so tense. ‘Yes, you want this as much as I do.’
The solid ridge of his arousal was potent and compelling against her stomach, and that he could hunger for her that much made desire leap inside her while moisture gathered in readiness at the heart of her. Weak as a newborn as that wild surge of yearning engulfed her, her fingers biting into his shoulders, she leant into him. ‘Yes…’ she whispered, no longer able to suppress her natural inclinations, frantic to feel him moving inside her again, awakening her to a level of sensation she had never known possible. ‘Yes…’
And Bastian required no further invitation. He lifted her up into his arms and carried her through to the bedroom, sinking down on the mattress with her across his lap as he unzipped her dress. ‘I feel like I’ve waited for ever for you, glyka mou.’
Emmie lifted her fingers to rest them gently against his stubborn, wilful and utterly beautiful mouth, trembling as he parted his lips and sucked on her fingertips. ‘You’re not used to waiting, I’m not used to giving.’
And it was true, for she had too often played safe simply to protect herself from the risk of hurt and rejection, but something about Bastian destroyed her defences, blew her heart wide open, made her want to give instead. She met eyes ablaze with sexual hunger and marvelled that she had the power to make him feel that way. Another kiss and he was stripping off her dress, peeling away her bra to curve gentle caressing fingers to her swollen nipples, his every touch sending fire to her aching core.
Emmie twisted against Bastian, fingers clenching into his luxuriant hair to hold him close while she kissed him with all the passion she had repressed for so long. Quick to get the message that speed could be an advantage, Bastian kissed her fervently back while also hauling off his jacket, ditching his tie and embarking on his shirt buttons. She spread reverent fingers across his hard-muscled bronzed torso, appreciating the lithe strength and raw masculinity of his powerful body. He lifted her off him, disposed of his well-cut pants and stretched out beside her on the bed, but he lay still for barely a second before he sat up again to study her semi-naked length with burnished eyes of appreciation.
‘I want you so much it’s painful to hold back,’ Bastian groaned, a fingertip toying teasingly with the shallow indentation of her belly button, and then straying down over her mound to more responsive territory and skating over the taut, damp triangle of material stretched beneath.
Emmie’s back arched and her hips writhed as he touched her, fierce hunger pounding through her like a pagan drum beat that filled her ears and her thoughts so that she was aware of nothing beyond the wicked skill of his hands on her unbearably tender flesh. He whisked away the last barrier and, parting the delicate pink folds, he thrust a finger into her aching core. She gasped, twisted and turned, wanted him so much it physically pained her to withstand such teasing.
‘I want to watch you come this time,’ Bastian confided thickly, sliding down the bed to caress the engorged buds of her nipples with his mouth and his tongue while at the same time he drove her crazy with every plunge of his fingers.
Emmie couldn’t stay still. She was on fire for him, quivering with excitement and a level of need that came close to torment. ‘Bastian, please,’ she whimpered.
And he lifted her up and sank into her so hard and deep and fast that she cried out with excitement.
Bastian groaned with sensual satisfaction. ‘Hot…wet…tight, khriso mou, my every dream come true.’
Emmie was on a high of rapturous sensation. He rode her with abandon, pleasuring her with hard rapid strokes that stoked her excitement to feverish heights. She was out of control, her heart thundering as she flew high on his erotic rhythm, her body rising to meet his. At the apex of her climax she convulsed around him, shattering in the devouring waves of pleasure that consumed her.
‘On a scale of one to ten that was an eleven, khriso mou,’ Bastian breathed raggedly, releasing her from his weight only to snake an arm round her and hold her captive to his long lean length.
His comment jarred, slicing like a blade through the cosy cocoon of relaxation Emmie’s body was embracing, because she was too well aware that in bed she had nobody she could compare him to. It made her feel cheap to think he might be comparing her to past lovers and she stiffened defensively.
Her movement made Bastian look down at the arms he still had wrapped round her restless body. Faint colour accentuating his high cheekbones because he was uncomfortable with his own unfamiliar behaviour, he freed her abruptly, but not before he had dropped a kiss on her furrowed brow.
‘So where do we go from here?’ Emmie prompted.
Bastian hated questions like that and he thought it was typical that Emmie would put him on the spot and want immediate answers. ‘It’s just sex,’ he parried very drily. ‘Let’s not get too worked up about it.’
Face burning in receipt of that demeaning response, Emmie froze and gritted her teeth together.
Bastian knew he had said the wrong thing but he was too arrogant to take it back. he also didn’t know the answer to her question and was already mentally sidestepping all the many complications he imagined lay ahead of them. She was carrying his kids and that made her much more than a lover. He tensed, not in the mood to think about that reality and suddenly very keen to be distracted from such troublesome and confusing thoughts.
‘Let’s go out to eat,’ he suggested abruptly.
‘I was going to make a meal.’
Bastian didn’t want to share an intimate meal in the apartment because he foresaw more difficult questions hovering like storm clouds on his horizon. ‘I can’t stay long,’ he told her, sliding out of the bed with fluid grace. ‘I’m flying to Australia tomorrow and moving on into Asia to check our operations there. I’ll be away for a while.’
Taken aback by this first reference to his imminent departure, Emmie sat up, feeling ridiculously lonely and lost. It’s just sex. His bronzed profile was hard and taut, his tension palpable to her. He didn’t want her attaching fancy labels to their lovemaking or attaching strings of commitment to him. She might be pregnant with his babies and he might still want to have rampant sex with her, but he was not prepared to offer her a more serious relationship. Had she really expected anything else? All over again she had tumbled into bed with Bastian without thinking about what she was doing, without worrying about how he thought of her or wondering about where it would lead.
Bastian’s silence, his patent eagerness to leave gave her an answer she really didn’t want. A hard lump filled her throat and she couldn’t swallow. She felt hurt, desperately hurt and rejected. Obviously she wanted more from Bastian than she was currently receiving. Equally obviously she had been in proud denial of what he could make her feel. Yet again she had ignored the clear limits of their association, for she dared not call it a relationship.
‘If you don’t feel like going out, I’ll order food in,’ Bastian volunteered, buttoning his shirt, grabbing up his jacket.
In that moment she hated him more than any man alive. ‘I’ve already eaten,’ she lied.
‘You know you need to be eating more when you’re being so sick,’ Bastian reminded her darkly.
Sensing his impatience, Emmie simply nodded agreement. ‘You order,’ she advised, snaking out of bed to snatch up her dressing gown and vanish into the bathroom.
She had never felt less hungry in her life, she acknowledged wretchedly. It’s just sex. Those three words had ripped her apart and forced her to re-examine the consequences of allowing Bastian to pay her bills and maintain a roof over her head. Did he see her as something less now? Had he ever had any respect for her? It’s just sex. Even worse, did he now think of her as his mistress? How did a very rich man regard a woman whom he was already keeping? Certainly not as an equal. Emmie knew she had a big nasty decision to make but she would have to handle that later when Bastian had gone. Right then the bravest thing she had ever done in her life was shelve all her messy emotions, walk back out of the bathroom, throw on the only jeans that still fitted her and join him in the lounge where he was already ensconced watching the business news.
Korean food was delivered. While he watched she nibbled, chased the food round her plate, drank a lot of water. ‘You need to eat more,’ Bastian told her again and he leant out of his chair to close a big hand round her thin forearm. ‘You’re getting ridiculously skinny.’
Hot colour splashed her cheeks and then receded again as she wondered if he found that thinness unattractive. Her bright blue eyes rested on his handsome features, lingering on the spiky black lashes shading his dark golden gaze, the strong blade of his nose, the hard cheekbones and the beautifully modelled mouth. She swallowed hard, taking a mental snapshot of him because she already knew it would be a long time, if ever, before she saw him again.
‘I’ll phone when I can,’ Bastian told her at the front door, looking down at her, wondering how she could look so beautiful and yet so painfully vulnerable at the same time, wishing he could take her abroad with him to give him something to look forward to at night other than an empty hotel suite. She needed looking after though, not foreign travel, he acknowledged grudgingly, and he had never looked after anyone before and didn’t quite know where or how to begin.
Tears trickled down Emmie’s face as she checked the train times online to plan her journey home to the Lake District. It would be madness to stay where she was when she and Bastian wanted such different things. She wanted more than sex from Bastian but she suspected that he still saw her as little more than the escort he had hired at such great expense to attend his sister’s wedding with him. How on earth had she contrived to fall in love with him? He might be great in bed but he had to be the most insensitive man alive! And yet Bastian’s constant phone calls and visits had still become ridiculously precious to Emmie in recent weeks. She blinked back the tears, ashamed of her weakness, her wanton desire to stay on in London and settle for whatever he was offering. Bastian was being as supportive as he knew how because it was his fault she was pregnant. Beyond that did he feel anything for her but basic sexual attraction? And how long would that last once she began to resemble a blimp? No, Emmie told herself angrily, she had to cut the connection and leave while she still had her pride. Sleeping with Bastian again had been a serious mistake but staying on in an apartment he owned would be an even worse mistake.
‘Emmie’s moved out…are you sure?’ Bastian growled down the phone at his PA. After months of unanswered calls and considerable concern on his part he had finally caved in and asked Marie to check Emmie’s apartment for him.
‘Well, the wardrobe and the drawers are empty but she’s left her teddy collection behind in a box on the bed,’ Marie told him, working tactfully at keeping the amusement out of her voice. ‘Oh, wait a minute, there’s an envelope here with your name on it. Looks like she’s left you a note.’
Bastian wanted to know very badly what was in the note but he refused to ask his PA to open it and read it to him over the phone. Some things were private. On the other side of the world he stared blankly at the wall of his hotel suite: Emmie had walked out on him. Rage momentarily electrified him. Diavelos, she was expecting his kids, she had no right to stage a disappearance when he had been doing everything possible to make her feel happy and secure! Well, possibly not everything, conscience bade him admit, discomfiture infiltrating his angry sense of betrayal.
In the following months since Emmie had travelled to visit her sister Kat, everything had turned out very differently from what Emmie had initially expected, she reflected wryly, while conceding that different didn’t necessarily mean bad.
Firstly, her plan to help her sister run her guesthouse had died the very first day when Kat admitted that business was very poor and she was actually on the brink of bankruptcy. Luckily, a very wealthy Russian had come out of the woodwork to save the day for her sister. Mikhail Kusnirovich had invited Kat to stay on his mega yacht and act as hostess to his guests. While Kat was away Emmie stayed on in the farmhouse to keep her youngest sister, Topsy, company during the school holidays. A few weeks later, Kat admitted that she and Mikhail had fallen in love and that she was moving into his Georgian country mansion, Dane-gold Hall, to live with him as his partner. Within months Mikhail and Kat were married.
Denied her elder sister’s company aside of occasional weekends spent in the lap of luxury at Danegold, Emmie had been thrown very much on her own resources. She had taken a temporary job as a shop assistant in a local supermarket but was currently engaged in looking into the possibility of opening a gift shop/café in a property available for rent in the village. Her new brother-in-law, Mikhail, had blithely offered her unlimited funds with which to start up her own business.
‘I don’t care what it costs me. Kat’s worried sick about you. If she sees that you’re making a new start in life on a decent income, she’ll stop worrying about you being a single parent,’ Mikhail had told Emmie cheerfully, not even trying to hide the reality that his main motivation was to make her sister happy.
As the months passed and her pregnancy advanced, Emmie had suffered less from nausea, and holding down a job and working regular hours had become a good deal easier. Yet when her twin, Saffy, had announced that she was remarrying her first husband, Zahir, Emmie had used her health as an excuse not to attend the wedding and she was still ashamed of that. Her sister was now the wife of the King of Maraban and a future queen. And as Saffy had always enjoyed a good deal of natural dignity and assurance, Emmie believed her sibling would be a stunning success as a royal. Unfortunately, Emmie’s own deep unhappiness had persuaded her that she would be a sad spectre at the feast if she attended her twin’s wedding and that she would only cast an unwelcome pall of gloom over her sister’s big day. When all was said and done, after all, her sisters already pitied her for being pregnant and alone, and Emmie had been equally quick to notice that even Kat was shy of expressing her love and affection for Mikhail in her sister’s inhibiting presence. No, the unmarried pregnant sister had been wiser staying at home when she had the excuse.
To avoid such negative thoughts, Emmie had spent every spare moment researching local craftspeople to supply merchandise for the gift shop while also checking out the strict requirements for running a café. That project had kept Emmie extremely busy. Although she had little time to mope she often lay awake late into the night picturing a lean, darkly handsome face and aching unbearably as though she had lost a limb. In spite of the fact that she had found it impossible to envisage a feasible future with Bastian, walking away from him had still hurt like hell. But it would have been crazy, she reasoned, to hang around on the outskirts of Bastian’s life, sleeping with him in the forlorn hope that he would eventually want to take their relationship to another level or assume a regular paternal role once the twins were born. She needed to get over him and she needed to do it fast, she told herself impatiently. And in her opinion seeing too much of Saffy’s and Kat’s deliriously happy marriages to the men they loved was unlikely to help her to recover from her own unrequited love any more quickly. Indeed her sisters’ success and contentment on that front only made Emmie feel like a total failure in the love stakes.
For the second time in as many weeks, Bastian drove up to the Lake District. A glossy celebrity magazine lay open on the passenger seat beside him and every time he noticed it he gritted his teeth, a ferocious sense of injustice assailing him. On this occasion, Bastian needed no directions to reach his destination because he knew exactly where he was going as he nosed his Ferrari into the driveway of the farmhouse, parked it, dug the magazine into his pocket and sprang out to stride impatiently to the front door.
Emmie groaned as the doorbell buzzed because she was in the middle of making pastry and her hands were covered with flour. She wiped her hands on the front of her apron, surprised as she always was to feel the firm swell of her pregnant stomach arching out in front of her. She was the size of a small house, which, according to the local doctor, was only to be expected with twins on the way. She trundled to the front door and pulled it open, lashes fluttering up on startled blue eyes as she focused on the tall black-haired male on the doorstep.
Sheathed in a dark suit and a cashmere overcoat, Bastian surveyed her with brooding intensity, narrowed dark eyes glittering like polished jet. ‘Surprise…surprise…’
CHAPTER NINE
EMMIE STEPPED BACK and Bastian stalked through the front door, slamming it shut in his wake with an imperious hand.
‘I wasn’t planning to invite you in,’ Emmie snapped.
‘Given enough rope you really will hang yourself, won’t you?’ Bastian riposted with derision. ‘Perhaps you’d like to explain why I only qualified for one sentence of explanation when you staged your disappearing act. In fact, what exactly was “This isn’t working for me” supposed to convey?’
Emmie stiffened, acknowledging that while she hadn’t wanted to go emotionally overboard in her goodbye note she had perhaps tried a little too hard to play it cool. ‘I don’t want to discuss it.’
Bastian threw back his wide shoulders and stared down at her with blistering force, his handsome mouth a hard ruthless line. ‘We’re going to discuss a lot of things before I leave here, glyka mou.’
Emmie stared at him, unwillingly captivated by the sheer gorgeous potency of Bastian in the flesh. Radiating masculine energy and buckets of authority, Bastian towered over her, scanning her appearance in a red roll-neck sweater, apron and jeans. ‘You’ve put on weight…’
‘Duh! You noticed?’ Emmie shot back at him witheringly, turning on her heel to march back towards the kitchen.
As she stood briefly sideways Bastian focused on the swell of her pregnant belly pushing out the apron and stared, taken aback by the size of her. ‘I meant…you haven’t lost any more weight, so I assume the sickness wore off—’
‘Weeks ago,’ Emmie confirmed, turning back to face him again with open reluctance, blonde hair tumbling round her flushed cheeks.
‘And yet you didn’t think to get in touch with me and tell me that?’ Bastian fired back at her furiously. ‘Didn’t it occur to you that I’d be worried about you? When I last saw you, you were far from well!’
‘I thought with you it would be a case of out of sight, out of mind,’ Emmie admitted truthfully, straightening her slender shoulders and standing her ground in the kitchen doorway lest he get the idea that she was intimidated by him.
‘Those babies are half mine!’ Bastian launched back at her wrathfully. ‘When did I ever give you the impression that I was so irresponsible?’
Emmie pretended to think deeply. ‘Oh, maybe it was when you warned me not to get worked up about having sex with you…I didn’t, by the way.’
A feverish veil of colour highlighted his spectacular cheekbones and his dark golden eyes blazed like the heart of a hot fire. ‘Maybe I was playing safe.’
‘Playing safe?’ Emmie queried, all at sea.
His beautiful wilful mouth hardened. ‘Ne…yes, you blow hot, you blow cold, and you run away. That’s twice you’ve done that to me now.’
Emmie took an angry step forward. ‘I do not blow hot and cold and I do not run away!’
‘You do,’ Bastian contradicted with maddening assurance. ‘I offended you the night before Nessa’s wedding and you went from hotter than hot to cold as charity and ran away from the attraction between us. You may be an adult but you suffer from the same emotional overreactions as a teenager!’
‘How dare you?’ Emmie snapped, fit to be tied at that slur being cast on her maturity.
‘I dare because I’m honest and I have always been honest with you,’ Bastian declared with impressive emphasis. ‘We had a disastrous misunderstanding the very first night we were together—I apologised—you refused to accept my apology. But at least I was willing to admit that I had made a mistake but was still attracted to you. We would never have been apart had you had the courage to be equally honest with me…’
‘It’s not about honesty, it’s about sensitivity, and you are the guy who told me that what we had was just sex!’ Emmie slammed back at him emotively.
‘At the end of the day, sex is only sex and I stand by that statement!’ Bastian growled back at her unapologetically. ‘But in every way that mattered I demonstrated that I cared about what happened to you and I cared about the welfare of those babies you carry.’
Emmie struggled to be fair while her deep sense of having been insulted still rankled. ‘Yes, you did,’ she allowed, tight-mouthed at having to concede that point.
‘I didn’t deserve that you walked out on me and didn’t tell me where you were going.’
‘I would have got in touch with you after the birth,’ Emmie protested.
‘I want to be a lot more involved than that,’ Bastian informed her with unconcealed hostility.
Emmie lifted her chin, refusing to back down. ‘Well, I’m sorry if you don’t like it but perhaps I didn’t feel that you being more involved in my pregnancy was appropriate in the circumstances.’
‘If that’s how you felt you should have discussed it with me,’ Bastian argued fiercely. ‘Walking out and vanishing the minute I was safely out of the country was childish and cowardly!’
‘I wanted to avoid a big confrontation like this!’ Emmie pointed out.
‘How are you doing with that ambition?’ Bastian derided, making her teeth grind together in frustration.
‘I am not childish and I am not cowardly,’ Emmie returned resentfully to his determination to blame her for walking away from a difficult relationship.
‘No? Well, at the very least you have some strange hang-ups,’ Bastian condemned, interrupting her without hesitation as he dug a magazine out of his pocket and slapped it down aggressively on the hall table. ‘She’s your sister, your twin, and presumably the reason you go around dressed in a frumpy disguise most of the time! But did you think to mention her existence to me even once?’
Emmie froze in consternation as she found herself gazing down at a magazine photo of Saffy and Zahir’s wedding day. Laughing and smiling with happiness, Saffy looked fantastic and Emmie’s heart constricted at the sight, regret belatedly stabbing her that she had avoided playing a role at her sister’s nuptials. ‘How did you find out?’
‘Nessa saw it and put it in front of me. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing,’ Bastian admitted with angry dark eyes. ‘At first I thought it was you marrying royalty and then I saw her name…she’s Sapphire, you’re Emerald, so it was obviously no coincidental likeness. I did some research and that’s when I realised how much you had been hiding from me.’
‘There was no need for you to know.’
‘I couldn’t believe she was your sister.’
Emmie lost colour at that admission. ‘I understand that. We may be identical twins but she still looks very different from me.’
‘Yes, even though it was only photos I was merely fooled into thinking it was you for about five seconds,’ Bastian spelt out.
Unsurprised by the assertion but dreading the comparison he had to be making between her and her gorgeous sister, Emmie lowered her head, her face shadowing. ‘Yes—’
‘You have a beauty spot on one cheekbone and your eyes are a lighter blue,’ Bastian contended, sharply disconcerting her for few people were that observant. ‘I also suspect that you’re smaller—’
‘By at least an inch. Even after the surgery on my leg I never quite caught up with Saffy in height,’ Emmie conceded. ‘I don’t wear a disguise though—you don’t understand…I just don’t like being mistaken for Saffy and, believe me, it happens a lot if I dress up and go out and about in London. She’s a celebrity, after all. I’ve also found it’s just easier not to mention that she’s my sister to the people I meet.’
‘I can imagine that but you’re not the same—you’re not carbon copies of each other.’
‘You don’t think so?’
‘I don’t quite understand it but when I look at her, she does as much for my libido as a blank canvas on the wall, but when I look at you I have an instant reaction,’ Bastian confessed in a husky undertone.
Emmie wasn’t quite sure she could believe that, for she was much more accustomed to thinking of her sister as a vastly superior, more sophisticated and sexier version of herself—in every way a supermodel-perfect creature. But then Saffy had always been the prettier, livelier, more talented twin, Emmie the sickly, shy one, who was boringly academic, not that she had had much choice on that score when her disability had meant she couldn’t go out and about like her twin. She glanced up at Bastian, her lovely face pink with self-consciousness, wondering if it could possibly be true that he found her more sexually appealing than her sister. After all, all her life she had been second-best to Saffy.
‘It happens every time I look at you,’ Bastian imparted thickly, his dark deep drawl vibrating down her spine, his stunning dark golden eyes hotly pinned to her in a smouldering look that created an atmosphere of shocking intimacy. ‘Because while I know it’s just sex, it’s still the most freakin’ fantastic sex I’ve ever had with a woman!’
A surge of responsive heat flooded Emmie’s pelvis, swelled her breasts, tightened her nipples and no matter how hard she tried she couldn’t suppress that wave of physical awareness. Bastian was attempting to turn an insult into a compliment and failing abysmally, she told herself firmly. She wasn’t going to pick him up on it; she wasn’t going to go there at all. Talking about sex with Bastian was a bad idea because talking about it made her think about it and she was determined to keep the door closed on that kind of misleading intimacy.
Breathing in deep, she turned her head away to duck his direct gaze and said tautly, ‘So how did you find out where I was living?’
‘Once I had linked you to your celebrity sister I had enquiries made and discovered this place,’ Bastian told her, his handsome mouth compressing with annoyance. ‘I drove up here straight away but you weren’t here and the house was locked up.’
‘Oh…’ Emmie was surprised he had come to the farmhouse on a previous occasion and couldn’t hide it. ‘Did you come here at the weekend? I must have been staying with Kat.’
Bastian was frowning down at her. ‘Your eldest sister? The one married to the rich Russian, who owns this house?’
Emmie studied him in surprise at the level of his knowledge. ‘You have been doing your homework about my family.’
‘Enough to know that you shouldn’t be living here, forced to rely on the generosity of another man.’
‘That other man happens to be my brother-in-law—’
‘It doesn’t matter. You’re in this situation because of me and I’m the one who should be taking care of you.’
Emmie threw her head high, her lovely face taut with strain as she shifted her weight onto her one leg while rubbing at the thigh of the other. ‘I don’t need anyone taking care of me when I can do that for myself.’
‘But I want to do it,’ Bastian grated in a raw undertone, watching her massage her leg. ‘Your leg’s hurting you right now. Why don’t you sit down? I want to look after the mother of my children. Is that so wrong?’
Emmie was disconcerted by that blunt declaration and that he had actually noticed that her leg was beginning to bother her. ‘No, not wrong, but maybe a little surprising after some of the things you’ve said.’
‘Why don’t you forget what I’ve said in the past and look to the future instead? I think right now that would be a lot more useful,’ Bastian countered with ringing confidence, striding into the cosy living room where a log fire had burned low in the grate.
Emmie followed him at a slower pace. ‘What future?’
‘Yours and the twins’,’ Bastian specified, gazing back at her with challenging intensity. ‘I want you to come back to Greece with me and meet my family.’
Her eyes widened in astonishment. ‘Er…I’ve already met your family,’ she protested.
‘Not as the future mother of my kids. You can’t keep us in the closet with two babies on the way,’ Bastian informed her with dark eyes glittering with amusement. ‘You’re part of my life now and that’s not going to change.’
‘I still don’t think that there’s any need for you to take me back to Greece with you and make some sort of formal announcement,’ Emmie contended.
‘I think it’s important.’ Bastian’s stubborn jawline clenched his face taut as he stared back at her. ‘Family connections mean a great deal to me. It’ll be easier for you to make that connection now before the twins are born.’
‘I’m not interested in visiting Greece right now,’ Emmie declared, throwing her shoulders back.
‘I want the time to see if we can work this relationship out,’ Bastian admitted in a driven undertone. ‘I shouldn’t have to spell that out to you.’
Her troubled eyes widened a little and remained glued to his stunning dark eyes as if she was seeking answers there. ‘Oh, I think you do…speaking as the guy who told me that all we had going for us was sex.’
‘Are you ever going to let me forget I said that?’ Bastian slammed back at her furiously.
‘Probably not,’ Emmie admitted waspishly. ‘It’s still screaming in my memory banks. Now all of a sudden you’ve changed your tune and you’re talking about us working out this relationship when before you wouldn’t even admit we had a relationship!’
In thunderous silence Bastian ground his teeth together. Like salt on an open wound she picked up every mistake he made and flung it at him with an aggression he was unaccustomed to meeting with in a woman. ‘So I’m not perfect,’ he bit out grudgingly.
‘And you have hang-ups too,’ Emmie added sweetly. ‘Particularly when it comes to commitment.’
‘I was engaged,’ Bastian reminded her darkly.
‘But funnily enough you never made it to the altar,’ Emmie remarked.
‘Lilah took offence at the pre-nuptial contract she was presented with and I wouldn’t marry her without it.’
‘I don’t want your money,’ Emmie told him baldly.
Bastian flattened his passionate mouth into a hard line and lowered his attention to her stomach. ‘But your children will be entitled to a good deal of my money. That’s a fact of life.’
Emmie coloured uncomfortably, not knowing what to say to that that wouldn’t sound facetious, for in all likelihood when the babies she carried grew up they would want and expect access to their father’s privileged lifestyle.
‘I’ll stay here tonight. We’ll leave in the morning,’ Bastian told her forcefully.
‘You can’t just bully me into travelling to Greece with you!’ Emmie exclaimed, not knowing whether to laugh or cry at his attitude.
‘I’m not trying to bully you. I’m asking you to put the needs of our children first. At the very least we need to establish a more civilised connection.’
There was a lot of truth in that statement, Emmie acknowledged uneasily. Having a contentious relationship with the father of her children was a very bad idea but she did not know if she could change the way she felt about Bastian or forgive him for not feeling the same way about her. She wanted too much and he wanted too little, she conceded unhappily.
‘All right, I’ll think about Greece,’ Emmie muttered tightly.
‘I’ll make the arrangements—’
‘Look, when the heck did “I’ll think about it” turn into agreement?’ Emmie stormed back at him, out of all patience with his arrogance.
Bastian stared broodingly back at her, the full intensity of his aggressive temperament in that charged appraisal. Electric heat sizzled through Emmie and she flushed, mortified by the way he affected her even when he was demonstrating his least attractive traits. On the other hand maybe if she gave a little, he would as well, because she didn’t think that with the twins on the way it was wise to be at odds with him. After all, mightn’t her attitude have a bad effect on his future relationship with her children? That, she acknowledged hollowly, was a major responsibility to carry, particularly when she was all too well aware how wounding she had found her own father’s indifference to her existence. She definitely didn’t want her children to undergo the same paternal rejection because she had created a problematic relationship with Bastian. Hadn’t her mother done that with her father? Her parents had had a very bitter breakup and divorce and that reality had poisoned her father’s attitude to his daughters as well. He had found it easier to walk away from all of them, not only his ex-wife.
‘OK, I’ll go to Greece,’ Emmie agreed abruptly on the back of that final depressing thought. ‘I’ll show you up to your room.’
His room, not hers. Bastian watched the ripe curve of Emmie’s hips going up the stairs, unwillingly allowing that his hopes of an immediate dropping of all barriers had been rather too optimistic. She wanted him to work at things, relationship things, and Bastian had never worked at anything like that in his whole life. Women had always worked to please him, to fit his expectations, not the other way round. He gritted his even white teeth at what seemed like a memory from the far distant past for he could see that pleasing him was not even on Emmie’s agenda. It bothered him that he didn’t even know what she wanted from him. He was doing his best but so far he had not got any points for trying, he reflected angrily. She hadn’t noticed one blasted positive thing he had done so far, so why was he bothering? The answer to that question came fast: he didn’t know, he just knew he couldn’t leave her alone.
Emmie showed Bastian into one of the guest rooms her sister Kat had always kept prepared for guests. She studied his bold bronzed profile from below her lashes, reckoning there was no escape from feeding him as well while wondering why he brought out such a mean streak in her. Did she want him to go hungry? After all, it wasn’t his fault that he hadn’t fallen madly in love with her, was it? That was something that either happened or didn’t happen. And unlike her estranged father, Bastian was already determined to make a major effort to be a parent from the start, well, before the twins were even born.
‘There’s hot water if you want a shower,’ Emmie told him, belatedly wondering if she was trying to be hostess of the year a little too late. ‘You can join me for dinner in an hour. It’ll be a change to have company. My younger sister is only here for school holidays. She stays with Kat and Mikhail in London now if she leaves school to come home for the weekend.’
Bastian supposed she was offering him an olive branch of sorts and had a sudden recollection of that written apology on her hand way back at the start of their acquaintance. He almost smiled but the strained look in her bright blue eyes made him tense up instead.
‘What did you say?’ Emmie prompted Bastian in a nervous whisper, her cheeks burning after he had finished addressing his household staff, who had assembled in the big hall to greet their arrival. The official line-up struck her as incredibly Edwardian in style and thoroughly intimidated her. To be fair, she thought unhappily, it was embarrassing enough to reappear on the island on Bastian’s arm while toting an enormous pregnant stomach, but it was even worse when absolutely everyone else was pointedly avoiding looking in that direction.
‘Why?’ Bastian asked shortly as he guided her up the main staircase with a firm hand at her back. Emmie wondered if he feared that she was so big upfront that she might over-balance and fall over backwards like a beached whale, and then scolded herself for being so self-critical. You’re very pregnant with twins, get over it, she told herself in exasperation.
‘I’m curious,’ Emmie admitted.
‘I told them that you’re in charge here now—’
‘You did…what?’ Emmie stopped dead to exclaim in astonishment.
Bastian frowned. ‘I didn’t want anyone wondering about what your status was here and I want you to receive the very best attention possible from my staff.’
‘But I’m not the mistress here…or wife or whatever!’ Emmie argued.
‘Do we need a label for you? To all intents and purposes you are the most important woman I’ve ever had in my life,’ Bastian countered. ‘You’re expecting my children.’
‘I can’t possibly be the most important woman…I mean, what about your mother?’
‘Apart from the fact that I’d have a problem if she was still the most important woman at my age,’ Bastian quipped, ‘what about her?’
‘Is she still alive?’
‘Yes. She lives in Italy and I only see her if she wants money.’
Emmie’s brow furrowed. ‘That’s sad, Bastian. Are you sure you’re not misjudging her?’
‘Remind yourself of what your mother was willing to do to you in the name of profit,’ Bastian commented with considerable cynicism. ‘As the son of a woman even more mercenary than Odette, I know what I’m talking about.’
That reminder about Odette’s greed struck home but Emmie gave him a troubled look, dismayed by his outlook. ‘Why do you think your mother’s like that?’
Bastian sighed as he threw wide the door of the room where Emmie had stayed on her previous visit to his home. ‘Why are you interested?’
Emmie thought fast and hard, desperate to come up with an unemotional angle to conceal her revealing hunger for every detail she could glean about Bastian and his background. ‘Your mother will be my children’s grandmother.’
‘But Cinzia will never visit your children. Even when I was a little boy she found the idea of being seen with a child as “too aging”,’ he retorted drily. ‘She’s very vain and will never accept being a grandparent. She was a film star when my father met her but her earning power was fading because she was getting older. She married him because she needed a meal ticket and when she got tired of him, she divorced him in a process that took half of everything he possessed.’
Emmie winced as a servant settled her cases down in the beautifully appointed bedroom and withdrew. ‘Nasty.’
‘His ego battered, my father found comfort in the arms of his secretary instead,’ Bastian continued even more drily. ‘The secretary got pregnant and he married her within weeks of his divorce from my mother being granted.’
‘Oh dear,’ Emmie remarked a good deal less securely as she wondered if he saw a dangerous parallel in that development between past and present: his father had married a woman because she fell pregnant by him and clearly it hadn’t worked out.
‘She was Nessa’s mother and the only decent woman my father ever married,’ Bastian explained wryly. ‘But because my father wasn’t in love with her…’ contempt edged his tone as he voiced that particular word ‘…he thought it was acceptable to start an affair with the woman who became his third wife.’
‘Then I gather that Nessa’s mother didn’t last long?’
‘Two years.’
Emmie recalled Nessa telling her that her mother had been the only stepmother who was kind to Bastian and, considering his own mother had not set a good example of maternal affection, she found it sad that his father’s marriage to Nessa’s mother had been so brief. ‘And wife number three?’
‘Had one affair after another. My father hit the bottle hard before he finally got shot of her.’
‘He sounds—’
‘Foolish?’ Bastian scorned.
‘I was going to say vulnerable. I mean, he kept on trying so hard to find a happy relationship.’
‘Only the grass on the other side of the fence was always greener and he couldn’t content himself,’ Bastian completed grimly. ‘Wife number four spent most of her time trying to get me into bed because younger men gave her a buzz.’
That revelation made Emmie turn pink. ‘That must have been ghastly.’
‘While that marriage went on, I spent a lot of time at my grandfather’s house—I was only eighteen,’ Bastian admitted flatly, staring out of the bedroom window, broad shoulders rigid. ‘Tragically my father’s fourth marriage literally killed him. He came home unexpectedly one day and overheard his wife trying to seduce me. He got back into his car and crashed it into a tree a few miles down the road. The happy widow got what was left of my father’s estate, which wasn’t much. His marriages had virtually bankrupted him.’
‘With a family history like that I’m surprised you were even considering getting married,’ Emmie confided truthfully.
Bastian turned away from the window, tall, darkly handsome and intensely charismatic. His dark eyes glittered like gleaming gold ingots in sunlight. ‘But unlike my father I didn’t have any stupid ideas about love having anything to do with marriage…’
Emmie was relieved to think that Bastian had not been in love with Lilah, but his words and his attitude certainly didn’t offer her much room for hope that he might develop such feelings for her in the future. ‘Have you ever been in love?’ she asked baldly, reasoning that subtlety was wasted on Bastian.
‘In lust many times,’ Bastian quipped. ‘In love…never. I’m probably too practical.’
So, at the very least he must have been in lust with Lilah, Emmie assumed uneasily, and she certainly couldn’t blame him for that because his ex-fiancée was exquisitely easy on the eye. ‘I fell in love when I was at university,’ she heard herself admit.
Unaccustomed to such personal conversations with a woman, Bastian dealt her a disconcerted look.
Emmie compressed her lush mouth. ‘It turned out that Toby was only with me because he had a poster of my sister the supermodel on his bedroom wall—she was his fantasy and I was just the closest he could get to her,’ she related ruefully.
‘What a fool when you’re even more beautiful,’ Bastian breathed huskily.
‘I’m not more beautiful than Saffy,’ Emmie protested.
‘I think you are,’ Bastian admitted, his dark gaze roaming over her lovely face. ‘You’re more natural, not all made up and artificial like your sibling.’
Without warning and for the first time in her life, Emmie found herself laughing at a comparison being made that could not leave her feeling inadequate. ‘Well, I’m certainly not anywhere near as well groomed as my sister,’ she conceded with a smile. ‘She always looks perfect.’
Bastian rested lean brown hands on her slim shoulders, gazing down at her with smouldering heat in his heavily fringed dark golden eyes. ‘I don’t want or need perfect, khriso mou.’
Emmie stiffened, suddenly unsure of what should happen next, wanting him with every skin cell in her treacherous body but conscious that intimacy would plunge her deeper into a relationship that had no safe boundaries to protect her from hurt. ‘Bastian…er—’
Long brown fingers brushed her cheekbone in a lazy caress and he kissed her with hungry driving urgency. Her heart hammered so fast she was scared it would burst out of her chest. The glorious swell of emotion and sensation that only he could give her was waiting in the wings like a terrible temptation, making nonsense of her firm conviction that she could take care of herself. For a split second she wanted Bastian so much it was terrifying, her body kindling like dry twigs touched by a flame, senses awakening with a surge of slumberous intensity. Her breasts stirred beneath her clothing, full and swollen and ripe for his touch, an ache biting deep in her pelvis to leave a sense of hollowness in its wake.
‘I should unpack,’ she said breathlessly, drawing back in a movement that demanded every atom of her self-discipline while her glance briefly skimmed over the door that led into Bastian’s bedroom, and she wondered how long she could possibly keep her distance from him.
In a rare act for a male in the grip of fierce arousal, Bastian backed off several steps, lean, strong face taut and flushed. Emmie was in Greece, on the island of Treikos, safely beneath his roof, and that was enough for one day, he reflected ruefully, apprehensive for the first time ever of making a wrong move with a woman.
Conscious of the tension in the air, Emmie coloured and turned aside to her luggage. Her legs were shaking, her rebellious body screaming with tight, strained nerve endings and she was ashamed of her weakness. Somehow it had not occurred to her that Bastian might still exert that much physical power over her even when she was several months pregnant. Where he was concerned, she badly needed an off switch.
Four days later, Nessa arrived for the weekend and mortified Emmie straight away by walking out to the terrace where Emmie and Bastian were having lunch and saying cheerfully, ‘So, when’s the wedding?’
Bastian frowned. ‘What wedding?’ he queried, standing up to pull out a chair for his sister.
Nessa simply laughed. ‘Your wedding, of course,’ she said teasingly, studying the pair of them with amused brown eyes.
‘We’re not getting married,’ Emmie declared with red cheeks hot enough to fry eggs on.
Nessa raised a brow as though that was an extraordinary statement and responded, ‘Grandpa is going to be very disappointed.’
Initially relieved by Nessa’s arrival because the presence of a third person would surely stifle the shocking level of sexual tension Bastian roused inside her, Emmie could now only feel appalled at the brunette’s lack of tact.
‘I don’t think so,’ Bastian countered smoothly, seemingly unembarrassed, Emmie noted with some relief.
‘Trust me.’ Nessa grinned. ‘Grandpa’s expecting to hear wedding bells and just waiting on you making the announcement. Don’t say you weren’t warned.’
‘Excuse me,’ Emmie breathed, rising to her feet.
‘Where are you going?’ Bastian demanded as if he was entitled to know her every move.
‘It’s hot and I’m a little tired…thought I’d lie down for a while,’ Emmie told him disjointedly, taking refuge in being pregnant in her eagerness to escape sitting in on a humiliating dialogue between brother and sister.
Upstairs she lay down on her bed, dully recalling what entertaining company Bastian had been since their arrival. They had picnicked on the beach, wandered through olive groves on lazy walks and eaten in the taverna down by the harbour where Emmie had suspected that all the other diners were staring at her. Even so, apart from that one kiss on the first day, Bastian hadn’t touched her again. She was never going to understand Bastian, she reflected in frustration. Why had he kissed her if he had no plans to follow up on it? And why, when she knew that intimacy would only fire them into dangerous territory again, was she even wondering?
Her cell phone pinged on a message and she snatched it up, surprised to see that it was from Saffy, who rarely made direct contact with her.
‘I’m in the pudding club too,’ Saffy texted jokily, and Emmie gasped and before she could even consider what she was doing she was phoning her twin. It struck her as extraordinary that both of them should contrive to be pregnant at the same time.
Saffy was audibly disconcerted to hear Emmie’s voice on the line but the warmth of her response soothed any awkwardness Emmie might have felt. When Saffy startled Emmie by freely admitting that she had conceived her baby before marrying Zahir, Emmie was captivated and touched by her honesty and the barriers really came down between the sisters as Emmie shared the history of her relationship with Bastian.
At one point, Saffy interrupted her twin. ‘Odette lied to you. She didn’t pay for your surgery, Kat did!’
‘Are you sure? But where did Kat get the money from?’ Emmie questioned in amazement.
‘Kat took out a loan to cover the cost. Our mother is a dreadful liar.’ Saffy groaned. ‘As for this escort agency stuff, we’ll have to prevent Topsy from visiting her or she’ll be trying to set her up next! Topsy’s so trusting and I bet Odette milked our kid sister for every bit of useful info about us that she could get.’
‘Probably,’ Emmie conceded, shocked at the news that her mother had deceived her but at the same time semi-stunned that she was managing to have such a friendly conversation with her twin when they had been estranged for so long. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t come to your wedding, Saffy. It’s no excuse but I was feeling pretty down and I just couldn’t face it.’
‘I’ll forgive you if you promise…to stay in touch with me,’ her sister responded hesitantly.
Her heart lifting at that request, Emmie was quick to agree.
‘You said you were in Greece—what’s happening between you and Bastian right now?’ Saffy finally asked.
‘I think that for the sake of the future, we’re trying to be friends,’ Emmie told her heavily.
‘And you want more?’ Saffy asked perceptively. ‘I felt the same way with Zahir. I didn’t want him to stay with me only because I was pregnant.’
Emmie’s eyes stung at the depth of her twin’s understanding. She blinked back tears and a little while after that the groundbreaking conversation concluded with Saffy promising to phone again the next day. Afterwards, Emmie sat still dumbfounded by the discovery that she could talk easily again to her twin and she was so grateful that neither of them had dared to broach any topic that might be controversial. That both sisters were pregnant, however, had provided them with a bridge that spanned the challenges of their shared past. In addition, Emmie acknowledged wryly, Bastian had somehow contrived to lift Emmie’s confidence so that she no longer felt that she was a poor, disappointing copy of her glamorous and vibrant twin.
‘You should invite Saffy and her husband to visit,’ Bastian remarked when she volunteered the news over dinner that she and her sister were talking again. Nessa had gone to visit her in-laws, who lived in the village.
Emmie tensed. ‘That’s very kind of you but obviously I don’t know how long I’ll be staying here in your home.’
Bastian raised an ebony brow, brilliant dark eyes bright as diamonds in his handsome face. ‘At least until the twins are born,’ he supplied without hesitation. ‘I want you to stay, and when I return to London to work, I’ll want you to accompany me there as well.’
Taken aback by that sweeping statement, Emmie studied him with shaken blue eyes. ‘I had no idea that’s what you were planning. I thought I was only here for a short visit.’
Across the table, Bastian stared steadily back at her. ‘Naturally you’re free to do whatever you want and live where you choose…but speaking on my own behalf I want you to stay with me.’
Emmie was hugely touched by that assurance even though she still had no real idea of what he meant by his words. Did he believe that simply being pregnant was so hazardous that he had to keep a careful watch over her? Did he feel guilty that he had got her pregnant? Was that why he was so determined to look after her? Or was there a more personal element than that? As she bent over her delicious dessert, she was insanely conscious of his attention locking to the rather low neckline of her top. She glanced up quickly and tracked the path of his hot golden gaze locked to the plump swell of her cleavage. She reddened and thought, Yes, it’s definitely personal.
‘Does that invite of yours include sharing a bed?’ Emmie enquired baldly.
A sudden grin flashed across Bastian’s stubborn mouth. ‘I’m yours any time you want me, khriso mou. I don’t play hard to get.’
Emmie didn’t know where to look because when she met his stunning eyes after that admission she felt intoxicated and dizzy. Unable to think straight, she savoured the sweetness of her dessert, the tip of her tongue sliding out to lick a drop of chocolate mousse from her full bottom lip.
Following that process, his attention locked to her succulent pink mouth, Bastian groaned out loud. ‘You’re killing me.’
Emmie froze. In the condition she was in she found it quite impossible to view herself as seductive in any way, but when she looked across the table to see Bastian’s molten golden gaze welded to her, her heart skipped a startled beat. He thrust back his chair and sprang upright, approaching her to stretch down a lean brown hand and grasp hers to tug her to her feet.
‘Bastian…?’ Emmie framed uncertainly.
‘I want you so much,’ he growled. ‘I’ve been working so hard to keep my hands off you.’
Emmie had only felt her own tension and had not appreciated that he was exercising restraint as well. ‘You find me attractive like this?’ she murmured wonderingly.
Bastian looked down at her with smouldering dark eyes. ‘I don’t really understand it but I find your pregnancy an amazing turn-on.’
‘OK,’ Emmie marvelled while nodding dumbly, entranced by the hunger etched in his face and the very slight yet revealing tremor in his hands as he raised them to gently cup her cheekbones.
And then there was no more talking and the last barrier crashed down between them while he kissed her breathless. He took her upstairs to lift her into his bed, where he made slow sensual love to her until she cried out her pleasure in wondering wanton delight.
A long time later, he lay with his arms wrapped round her and the most glorious sense of peace settled over Emmie. She loved it when he held her close and wanted to swarm all over his long, lean, powerful body like a flock of bees savouring pollen. Self-discipline, however, kept her still and unadventurous because she was terrified of revealing too much emotion or enthusiasm. Sex was sex, as Bastian had told her unforgettably, and she didn’t want to begin kidding herself that it was anything more. While they were living together, they might as well be sharing a bed, she bargained desperately with herself. She didn’t have to have a relationship all set out in stone steps in front of her to be happy, did she? And why shouldn’t she settle for being happy for now and letting the future take care of itself?
‘I have a charity ball to attend in Athens tomorrow evening,’ Bastian told her when she had almost drifted to sleep. ‘You’re welcome to accompany me.’
‘Nothing to wear, truly nothing to wear!’ Emmie exclaimed, eyes flying wide in dismay in the darkness. ‘But thanks for asking…er, appearing in public this pregnant with you would be kind of making a really loud statement, wouldn’t it?’
‘It would,’ Bastian agreed with a curious lack of expression. ‘Perhaps you’re right and it’s too soon.’
Emmie hadn’t said or meant that but she didn’t argue, reasoning that he would have tried harder to persuade her to go with him if her presence had really mattered to him. Thirty-six hours later those same thoughts came home to haunt her with a vengeance.
The morning after the Athens ball, Bastian had still to return to the island and Emmie was having a leisurely breakfast on the terrace overlooking the beach when the morning newspapers were brought out and settled on a nearby table for her convenience. Emmie got up to browse through the pile of papers, automatically flipping past the Greek editions only for her fingers to falter as she stiffened in consternation at the sight of a photograph adorning the front page of one of the local tabloids.
It was a photo of Bastian and Lilah drinking champagne and laughing together. Lilah looked tiny and ravishing in a romantic pink chiffon gown, like one half of a matched couple on intimate and friendly terms, while Bastian smiled down at her. The bitter hurt of jealousy pierced Emmie deep. In fact Emmie felt as sick as though she had been punched because she was already recalling that Bastian really hadn’t made that much effort to persuade her that he wanted her with him in Athens. And was this why? Had he known beforehand that Lilah would be attending the same event? And was it any wonder that the papers were probably speculating as to whether or not the formerly engaged couple had reconciled?
Feeling shaken, scared and angry with herself for being scared, Emmie sank back down on her chair, eyes blank as she stared out unseeingly at the beautiful view she had been admiring only minutes earlier. Was Bastian still attracted to Lilah? To be fair, what man wouldn’t be? And what could Emmie possibly do about it, if he was? Retreating with dignity when she was already virtually living with Bastian would be a challenge in the circumstances, she thought painfully.
CHAPTER TEN
EMMIE WAS CONVINCED that she could only blame herself for her predicament. Clearly, it was all her own fault, an argument her mother had been prone to making every time anything went wrong in Emmie’s life when she was a child.
Here she was, after all, decidedly the author of her own destruction: pregnant and having an affair with Bastian in a relationship that had neither rules nor safe boundaries. How sensible was that? Emmie had always liked to know where she stood, only she never had known that when it came to Bastian. That was why she was reluctant to trust him and even more reluctant to risk relying on him. And there would soon be no room for self-respect either if she was forced to start questioning him about Lilah.
The helicopter flew in low and fast and began to land. Emmie didn’t move a muscle. She did try to cross her legs casually beneath her white cotton sundress but her large tummy got in the way and she had to forget that pose. Bastian leapt from the helicopter into view, black hair ruffled by the breeze, lean powerful body taut as he strode across the lawn to join her, his striking black-fringed dark golden eyes seeking Emmie out where she sat in the shade. As always, he was gorgeous, she conceded helplessly. She had only to look at his tense bone structure to guess that he knew about the photograph and was in an understandably wary frame of mind.
‘You look so serene and beautiful sitting there, khriso mou,’ Bastian imparted huskily, his attention lingering to take in the rich golden gleam of her hair and the glow of her delicate English-rose complexion in contrast to her bright blue eyes.
‘Appearances can be deceptive,’ Emmie quipped.
‘I flew straight back when I saw that photo…I gather you’ve seen it?’ An ebony brow quirked enquiringly.
Emmie nodded, reluctantly impressed that he had jumped right into the issue without trying to avoid it or fake an innocence that she would never have believed.
‘Aside of the fact that Nessa was with me throughout the evening, the photo was a definite stitch-up,’ Bastian complained with a sardonic look. ‘Probably set up by Lilah and taken by one of her friends. Lilah revels in provoking press attention and speculation.’
Emmie parted stiff lips, her hands clasped together tightly below the level of the table. ‘You do look happy to be with her,’ she remarked flatly.
‘After the way Lilah behaved when we broke up I no longer even like her,’ Bastian countered drily. ‘But I have too much respect for her family to cut her dead in public and I see no reason to embarrass myself or her by parading our differences. If I’m happy now it’s because I have you in my life.’
‘I’d never have guessed I mattered that much to you,’ Emmie confided uncomfortably, sitting very still and unconvinced, her shoulders as rigid as her spine.
A rueful smile briefly curled Bastian’s wide sensual mouth. ‘I’m so terrified of losing you again you wouldn’t believe it.’
Emmie blinked. ‘I don’t believe it…you, terrified?’
‘Totally,’ Bastian confirmed, staring down at her from his considerable height with steady, dark, serious eyes. ‘When you went missing while I was still abroad I went crazy. I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t think of anything but you. And when I did get back to London I couldn’t believe that stupid note you left was all you had to say to me.’
‘I didn’t think I had anything to say to you that you had enough interest to want to hear,’ Emmie admitted uneasily. ‘I wasn’t going to hang myself out on a limb for you after you said that all we had going for us was sex.’
‘I didn’t mean that…I very much regret saying that,’ Bastian emphasised on the back of a groan. ‘But to be frank, I didn’t really appreciate what you meant to me until you vanished.’
‘Oh?’ Emmie was glued to every word falling from his lips, scarcely breathing while she listened.
Bastian leant back against one of the supporting stone pillars that held up the roof over the terrace, his gaze veiled, his lean muscular length taut with tension. ‘Then I didn’t feel anything like I should have felt for Lilah. I know that now. I shouldn’t have even considered marrying her when I felt nothing for her, but for a long time I honestly thought that that was the best way to be in a relationship.’
‘If you’re an inanimate object and not a person,’ Emmie suggested wryly.
‘I thought if there was no emotion involved I would see more clearly and choose a wife more wisely,’ Bastian confessed and then frowned, black brows lacing together. ‘And we know how well that turned out! Lilah may have wanted me mainly for my status and wealth but even she deserved better than a fiancé who couldn’t have cared less when she broke the engagement and took up with another man.’
‘But she must have known that it was more a…er practical marriage than a meeting of souls,’ Emmie commented tightly, thinking what a hypocrite she could be, for she had been wonderfully reassured by Bastian’s assurance that he didn’t even like Lilah any more and it was obvious that he could no longer see what virtues he had once assumed the other woman possessed.
‘I was never really happy with her…I didn’t stop noticing other women either,’ Bastian admitted reluctantly. ‘I didn’t do anything about it, I was faithful while I was still with her but I imagine that I would have strayed eventually.’
‘Then you weren’t right for each other.’ Emmie sighed. ‘What would have been the point of getting married?’
‘Exactly,’ Bastian agreed, shooting her a smouldering smile. ‘I’m so different with you. I don’t like other men looking at you and I certainly have no desire to look at other women. I can’t stand not knowing where you are and what you’re doing. I want to be sure you’ll answer your phone when I call. I want to know you’re living in my home and that you’ll raise our children there with me. I also want to know that you’re truly mine.’
‘Yours?’ Emmie questioned. ‘In what way do you want me to be yours?’
‘In the most basic way that a man and a woman can belong to each other,’ Bastian retorted, digging into his pocket to produce something, which he extended.
Emmie blinked at the spectacle of the huge diamond solitaire ring that he was offering her. ‘Er…what’s this?’
‘You’re bright enough to work it out,’ Bastian teased. ‘But it’s going to be the shortest engagement on record because I intend to add a wedding ring to your finger as soon as possible.’
Emmie stiffened, facial muscles setting tight. ‘I don’t want you to feel you have to marry me because it’s what your family expect of you,’ she told him squarely.
‘I knew they’d stick their oar in if they could but this has nothing to do with my family. This,’ Bastian declared, lifting her slender hand to thread the diamond ring onto her engagement finger, ‘is all about me and you and how I feel about you. I can’t stand you being away from me.’
‘Maybe you’re just possessive,’ Emmie remarked.
‘I can’t sleep when you’re not there.’
‘It’s sex you miss,’ Emmie contended heavily, refusing to be convinced by his transformation.
Bastian swore under his breath and lifted her up to face him. ‘Stop being grumpy and difficult,’ he instructed. ‘Somehow I fell madly in love with you and now you’ve become so much a part of my life that I can’t imagine it without you. It’s got nothing to do with you being pregnant either—that’s simply a wonderful added extra.’
‘An added extra?’ Emmie repeated in astonishment.
‘I love you,’ Bastian murmured intently, dark golden eyes locked strongly to hers. ‘And I finally understand how much that emotion can enrich my life.’
‘But you only hired me as an escort,’ Emmie protested. ‘If it hadn’t been me, it would have been someone else.’
‘No. You were never an escort and I’ve never been with one and now I never ever will be, khriso mou,’ Bastian declared emotively. ‘You were special and you dug your way into my heart and taught me to feel stuff I never thought I would or could experience.’
A great bubble of happiness was swelling inside Emmie and making her feel light-headed. ‘Seriously?’ she pressed.
‘Seriously,’ Bastian confirmed levelly.
‘Pride comes before a fall,’ Emmie teased with a huge grin.
‘Slow and steady wins the race,’ Bastian muttered, nuzzling his passionate mouth against her throat so that she shivered in the circle of his arms. ‘But I’m sorry I was such a slow learner.’
‘I’ll forgive you because I love you too,’ she whispered. ‘But I didn’t admit it to myself until it was almost too late because I was scared of getting too involved with you and getting hurt.’
‘I will never hurt you,’ Bastian swore huskily. ‘My ambition is to marry you and spend my life ensuring that you and our children are happy.’
Emmie linked her arms round his neck and gazed up at him with adoring eyes and a sunny smile. ‘I’m not going to complain about that. You’re going to be a fantastic father as well,’ she assured him with loving confidence.
‘Even though I’ve got no manners?’
‘Says the guy who opens doors for me all the time?’ Emmie riposted as he did exactly that with the door in front of them.
‘So you actually noticed that change in my behaviour?’ Bastian quipped. ‘Why didn’t you mention it then?’
‘Didn’t want to give you a swollen head!’ She gasped, breathless with excitement as he paused to kiss her.
‘You have to notice to encourage me, khriso mou,’ Bastian informed her raggedly, holding her tightly to him, ensuring that she was fully aware of the effect she was having on him.
‘My word, Bastian, the last thing you need from me is encouragement!’ Emmie laughed at the idea, joy sparkling through her as she wrapped her arms round him and clung to stay upright.
EPILOGUE
FOUR YEARS LATER on her wedding anniversary, Emmie strolled down to the beach where Bastian was playing ball with their toddler sons, Dmitri and Stavros, Saffy’s husband, Zahir, and their son, Karim. In Emmie’s arms snuggled her baby daughter, Appollonia, cute as a button at six months old with her mother’s hair and her father’s eyes.
For a pleasant change the usually empty stretch of beach below the house was downright crowded. Bastian’s grandfather, Theron, was sharing one of the tables on the sand with Nessa, Leonides and their infant daughter, Olympia. A family BBQ was organised for later that evening. Kat and Mikhail, Topsy and their twins were due to arrive on Mikhail’s fabulous yacht before nightfall. Emmie knew it would be a fantastic, noisy celebration with kids running wild and sisters talking nineteen to the dozen to catch up on the latest news and she could hardly wait.
‘Give me that beautiful baby,’ Saffy urged, reaching for Appollonia, who gave her aunt a gummy smile. ‘Trust you to get it right. I’m having another boy when I was convinced I was carrying a little girl this time,’ she lamented, patting the rounded contours of her stomach.
‘Maybe the next time,’ Emmie said with a grin.
‘I told Zahir there wasn’t going to be a next time.’
‘You said that after Karim’s birth as well,’ Emmie reminded her twin, loving the closeness of the bond reborn after their long estrangement from each other.
‘Did I?’ Saffy sighed. ‘Zahir is mad about kids, almost as bad as Bastian.’
A black-haired squirming bundle of lively toddler tucked under each muscular arm, Bastian lowered his twin sons to the ground and doled out cold drinks from the cool box.
Bastian strode across the sand to lift his daughter out of Saffy’s arms and hold her high above him. The baby chuckled like mad, arms and plump little legs waving in frantic excitement. She was a cheerful baby with a wonderfully infectious laugh while her brothers were live-wire kids, who kept both parents on their toes.
Sometimes, Emmie could barely believe that years had passed since their quiet wedding on the island, which had only been attended by family. They had held a terrific party afterwards and just six weeks later their twin boys had been born early. One of their devoted nannies retrieved Appollonia from her father and Bastian crossed the sand to close an arm round Emmie’s slim shoulders.
‘Happy anniversary, pethi mou,’ he husked, brushing his sensual mouth gently across her temples.
In the sunlight, Emmie touched the perfectly matched pearls that gleamed at her throat with appreciative fingertips, Bastian’s gift to mark the occasion. As a wedding present he had given her an outrageously extravagant sapphire necklace, confiding that the first time he had watched her walking down the stairs in his island home he had pictured her sporting sapphires that matched her eyes. Her husband’s generosity had ensured that her jewellery collection and her wardrobe were pretty special. Never again would Emmie be able to use the excuse that she had nothing suitable to wear, for she owned a wonderful selection of clothes. Indeed anything she wanted, Bastian ensured she received and Emmie loved being spoilt and valued for the first time in her life.
‘Happy anniversary, my love,’ Emmie whispered, gazing up at her darkly handsome husband with smiling warmth and love. ‘Has marriage lived up to your expectations?’
Bastian tugged her close to his big sun-warmed body. ‘Life with you has exceeded my every expectation.’
‘I know you never dreamt until I came along that you might enjoy three rug rats round your feet,’ Emmie teased fondly, watching approvingly as she saw Zahir pull Saffy close with the quiet assurance of a firmly bonded couple. Emmie had never dreamt that falling in love could give her so much happiness.
‘The more the merrier,’ Bastian quipped, stunning dark golden eyes welded with sensual intent to her blushing face. ‘We could head back into the house to check the catering arrangements.’
Her lovely face heated even more in the sunlight, hunger stirring as she looked up at him, a hunger laced with an excitement that had yet to fade. ‘Whatever you like,’ she told him breathily.
‘Oh, I like…I like you very much,’ Bastian growled raggedly, his arm tightening round her as he walked her back off the beach.
Her husband’s desire for her never failed to make Emmie feel like the most exciting woman alive and she no longer remembered what it felt like to feel second best. She smiled, full of love and lust, happy and relaxed and grateful for the security and continuity of her tight-knit family circle.
Strictly Temporary
ROBYN GRADY was first contracted by Mills & Boon in 2006. Her books feature regularly on bestsellers lists and at award ceremonies, including the National Readers Choice Awards, the Booksellers Best Awards, Cataromance Reviewers Choice Awards and Australia’s prestigious Romantic Book of the Year.
Robyn lives on Australia’s gorgeous Sunshine Coast where she met and married her real-life hero. When she’s not tapping out her next story, she enjoys the challenges of raising three very different daughters, going to the theatre, reading on the beach and dreaming about bumping into Stephen King during a month-long Mediterranean cruise.
Robyn knows that writing romance is the best job on the planet and she loves to hear from her readers! You can keep up with news on her latest releases at www.robyngrady.com.
This story is dedicated to another gorgeous Zack. Mission accomplished!
With much thanks to my wonderful editor, Shana Smith, for her continuing belief and support, as well as to Jessica Alvarez for her fabulous input. Much appreciated, ladies!
One
Cool. Unruffled.
Nothing rattled Zack Harrison’s cage.
He viewed Denver’s unseasonal snowfall this afternoon as a picturesque bonus more than an inconvenience. Today’s setback with regard to his latest acquisition strike was another challenge, not a reason to rant. Achieving a goal should involve effort, Zack decided as he shrugged into his overcoat, thanked the concierge and collected his briefcase. He’d simply need to get more…inventive was the word.
However, his patience was sorely tested when it came to the press. Last month’s beat-up was nothing short of laughable. Apparently he was a fiend who left underprivileged families homeless in order to expand his evil empire. And what about that recent piece questioning his treatment of an ambitious actress he’d been seeing? Without exception he treated women with respect but, from the get-go, he and Ally had agreed upon “fun and casual,” not “if I don’t see a diamond ring, I’ll expose your darkest secret.” As if blackmail would work. Unlike his father and siblings, this Harrison didn’t give a rat’s behind what people thought.
But on this late-spring afternoon, as he strode from the hotel’s entrance, yanked open the waiting cab’s back passenger door and zipped inside the toasty cabin, Zack’s calm fled and he jumped back in his seat. He took a moment to adjust and study his unexpected company before leaning forward to tap the driver’s shoulder.
“Your last fare forgot something.”
The cabbie angled around. “A wallet?”
“No,” Zack said. “A baby.”
The other back door swung open. A cool rush whooshed inside along with a woman wearing a hooded cherry-red coat. She set a matching overnighter on her lap and promptly slapped the door shut against the howling drifts. Blowing warmth into her cupped hands, her attention shifted. Beneath the red hood, curious eyes the color of new violets slid from the infant car seat carrier up to Zack and back again.
He considered her face, those eyes, and his chest grew unusually warm. He hadn’t met this woman before and yet something in her glittering gaze had him wondering if he knew her. Perhaps he’d simply like to.
“I was in such a hurry, I didn’t see you get in,” she said, wrapping her manicured hands around the lip of her case. “Actually I couldn’t see much at all. Crazy, isn’t it? All this snow, I mean.”
A slow smile hooked one side of his mouth as Zack’s gaze drank her in. “Yeah,” he said. “Crazy.”
“It seems like the concierge called a cab ages ago. I walked to the curb to see if I could hail one down. I thought it might never come.”
Zack’s smile faded. He’d stolen her ride? When he’d checked out a few minutes ago, the front desk had organized a cab. Exiting the hotel’s foyer, he’d merely assumed.
He leaned forward again, spoke to the driver. He’d pick off this easier problem then take care of that other more complicated baby matter next.
“Are you answering a call?”
“Just back from dropping a fare at the airport.” The man behind the wheel pushed a maroon beret back on his brow before flicking on the meter. “Thought I’d swing in here and try my luck. No one’s going out in this weather ’less they have to.”
“The airport.” Red Riding Hood tipped forward, too. “That’s where I’m headed. I need to get back to New York for an interview first thing tomorrow. I’m a features writer for Story Magazine.” Her bright look said, You’ve heard of it, right?
Acting suitably informed and impressed despite his aversion, Zack nodded and said, “Of course,” a moment before she dragged back the hood. The shadow framing her face lifted and Zack forgot to breathe.
Other than her cheeks, which were flushed a healthy pink, her complexion was as flawless as porcelain. Her hair, a luxurious mane, rested like a sable mantle over two slim straight shoulders. Her violet eyes were so vibrant their light penetrated and illuminated places he hadn’t known existed.
He’d dated some beauties in his time, women who drew attention when they floated into a room and were comfortable exerting their power over the opposite sex. But Zack couldn’t recall having met a female whose company literally left him short on air, and not only because of something as superficial as looks. In the clear depths of her eyes…the poised yet innocent manner with which she listened and spoke…
Quite simply, this woman glowed.
After today’s unproductive meeting with the owner of this building he was ready to kick back and get home—home being the two-story private cabin he chilled at whenever he stopped in town. But the delectable Red was obviously in a hurry, eager to leave Denver and its freak weather behind. He’d be happy to play the gentleman and wait for another cab.
Which also meant she and the driver could work out between them what to do about this baby, who, thankfully, was still sound asleep.
Peaceful.
Zack looked harder.
Almost too peaceful. He had the damnedest urge to check each tiny finger curled over that wrap to make certain they were warm.
Red was peering at the baby, too. “I see you have a little one to worry about. She’s gorgeous.” She sighed then drew away. “I’ll ask the concierge to call and see where my cab is.”
As she turned to find her door’s handle, Zack’s muscles clenched and he caught her sleeve. Red couldn’t leave. She had it all wrong.
When her gaze hooked back—unsure, concerned—he released her arm and coughed out a hoarse laugh at the same time he glanced at the baby.
“This isn’t mine.”
The cabbie grunted. “Sure as heck ain’t mine.”
The woman blinked two sets of generous lashes and her lips twitched as if she wanted to smile but didn’t dare. “She looks a little young to travel alone.”
She. Zack had to ask.
“How do you know it’s a girl?” The carrier, blanket and bonnet were as white as the snow piling up on the sidewalk and road.
“Well, her face is so sweet.” Expression melting, Red curved the back of her hand over the baby’s bonneted crown and a tiny pair of lips pursed in and out as if she were dreaming about dinner. “Rosebud mouth,” Red went on. “Cute and tiny. She’s too pretty to be a boy.”
The driver drummed his thumbs on the wheel. “Meter’s running, folks.”
“Of course.” Gathering herself, Red pulled away. “I’ll let you go.”
For a second time that day, Zack’s calm evaporated. But now his mouth went completely dry, and sweat broke on the back of his neck. This afternoon was supposed to finish with a quiet brandy in front of a toasty fire, not tossing a hot potato like this around. He didn’t even like babies… . Or, more correctly, they didn’t like him.
“What are we supposed to do with her?” he asked.
“Not we, pal.” The cabbie slotted the shift into gear.
His voice deep, Zack spoke to the man who clearly wasn’t his “pal.” “I told you, she isn’t mine.”
Red slanted her head and a stream of sable spilled over one shoulder. “What’s she doing here then?”
“Beats me. Who’d you drop off last?” he asked the driver.
“An eighty-year-old man with a cane.” The cabbie slid his beret back again. “He was flying out to see family in Jersey, and he wasn’t carrying no bassinet.”
The cabbie’s expression said, Don’t know your game, son, but don’t try to dump your problems on me.
Zack growled. How many times did he have to say it? The baby wasn’t his! At least it seemed that Red believed him.
Her face had lost all color as if every drop of blood had rushed to her feet. Her question came out a struggled whisper as though she shouldn’t speak the words too loud for fear they might be true.
“Do you think someone abandoned her?”
“Guess the authorities will have to figure that out.”
Zack didn’t like the situation—not a bit. He knew less than zip about babies and had every intention of keeping it that way. Marriage and its inevitable complications were the furthest things from his mind. But, in this matter…
Ah, hell, what choice did he have? Red was in a legitimate hurry and—no getting around it—he had been the one to make the find. Either the guy behind the wheel could outact Tom Hanks or he sincerely had no clue. God only knew how a baby could end up alone in the backseat of a cab.
Zack’s gaze roamed the small sleeping form, those rosebud lips, that button nose, and his heart swelled and dropped. Some things you simply couldn’t shrug off.
After flexing his fingers, he slid a firm grip around the unharnessed car seat’s handle.
“I’ll bring her to the police station.” His voice was hushed now. He didn’t want to wake her and maybe have her cry. “They can call Child Services.”
“But they could take ages to collect her.”
“I only know a baby doesn’t sleep forever and I don’t carry spare diapers around in my breast pocket.”
Red quietly searched around the foot of the blanket. “There’s a bottle here,” she said, “some formula and a few diapers, too.”
“The officers at the local precinct will be most appreciative.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “I’m sure they’ll be eternally grateful.”
Zack narrowed his eyes at her. What was she after? He was a businessman, for Pete’s sake, not a babysitter—no matter how cute the kid.
The driver adjusted his rearview mirror. “Should I drop you two lovebirds off at a café so you can nut this out?”
“We’re not lovebirds.” Zack gripped the carrier’s handle more tightly while Red held his gaze for an interminably long moment before surprising him yet again. Her slim nostrils flared, her delicate chin lifted a notch.
Then she reached out and her hand closed over his.
The sensation of her palm pressing, fingers brushing, sent his thoughts and pulse leaping. In an instant he became intensely aware of her scent, subtle and citrus, and the fact that her left hand bore no rings. The idea she might be unattached—available—hijacked and toyed with his mind.
When her fingers moved enough to scoop beneath his, her nails teased his palm and a jet of heat, like the initial burst of a flame, licked a hot path through his veins. Pleasant. Tempting. His runaway thoughts bubbled with all kinds of possibilities that had nothing to do with a baby, except, perhaps, the making of one.
“You go on,” she said as her fingers wrapped around the carrier’s handle and his reluctantly eased away. “I’ll take her back inside with me. I can’t stand to think of her waiting in a police station. Who knows what types might be lurking around.”
Zack opened his mouth to argue. Red had a flight to catch. But in truth he couldn’t disagree about the police station; not the best environment for an infant who’d need attention once she woke. And the instinct that rarely failed him said this woman was competent and trustworthy. The baby would be in good hands until the proper authorities stepped in. After that…
At the twinge beneath his ribs, Zack set his jaw and squared his shoulders.
After that, no doubt the mother would show up, all teary but relieved, and the family would have a good story to share at the kid’s twenty-first.
But, for now, Red needed a hand to battle the snow and get them both inside.
He shifted. “I’ll help you back in.”
“No need.”
Before he could insist, she’d opened her door. Standing with her overnight case in one hand, she waved in the direction of the hotel entrance with the other. Zack glanced out the back window. Through swirls of snow, a uniformed bellman was striding over, monster umbrella fending off the inclement weather.
James Dirkins, the current owner of this hotel, had refused his first offer on behalf of Harrison Hotels, but at this moment Zack was more determined than ever. When he snared the deal, bought this hotel, his first priority would be to cover that forecourt. Such a basic thing. No wonder occupancy was down.
After handing her luggage to the bellman, Red slid out the carrier. She had the good grace to flash a quick smile goodbye before the bellman shut the door and Zack watched them shrink then vanish into the white.
“So, you going to the airport, pal?”
Gaze still on the drifts, Zack murmured, “A private address.”
“You want me to guess?”
But Zack wasn’t listening.
Red…
He didn’t even know her name.
“You could buy your own cab the way the meter’s clicking over,” the driver said. “Not that I’ll complain.”
Zack’s ears pricked, his stomach jumped and he sat straighter. Was that the wind he heard gusting outside or a baby’s cry?
Squeezing his eyes shut, he counted to three but, wouldn’t you know, the urge only grew. Wasn’t often Zack Harrison felt cornered. Beaten. But now he groaned, whipped out his wallet, dropped a bill over onto the front seat and told the driver, “Wait here. As long as it takes. I’ll be back.”
Trinity Matthews knew precisely what she’d gotten herself into.
Hours of waiting—and worrying—in a city where she knew no one; the naturopath she’d met and interviewed today for Story didn’t count. And yet as she moved over the polished marble floor, heading for the hotel’s sweeping timber reception desk with the baby carrier weighing on her arm, Trinity couldn’t regret her decision.
Child Services did their best, but lines were long and resources low. At one time, she’d applied for a job in the department but personal experience with the system, as well as insight into herself, said she’d never cut it. So many neglected or abandoned children…She’d want to take home every one.
Glancing down, Trinity studied the sleeping baby and raw emotion gripped and thickened in her throat. Nobody asked to be tossed away. Nobody deserved to be, certainly not this little angel. If, in fact, abandonment were the case.
The echoing slap of footfalls on marble came from behind. Trinity pivoted around. The man from the cab—the one with those incredible midnight eyes, that velvet smooth baritone and a smile that seemed strangely familiar—was jogging up toward her, dodging patrons and hotel staff, overcoat tails flapping behind. As he pulled up, a lock of dark hair fell over his brow and his broad shoulders rolled back as he drew in a deep breath. For a moment, Trinity felt a little out of breath herself. From head to foot, and everywhere in between, what an outstanding example of the male species. And there it was again…that niggle that whispered she knew him.
And maybe shouldn’t trust him.
Then he introduced himself and the pieces of that puzzle all fell magically into place.
“I forgot to introduce myself,” he said with a lopsided grin. “Zackery Harrison.”
Trinity’s eyes widened at the same time her stomach muscles clutched. Of course! Standing in the brighter light, who could dispute that dynamite build, the Hollywood looks, that authoritative air? In person, Mr. Harrison was indeed criminally sexy. From all she’d read, Trinity also knew he was a greedy, self-serving jerk.
But she wouldn’t call him out on that here, now. This was neither the place nor time to give Mr. Harrison a piece of her mind. Siphoning in a settling breath, she schooled her features and introduced herself.
“I’m Trinity Matthews.”
“Ms. Matthews,” he said, looking as commanding as he did in his numerous celebrity shots, whether appearing barechested on his yacht or looking sophisticated and invincible in a tailored suit and tie. “I’ve given this situation more thought and I want to help.”
Studying his charitable expression, she asked the obvious.
“Why?”
Wariness flickered in his eyes before he smiled again. “Because I have some spare time and you need to get back to New York.”
Trinity took in his intoxicating grin, white and inviting—the same smile that had reached out to intrigue her earlier in the cab. The same look that had seduced some of the country’s most beautiful women and persuaded officials to trade people’s homes for commercial profits. Her blood boiled to even think of self-serving, money-hungry corporate studs like Zack Harrison when so many people did without.
Which led back to the little person who needed her help now.
Whom did this baby belong to? What was her story? Trinity couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to cast her aside. She was so perfect. So beautiful.
“I’ll catch a later flight,” she told Harrison. “I might not be a world expert where caring for new babies is concerned, but chances are I know more than you.”
Weren’t women supposed to be instinctive about maternal matters like feeding and soothing? Of course, Trinity knew better than most there were exceptions.
When Zackery Harrison crossed his arms, a subtle cue to have her capitulate and be on her way back to New York, Trinity set down the carrier and crossed her arms, too.
“I’m not leaving,” she told him, “until I know she’s okay.”
“I have a place not far from here—”
“I said no.”
Babies needed constant care and attention. Love. She wasn’t certain Harrison even had a heart.
“My neighbors keep an eye on my place when I’m away,” he pushed on. “Mrs. Dale is a spritely grandmother of ten. She doesn’t like today’s music or grasshoppers, particularly when her dianthuses are in bloom. But she adores babies. She used to be a foster mom.”
Trinity suppressed a shudder. Despite her personal experience, certainly there must be a ton of fabulous ones. Still, she couldn’t help her reflex reaction. For years the term “foster mom” had been interchangeable with “monster mom,” aka Nasty Nora Earnshaw, her own foster mother.
“Mrs. Dale ran her own home child-care business not so long ago,” he went on. “Still has all the gear—high chairs, playpens. I know she’d be happy to help.” His dark eyes glittered. “You don’t want to miss your interview.”
Trinity’s fists unclenched.
Her job meant more to her than anything. It gave her the chance to travel and meet so many interesting and inspirational people. Individuals who touched others’ lives in so many ways. After living in a small Ohio town most of her life, she loved working in New York. She’d made friends there. Had made herself a life.
Her profession was a fiercely competitive one. In these tough times, positions were hard to come by. With three coworkers laid off last week due to more budget cuts, she couldn’t afford to rock the boat. But then there was this baby.
While patrons and hotel staff moved around them, going about their business, Trinity looked down again and her heart squeezed.
She didn’t trust Zack Harrison. How much did he truly know about this neighbor of his, Mrs. Dale? Trinity’s foster mother had given off a caring would-die-for-these-children impression, too. All a big fat lie.
“How can you be sure this miracle neighbor of yours will be in?” she asked.
“The Dales are homebodies. I’ve been in town a few days. When I passed by this morning, just before the snow began to fall, Mrs. D was hurrying inside her gate, back from taking one of her grandkids for a walk in the stroller.”
Nibbling her lower lip, Trinity glanced around the busy foyer…at the helpful receptionist, the bellboy waiting patiently nearby, the concierge at his desk looking ready at a moment to rush over and help.
She made her decision.
“We’re staying here. It’s a good hotel. Great staff—”
“This baby’s better off with someone who knows about children.”
His voice held a warning note—low and deep—but he didn’t look annoyed, merely determined. And, damn it, didn’t he have a point? They’d already established they had no idea how long the authorities would take getting out. And if she put her own past experience and suspicions aside, Mrs. Dale could be precisely what this baby needed at this uncertain point in time. To be fair, how much of her reluctance was about what was best for the baby and how much about her own issues and personal dislike for Mr. Harrison?
Trinity gazed down at the baby, still sleeping soundly, and finally relented.
“Okay.” She nodded. “We’ll go.”
“We?”
“I need to see her settled before…” Trinity shut down an image of the baby being taken away to God knows where, for however long, and ended by saying, “Before I leave.”
Zack Harrison’s features were angled in a strong, classical kind of way. His coal-fringed eyes reflected a character that was both comfortable with himself as well as with others, but they were also hypervigilant. Watchful while somehow resigned—the mark of a man who wielded power and was content in the knowledge that he was indeed a force.
Self-assured. Unapologetically so. But now Trinity saw another emotion shifting in his gaze.
Was it respect?
“In that case,” he said, “we’d better go before our cabbie turns traitor and takes another fare.”
At the same time he moved to claim the carrier’s handle, so did she. When their hands met, skin against skin, heat on human heat, Trinity felt her face flush as her blood reacted and raced. With that lock of hair hanging over his brow, Zack looked across and grinned at her. Getting her rabid hormones under control, Trinity straightened.
“Before we go, I think it’s only fair I admit that I know who you are.”
His chin lifted. “I told you who I was.”
“I read like everyone else, Mr. Harrison. You help run your family’s hotel chain. You do whatever it takes to get whatever you want—” She hesitated but couldn’t hold it back. “And you pride yourself on seducing beautiful women.”
The grin froze on his face. “You subscribe to my fan club.”
“Just so you understand—I’m agreeing to this only because I believe it’s the best option for that baby.”
“Not because I’m ruthless and irresistible?”
Her heart jumped and she fought the urge to lick suddenly dry lips.
“Definitely not because of that.”
He seemed to loom closer, look hotter, as his eyes glittered, penetrating hers. “Well, now you have that out the way, we should go. Unless…”
Her antennae quivered. “Unless what?”
“We get this out of the way now.”
“Get what out the way?”
“I thought you might want to kick my shin, slap my face. Pull my nose.”
The tension locking her shoulders eased. She’d thought for a moment…Oh, but that was ridiculous.
“I’ll try to restrain myself,” she said.
He looked at her sideways as if he might be able to glimpse a well-hidden piece of her soul. “Ms. Matthews, you didn’t think I was going to do something wholly in character, like take you in my arms and kiss you? Maybe even ravage you?”
Her cheeks caught light. The man was outrageous! “Of course not.”
“I’m such a beast. How can you be sure?”
“I’m hardly your type,” she pointed out. “Even if I were, after these last few weeks of less than glowing publicity, you couldn’t possibly want to draw attention to yet another incident.” She slid a confident glance around the busy area. “We’re out in the open. Everyone has cell phones and every cell phone has a camera.”
Mr. Harrison’s eyes lost their spark. His gaze turned dark, almost predatory.
“You think I care about gossip?”
“No. I don’t.” She cocked her head. “But maybe you should.”
That devilish smile twitched and spread again.
“You’re right. Maybe I should.” He stepped unforgivably close while his gaze held her unforgettably still. “And maybe I should give the world something to really talk about.”
Two
Zack slanted his head closer to Trinity Matthews’s stunned violet-colored eyes and almost forgot that he’d been teasing. Making her pay.
She didn’t know him from a lump of wood. What a laugh that she should make assumptions based on the tripe gossipmongers served up—and how typical. After all, she was one of them—a reporter for some rag-or-other he’d never heard of before today. Most publications shared a common code, turning a castaway line or suggestive photo into a sensation that had nothing to do with the truth and everything to do with building numbers and keeping their parasitic jobs.
Still, he was a good sport. He wouldn’t hold any of that against Ms. Matthews, particularly when she was so darn cute all fired up, blushing and battling her conscience. Would she make a scene if he did the unimaginable and kissed her, or would she melt into his embrace and maybe make the front page herself?
Sorely tempted, his head dropped lower, but at the last moment, his trajectory veered and his attention fell again to the baby. He collected the carrier and headed for the hotel exit. A few seconds later, Trinity Matthews’s heels were clicking double-time behind him.
Outside, from a gray Colorado sky buttressed by mountains, the snow was falling faster. When they were all safely back in the cab, Zack called Child Services on his cell while the meter ticked and Trinity watched the baby. Finally he spoke with a woman who asked for his number and address then said a representative would get back to him as soon as possible. She also said it was her obligation to inform the police of all details, including his. Perfect. Saved him.
As he ended the call, in hushed tones, Trinity asked, “What’d they say?”
“They’ll get back to us.”
“When?”
“When they can.” Soon, he hoped. He slotted the cell away. “In the meantime, we’ll pick up some spare diapers and head over to Mrs. Dale’s.”
When the authorities took away the baby, he’d pay for Trinity’s return fare to the airport. With this good deed done and out of the way, he’d get to sipping that brandy before a toasty log fire. Zack was in half a mind to ask whether Trinity might like to join him, if only to see whether she’d leap at the chance to dress him down or betray her morality for curiosity and accept.
They stopped at a drugstore. The baby was still asleep when Zack returned to load the trunk with two bags of diapers, as well as wipes, additional formula, bottles and three small undershirts and one-piece outfits. As Zack well knew, in any venture, preparedness was the key. Besides, the pink suit had tiny ears on the hood like a cat or bear. Who could pass that up?
The baby was still pushing out pint-size z’s when half an hour later the cab swerved into his neighbors’ long driveway.
Dusk had fallen over the peaceful, largely unpopulated district, which was bordered by giant firs, their branches burdened with the weight of new snow. A lonely streetlamp cast an eerie glow over the wintery ground but no light shone from the Dales’ place. In fact, for the first time Zack could recall, that house appeared quite still.
Deserted.
Trinity was peering out the foggy window, too.
“No one’s home.” Studying the surrounding woods, she sat back and hugged herself. “We should have stayed at the hotel. Do you even get cell reception out this far?”
“If you’re heading back in, you’d want to be quick about it.” The driver upped the wiper speed and blades thrashed triple-time across the icy screen. “This is turning into a storm.”
Fingers threaded on his lap, Zack thought for a moment then gave the driver instructions. “Continue on, a hundred yards down on your right.”
“Hang on just a minute.” Trinity clutched her seat belt like it was the only parachute on a plane going down. “Did you hear what he said? This snow’s not letting up. If we’re going back into town, we need to go now.”
“The authorities have my details. They know where we’re headed. We’ll stay put until they get back to us.”
In the growing shadows, her eyes flashed and those kissable lips tightened. She shook her head. “We’re going back.”
“Not an option.”
“Why not?”
“You mean aside from being smart and staying out of this weather?”
He paused long enough to draw attention to wind gusting and whistling outside. When Mother Nature spoke, people did best to listen. Besides, he refused to set foot inside that hotel again until Dirkins had sufficient time to sweat over his offer. If he checked in tonight, the owner of that hotel would assume Zack had weakened and was prepared to sweeten the offer he’d made. That wasn’t the case, no matter how much Zack sympathized with Dirkins’s personal situation. A death in the family was never easy, particularly, he imagined, when it involved an only son.
The baby shifted. A tiny fist curled into the blanket. Zack held his breath while she yawned, stretched and squeaked at the same time a frown pinched her flawless brow.
He growled. That did it.
“My cabin’s a minute’s drive from here,” he said. “Don’t know about you, but I’d rather dance naked in that snow than be stuck in a cab when she wakes up crying.”
The baby squeaked again, louder this time. Then her nose wrinkled before she settled fitfully again. Trinity pressed her lips together for a considering moment before her hold on the seat belt eased and reluctantly fell away.
“All right. We’ll go to your place.”
Wasting no time, Zack tapped the driver’s shoulder and the cab pulled carefully out of the Dales’ snow-clogged driveway. After the baby was put down again later, before the authorities arrived, he and Ms. Matthews could take time to reflect on the decisions they’d made, perhaps while sitting in front of a crackling fire with that brandy that felt so close now, he could almost taste it.
Despite her stand, animal instinct said she was as attracted to him as he was to her. Could be interesting getting to know her a little better.
Gazing out the window, Zack slowly smiled.
Who was he kidding? Truth was that he’d like to get to know Ms. Matthews, and her attitude, a whole lot more.
At the same time the cab rolled away from Zack Harrison’s address, the full moon peeked out from beneath its heavy blanket of cloud. As a silvery glow illuminated the scene, Trinity could barely stop from gasping and rubbing to clear her eyes.
This was a cabin?
Zack, with the carrier and bags of baby supplies, was already striding through the drifts on his way to the covered entrance of the spectacular A-frame home. Flopping her coat’s hood over her head, Trinity gripped her case and hurried after him. He pushed back the large timber door, flicked on a light and she stepped through into central-heated heaven. Marveling over her new surroundings, she blindly set her case on the hardwood floor.
The lower story was huge and open plan, various details of which hinted at exceptional wealth as well as a rustic homey welcome. To the right, the kitchen area was elevated one step and dressed in soaring polished oak with shining granite trimmings. At the far end of the room, a state-of-the-art media section was laid out before sumptuous connected leather recliners. In the center of a massive slate wall, a significant stone fireplace begged to be lit and have marshmallows toasted over gentle flames. A hallway off the foyer would lead to bedrooms, Trinity decided. As she drew back her hood, her gaze climbed a loft staircase that led to a mezzanine floor encased by carved timber rails.
Zack’s husky words brushed her ear as he passed and explained, “The main bedroom.”
She quivered. Main bedroom. His bedroom. A whirlpool of images swam up in her mind, the most vivid: Zack Harrison relaxing back against a strong, wooden headboard, rumpled sheet draped over lean hips, hard broad chest shamelessly on display, his expression self-assured…roguish and hot.
Hauling herself back, Trinity caught her breath. She wasn’t here to fantasize about sleeping with a man who’d made sexual seduction his favorite personal pastime. Obviously she wasn’t the only female he affected this way. The media spotted a new besotted squeeze on his arm every other month. But dwelling on his charisma—on that blatant sex appeal—had no place here, particularly when she’d made a fool of herself earlier at the hotel. She’d practically dissolved when she’d thought he might kiss her. Her skin flashed hot just thinking how he must have laughed when, eyelids growing heavy, she’d visibly trembled.
But he wouldn’t catch her out again.
While Zack gently set down the carrier and supplies then maneuvered out of his overcoat, Trinity chased the butterflies from her stomach, slipped out of her coat as well then offered a neutral, totally honest statement.
“Your home is beautiful.”
“I don’t spend a lot of time here,” he said, peeling back the carrier’s light blanket, which had acted as a shield for the baby against the falling snow. “I hail from New York, like you. But you already know that.”
She ignored his mischievous, pointed look and continued to study the room. “So this is a getaway?”
“My dad used to spend all his time at the office. To make it up to us, we’d always pack up and head off to Colorado for a break during snow season.” He set his coat on the nearby rack, hung hers, too, then shucked out of his suit jacket before hooking that as well. “When I was older, I kept traveling out and found this area. We’ve got some amazing scenery. Nice people, too—the kind who are never too busy to nod and say hello when you pass on the street. I figured I might as well have a place on hand.”
“But you don’t have a vehicle in the garage?” Or there’d be no need for a cab.
“Engines like to be turned over regularly, so it’s easier to rent something. When I flew in this time, there’d been a mixup with the rental information. I don’t exactly fit inside a bubble car.” He gave his impressive shoulders an awkward roll to make his point then threw a glance toward the kitchen and collected the baby carrier again. “I’ll put on some coffee. We can get her bottle set up while it brews.”
Trinity knew she was stepping on dangerous ground but she couldn’t keep her gaze off the impressive ledge of his shoulders in that white business shirt as she followed him into a large kitchen. The way his well-spaced shoulder blades moved in tandem with his purposeful, measured stride was enough to make her fingers itch to reach out and touch. In these more intimate surroundings—now they were alone—Zack’s presence was a step away from spellbinding. Not that he’d need anyone to tell him that. She certainly didn’t need to dwell on it a moment more.
And yet, as he set the carrier gently down again, wrung loose his tie and studied the baby—brow lined and dark eyes concerned—Trinity was more aware than ever of her physical reaction to his air of authority. His aura of masculine supremacy. That awareness made her flush from head to foot and everywhere in between. The reports were all true.
Zack Harrison must be the sexiest man alive.
“Should we sterilize something?”
Trinity dragged her focus away from the sweep of his full bottom lip then registered and answered his question.
“Yes. Absolutely. A bottle.” Stepping forward, she crouched beside the carrier and examined the baby who, after earlier noises, appeared to have settled again. “I’ll find the directions for the formula.”
Carefully she slipped the bottle and formula canister out from where they rested at the foot of the carrier. Zack found a saucepan while she deciphered the formula’s directions…although her attention wasn’t entirely on the job.
Whistling a vaguely familiar tune while finding a coffeepot, Zack seemed at home here in this setting. And yet he spent most of his time in New York. Did he live in a Chelsea condo or a penthouse on Central Park West? Or was it the presidential suite of a family hotel? Hell, probably every Harrison came home to their very own multimillion-dollar penthouse.
“What’s it like?” she asked, setting the formula down.
His back to her, Zack collected mugs from an overhead cabinet. “What’s what like?”
“Owning all that real estate.” Pimping it out only to those who can afford the exorbitant rates.
“I don’t own Harrison Hotels exclusively.” He pulled one end of his tie. With a zipping sound, the expensive strip of blue silk slid out and dropped in an abstract coil on the counter. “It’s a family business.”
“So you work every day with your parents and siblings?”
She’d always wanted sisters—or rather ones who would stay in her life rather than being moved on to another foster home after they’d become close. After a while, she’d given up wishing and hoping.
For a time, in between “then” and “now,” she’d dreamed of having a family all her own, with a caring husband who would always stand by her, and at least one baby, but preferably two. She’d even picked out names. But over the years her plans had changed.
Zack was answering her question about siblings.
“We have our good days. We’re like-minded in many respects.” He found sugar then milk from a fridge that housed its own high-definition TV. “We’re different in other ways, though. How about you? Do you have family?”
A familiar jab poked her ribs. It was one thing to sometimes think about what she’d once hoped for more than anything in the world. For anyone to ask her outright about whether or not she had any kind of family was quite another.
Trinity focused back on the formula. “Oh, nothing like that,” she said in a remarkably even voice.
“Like what?”
“Like your family. Like…blood.”
Not much of an answer but normally she didn’t like to think about it let alone talk about her past. She definitely wasn’t out to garner anyone’s pity, particularly Zack-I-have-it-all-Harrison. Besides, the past was well behind her. What purpose would bringing it up here serve?
But then, peeling back the formula’s lid, her gaze wandered again to the baby. Her throat closed over and for the first time in a long while she rethought that stand. From as far back as she could recall she’d been a private person. But wasn’t this situation unique? No matter what she thought of his public image, Zack Harrison had given his time and opened up his house, not only to this baby but to her as well. Maybe this once she could share.
“Actually,” she said, her heart beginning to pound, “I was a ward of the state.”
She glanced over her shoulder. About to lift the coffeepot, Zack froze. His focus shifted to the carrier then skated over to her. His gaze penetrated hers so deeply she almost regretted opening her mouth. She wasn’t a freak, just one of many ex-foster kids.
“That’s why…” he began and she nodded.
“That’s one of the reasons why I couldn’t walk away.”
He exhaled a long breath then poured steaming coffee that smelled both bitter and comforting. When both mugs were full, he met her gaze again. The surprise was gone from his eyes, but she wasn’t much happier with the sympathy drawing on the corners of his mouth.
“Did you have a rough time?”
Her smile was thin. “Not everyone can land a Mrs. Dale.”
“But you made good. All these years later working for—”
His brows knitting, he crossed over and handed her a mug while she contained a grin. She’d gleaned from his polite but vacant look earlier in the cab that he’d never heard of the publication.
“I work for Story Magazine.”
“Ah, yes. Story.”
He took a long pull from his mug. She did the same, and almost sighed, the heat and flavor were so good. But while she concentrated on warming her palms, she felt his gaze tracing over the lines of her face.
“Ever interview a successful hotelier who rescues babies as a sideline?” he asked.
Meeting his midnight gaze, she cocked her head and pretended to be intrigued, which, in truth, she was. “Can’t say I have.”
“If you play your cards right, I could be available for questions later.”
“I have a question for you now.”
“I’m all ears.”
She had the darnedest urge to say, When you came so close in that hotel foyer earlier, was it because you really wanted to kiss me or because you wanted to put me in my place?
Of course, she swallowed the urge, retacked her neutral smile and asked instead, “Can I have some sugar?”
He slowly smiled. “You can have anything you want.”
He brought over the sugar bowl. She heaped in a good spoonful and took her time stirring. Leaning around her, he set the sugar bowl on the counter. His arm brushed hers as he tipped back but, although her stomach jumped, she gave no outward sign of how high her pulse had skipped. Rather, she dropped her focus to the baby again, taking in the healthy glow, the plump pink cheeks.
Attention on the baby now, too, Zack asked, “How old do you reckon she’d be?”
“Maybe three months. She looks well cared for.”
“It doesn’t make sense her being left alone like that. There has to be more to it.”
An idea struck and a chill crawled up her spine. “Maybe she was abducted.” It happened, and more than some people might think. Stories that made the news were only the tip of the iceberg. “Perhaps they’d planned a ransom and got cold feet at the last minute.”
His voice was low and patient.
“Is that what happened to you?”
How she found herself in foster care? She shook her head but didn’t feel a need to explain more. A man in Zack’s situation, obviously so involved with his own family and position, couldn’t possibly understand.
The baby gave a squeak. Then she squirmed and blinked open sleepy eyes. Both Zack and Trinity bent over the carrier while the baby yawned and tried to focus. Trinity’s entire body flooded with a warmth she hadn’t known existed—powerful yet soft and syrupy all at the same time.
“Her eyes are blue,” she whispered.
“Do you think she’s hungry?”
As if to answer, the baby let out a whimper, and another. When Zack hesitated, Trinity took control and folded back the blanket. By the time the harness was unclipped and the baby was out of the carrier, whimpers had grown to little sobs. Her heart tugging low in her chest, Trinity held the baby close. She was heavier than she expected but also easier to hold.
“Poor darling,” she murmured against the velvet of that tiny cheek. “She must be wet. I’ll take care of that. Can you handle the bottle?”
“Sure. No problem.” He cast a tentative look at the canister. “You, uh, said there were directions?”
“On the side. Or do you want dibs on first diaper duty?”
He took a long step back. “I’ll have the bottle ready when you come out.”
She was shown to a downstairs bedroom with an attached bath. After she laid the baby on the bed and Zack set down a plastic bag of supplies, Trinity left to find a towel from the bath. Changing diapers could be a messy business; she didn’t want to leave the bedspread soiled. Returning, she noticed a silhouette lurking in the shadows of the bedroom doorway. Zack.
“I wanted to make sure the baby didn’t roll off the bed,” he said.
“At three months or younger, she’s too young to roll.”
Even if she were four months, she wouldn’t be able to roll more than once, and from her tummy to her back, not the other way around. She’d learned that when Nora Earnshaw had cared for an infant for a short time. A seven-year-old Trinity had spent all her spare time with that child. When the baby was taken away suddenly one day, she’d been so heartbroken and lonely; she’d barely eaten for weeks. The only saving grace was that the baby’s new foster home had to be better than Nora’s house. Maybe he’d even been adopted by a couple who never let him cry.
Zack smoothed a hand through his coal-black hair. “Then I guess I’ll get that bottle underway.”
Smiling to herself, Trinity watched him disappear then bent over to touch the sniffling baby’s forehead with her own. To think a big, bossy man like Zack Harrison standing all the way back there. Anyone would think he was afraid of holding this little cherub, of bringing her close, whereas any person in their right mind would find it hard to let her go.
Ten minutes later, Trinity emerged from the bedroom feeling most pleased with herself. The baby wore a fresh diaper as well as an intent, curious expression in her gorgeous robin’s-egg-blue eyes as if she wanted to thank this strange woman but didn’t know how. In the kitchen, his cuffs folded back, Zack was busy shaking a full bottle over his wrist. The image was so incredibly sexy, as well as rather funny and tender, something unfamiliar shifted inside and Trinity cradled the baby all the closer. Did all men look slightly awkward yet undeniably hot when performing this kind of domestic feat? Zack was so focused on his task he hadn’t noticed the liquid spraying on his previously immaculate hardwood floor. Talk about single-minded.
“Milk stains, you know,” she said, crossing over.
His dark eyes flashed as he glanced up then down at the formula sprayed on the floor and his shoes. Grunting, he dropped a nearby dishcloth. Keeping a firm hold on the bottle, he rubbed the cloth over the damp area with a foot.
“The temperature needed checking.”
“If you’d kept going,” she teased, “there wouldn’t be anything left in the bottle.”
With a lopsided smile that did bone-melting things to her pulse, he held the bottle high.
“I’m happy to report the beverage is well mixed and—if I do say so myself—perfectly warmed.”
“In that case…” She made to hand over the baby. “Would you care to do the honors?”
His smug smile vanished. “I’ll take the next shift.”
“She won’t bite.”
“How do you know?”
Trinity wondered what he’d do if she plunked the baby in his arms and told him to handle it. If she’d let him tell her what to do, she’d have been on her way back to New York and he’d be here all alone with an infant to care for. Lucky for him she wasn’t a pushover.
Trinity headed for the open plan area. “I’ll need a seat.”
As he overtook her, a hot palm grazed the small of her back and that unfamiliar feeling filled her middle again, spreading heat up toward her chest and throat. For a mindless moment, she held on to the feeling before dragging herself back. Given Zack’s lack of confidence in this area, it was up to her to stay on top of things.
Wouldn’t this make a great story. Hotelier Magnate Admits To Failings.
Stopping at the dining table, Zack held out a carved wooden chair and, with a flourish, indicated she should sit. Trinity studied the chair’s upright back and wrinkled her nose.
“Maybe something a little more comfortable.”
Frowning, he pushed the chair back in. Next she was shown to one of those sumptuous white leather recliners. Feeling as if she were descending into a cloud, she seated herself. A lever on the recliner’s side was lifted, a footrest whirred out and her legs rose until they were near horizontal. Zack couldn’t have looked prouder if he’d single-handedly closed down a community hall to build yet another skyscraper—which he had just last month.
Finding the baby, accompanying Zack Harrison into the middle of nowhere—this entire evening had been surreal. But reclining here with Zack looming closer left her feeling more than a little edgy. And curious. The media was awash with shots of his recent breakup with starlet Ally Monroe. So who was Zack seeing at the moment? Did he feel any guilt over business decisions that had hurt ordinary Americans? Was he as good in bed as the world envisioned him to be?
After meeting him, she’d wager he was even better. Any woman with half her quota of hormones would sizzle in his presence. Girls had probably mooned over him since middle school.
Zack was standing, legs braced, hands low on his hips. “What else do you need?”
She brought her focus back to the baby, who was peering up, a tiny frown pinching her brow while four little fingers wiggled above the turn of her wrap. “Can I have a hand towel? Something to mop up any excess?”
He handed over the bottle and she watched him stride away, drinking in the way his long, solid legs worked to create such a smooth, fluid gait. A moment later, he handed over a towel and, standing back again, squared those impressive shoulders.
“Good luck,” he said in a mock-solemn tone that pried a smile from her lips.
“I’ll report back on casualties,” she replied, checking the measurements embossed on the bottle’s side before lowering the nipple.
Alert baby blues opened wider. In a heartbeat, the baby had latched on and was sucking like she hadn’t eaten in days. Trinity’s stomach knotted tight. How long had it been since her last feeding? Where was her mother? Child Services knew of the situation, but how long before this little sweetheart was taken away?
Of course, the mother might be off searching for her right now. If that were the case, Trinity hated to think of the agony that woman must be going through. Much like her own mother before—
“No one’s called back yet,” Zack said.
Trinity’s train of thought shifted back to the present. Zack was lifting a dining chair and setting it down beside her. Elbows on knees, he leaned forward and threaded his fingers. Trinity wondered why he didn’t take a seat on a recliner. Maybe he was more comfortable keeping that bit of distance.
“I wonder when the police will arrive,” she said, balancing the bottle in the V of her hand as the baby chugged.
“This weather’s probably holding them up. I’ll flick on the news channel soon to see if anything’s been reported. Maybe give them a call myself to make sure all the right info was passed on.” His gaze on the baby now, his chin tipped up and a shadow of a smile touched his lips. “You look like you’re an old hand at this.”
“She’s the one doing all the work.” And working at full steam!
Outside, the wind howled and, beyond a set of floor-to-ceiling French doors and windows, Trinity watched more snow fall while the baby settled down.
After a time, Zack shifted uneasily. “Shouldn’t she be burped sometime soon?”
“Bet you’ll look like an old hand at it.”
He sat slowly back. “On second thought, you’re doing a great job.”
“For a big, tough corporate type, you really are a chicken.”
“Sticks and stones.”
But, while Zack might be hesitant to be hands-on, he did have a point about stopping to let the baby bring up wind. Trinity drew the near empty bottle from her mouth and, bracing herself, waited for the grumble. When the baby only released a quivering sigh and blinked slumberous, contented eyes, Trinity smiled.
Too easy.
She rested the baby against the left side of her chest while Zack moved to position the towel over her shoulder. Then she sat forward to pat and rub the baby’s warm little back. Trinity’s eyes drifted shut as her heart swelled.
Dear heaven, she felt so small. So precious.
Minutes passed and, still patting, Trinity became curious. Then a little worried. Nothing was happening. Perhaps she ought to feed her the rest of the bottle. Maybe Zack should make another one, too. Or wasn’t she burping her right?
Zack must have read the uncertainty in her eyes. He sent over an encouraging look.
“Give her a chance. Her digestive system’s only new.”
She gave him a look. How do you know so much?
He shrugged. “Lots of nieces and nephews.”
Two minutes later, he was sitting on the edge of his chair, clasped hands resting against his chin, his brow lined. “Maybe pat a little harder.”
Trinity’s back went up. She didn’t need the added pressure. “Maybe you could go and organize your next big takeover.”
“I’m taking a couple of days off.”
“Then maybe go make us something to eat.” Instead of sitting there, watching her every move and making her all jittery.
He stayed put. “How do you know I can cook?”
“Same way you knew I could change a baby.”
He chuckled, then, looking suitably magnificent, he got to his socked feet. “In that case, prepare to be dazzled.”
She rolled her eyes and kept patting. “Let me guess. Macaroni and cheese.”
“You do realize that you are now in the wild. I’m all that separates you from any kind of sustenance and starvation.”
The baby answered for her, with a loud, most unladylike burp.
His jaw dropping, Zack drew a set of fingers through his hair. “Seems her digestive system is working just fine.”
Encouraged, Trinity eased out of the recliner onto her feet then patted some more. The baby rewarded them with another belch. Bringing the baby away from her shoulder to examine her face, Trinity beamed.
“Oh, she looks completely satisfied.”
That’s when the baby burped again. But this time, wind wasn’t the only thing she brought up.
Three
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?”
“Without a moment’s trouble.”
Ms. Cassidy didn’t need to know about the baby’s red face when she’d hurled, or how he’d considered bundling her up and rushing her to the nearest clinic despite the weather when she wouldn’t settle down before getting into the laundry tub half-full with tepid water. Being a parent was said to be the most difficult job in the world. After tonight he believed it.
Only proved again—he was so not ready. He didn’t mind doing his bit, but nothing and no one—including family—could convince him he was ready for this kind of deal. Marriage. Kids. He liked his life just the way it was.
“Mr. Harrison, there is one more thing I need to say.”
Grabbing a towel from the rack, Zack listened up. After a few seconds, he checked the display screen and frowned. Damn it. Lost signal.
Another branch crashed onto the roof and his gut jumped before he made a beeline to the bedroom phone. That line still worked. Ms. Cassidy would call again—she had his landline number—and a time would be set for collection to take place.
Not that collection, as a word, sat too well.
While the wind howled through a thousand treetops outside, he crossed to a chest of drawers. He needed something suitable to wear. Rifling through socks, he grinned, but he didn’t own a pair of red silk pajamas. If he wasn’t thinking straight, Trinity wouldn’t be wearing red silk, either. She wouldn’t be wearing anything at all.
At the same time a particularly angry gust shook the rafters, his towel slipped to the floor. Scanning the ceiling, Zack held his breath, waiting for the inevitable crash of a loose branch or two to land on the roof. The crash came—an almighty clattering thump—then the lights flickered, once, twice, and the roller-coaster evening took another unexpected turn.
Downstairs, the fridge clunked over and off. The single light emanating from the bar snuffed out. But for the flickering fire glow, the room would have been left in an impenetrable shroud of darkness.
Trinity remembered to breathe.
Obviously the storm had caused problems with the electricity. Maybe the blackout would last a few hours, maybe only a few minutes. The saving grace was that the baby was sound asleep and the kitchen was equipped with gas burners should milk need to be warmed.
Still, Trinity held her bottom lip between her teeth as she shuffled deeper under the top cover and brought the downy warmth up around her chin. With wide eyes, she scanned a room filled with suddenly spooky-looking shadows. Truth was she didn’t much like the dark, not from as far back as she could recall, and there were at least a dozen reasons why.
Hurried footfalls sounded on the stairs, a padding that sent an eerie echo through the room. She pricked her ears, angled around and barely made out a figure, which came to a stop near the door. Something clicked and rattled then the figure moved again and—
Vanished?
Trinity’s heartbeat began to pound in her chest, in her ears.
A moment later, something brushed her arm. Her head whipped to that side at the same time she leaped near out of her skin. While she strangled the covers close to her throat, in the light of the fire she caught the face and blew out a long, shaky breath. Of course, there was no need for her pulse to be sprinting a hundred-yard dash. Who on earth else would it be?
Zack’s deep voice rumbled out from the dancing shadows. “You okay?”
She pasted on a blasé face. “I’m fine.”
“You look a little shaken.”
“Jeez, I don’t know why. Sitting here with the lights out and the mother of all storms lashing around outside. It was the ideal time for you to sneak up on me like that.”
“Can I help calm you down, hold your hand?”
Even though he was teasing, the need to recoil was outweighed by the urge to lean forward and say, Yes, please. Tamping down that impulse, she lifted her chin and calmly collected her glass.
“I don’t need anyone to hold my hand.”
Her gaze curved around the strong angle of his jaw, down the thick column of his throat and lower. Then she frowned, squinted. When she realized, her brain began to tingle. She swallowed deeply but her voice still came out a croak.
“What are you wearing?”
He glanced down as if he’d only now remembered, then stated the obvious. “A towel.”
She tried to give a casual nod, like it was no big deal that this dark-haired Adonis was crouching beside her, bare-chested, practically naked. The slightest shift of those massive thighs and, with the firelight’s help, nothing would be left to the imagination. Not that he seemed the least perturbed by his state of dress…make that undress. Hell, he might have paraded that body every other day to women he barely knew. And those arms…
Her eye line ran over that nearest bulging bicep and she swallowed again.
Clearly his body had been crafted from polished bronze. And he smelled so fresh, a combination of evergreen and musk. Her fingers itched to stroke up the toned ridges of his abdomen. Her palms ached to grip and rub those amazing pecs.
Then he was standing and that towel looked as if it was hanging on to those lean hips by nothing more than a prayer.
“…want some?” he asked.
Her attention leaped up from his chest to his face and, more precisely, the grin glinting in those dark eyes. Her jaw felt as slack as soft toffee. She’d been so engrossed, now she couldn’t summon the good sense to answer whatever question it was that he’d asked and she wouldn’t mind betting Zack knew it.
She couldn’t pretend that she’d heard all his question. “Want some—” Her throat convulsed again. “Some what?”
His grin slanted more. “Wine.”
She set her glass aside. “I’d better not indulge anymore.”
His six-pack clenched as he chuckled. “Occasional indulgence, Trinity, is a must.”
“I prefer sticking to the straight and narrow.”
“Straight and narrow, huh?” He held her gaze with his for a long, unsettling moment then grunted and headed for the bar. He poured a second brandy as he asked, “So, was it bad?”
“Was what bad?”
“The breakup.” He sent a knowing look over one bare shoulder. “I’m guessing it was and that it was recent.”
Her neck and face began to glow with a blush he would never see, thank God. “What on earth would make you ask something like that out of the blue?” And, despite her affront, she had to know. “What makes you think I had a breakup?”
“Your attitude. My experience.”
“With women?”
“That’s right.”
“Well, sorry to disappoint you, Dr. Phil, but I don’t have time to date.”
“Now that is a problem.”
“What that is, Mr. Harrison, is none of your business.”
He sauntered back, the towel slipping more with each step. He sipped and evaluated her again until that blush had devoured her entire body and she sat up straighter, defiant.
“Is that another one of your tactics? Standing over people, trying to make them feel small while you make yourself feel big.”
She imagined a significant portion just below the knot in his towel jumped as if to answer her at the same time he exhaled. “So it was bad.”
Reflex said to laugh, tell him to take his brandy and questions someplace else. But this was his house. And, damn it, he was right. Bad pretty much summed up the end of her last relationship. She slumped into the pillows.
“He was kind and considerate and a terrific listener. He also didn’t like kids.”
His head went back. “You’d gotten that far?”
“He hadn’t proposed, if that’s what you mean. But I think it says a lot about a person if the mere mention of children makes them shudder.”
“At the risk of defending the guilty, men can have a slow uptake on that particular subject.”
“And why is that?” She really wanted to know.
“Because if we go all gooey at the mention of children, some women might see that as a sign we want to…want to—”
“To commit?”
“Yeah. That.” He nodded at the covers. “Mind if I join you? Of course, I’ll get rid of the towel first.”
Her breath caught but he was only teasing again. “Translation being you’ll change into something more appropriate.”
He headed out. “That, too.”
A moment later, rattling came from the kitchen then a stream of light clicked on—a flashlight. Its arc waved once over the room before fading into another area.
Relaxing, Trinity snuggled into her makeshift bed, eternally grateful for the fire’s light as well as its warmth. With the electricity down, the radiator would be out, too, unless it was powered by gas like the stove. Of course, there was always a possibility of sharing body heat.
As a pulse deep inside her kicked off, she scolded herself and snuggled down more.
Don’t even consider it.
When Zack returned, he wore drawstring pants and a loose fitting T-shirt, most likely found in the laundry room. She’d seen a basket of clean clothes sitting on the counter when she’d bathed the baby earlier.
“I checked around outside,” he said. “Snow’s pretty deep.”
“And still falling?”
“It’s let up some, but this is not a night to be out. Hopefully by tomorrow sometime, the skies will be clear and the electricity will be back on. In the meantime, the stove, radiator and water are powered by gas, so we shouldn’t freeze, and the baby’s bottles and warm baths are covered.” He looked into the fire. “The woman from Child Services called just before the lights went out.”
Zack explained that Ms. Cassidy had assured him she would be out to take care of the baby issue as soon as possible. Trinity told herself she ought to be relieved. She could get on with her life. Get back to New York. But she couldn’t help wondering about that baby’s future, immediate as well as long-term. Where were her parents?
Lowering beside her, Zack grabbed a spare quilt and spread it over his legs and around his ribs at the same time he visibly shivered.
“It’s freakin’ freezing out there,” he said. “And black. I can’t remember the last time the lights went out.”
“It’s annoying,” she admitted.
The child inside her whispered, And just a little scary.
He seemed to read her mind. “Could be the perfect time to share some ghost stories.”
The look she sent was pained. “I don’t think so.”
“I remember when I was perhaps ten,” he went on, as if he hadn’t heard, “Dad took his usual few days off from being stuck behind his desk and the family came out here to Denver, but our regular chalet was double booked. The only place available was a run-down building that had once been a barn.” His voice lowered. “Or so the story goes.”
“I don’t believe in ghosts, if that’s where you’re headed.”
“Neither did I. Until that night.”
Huffing, she pulled the covers higher. “You are so not the type to believe in things that go bump in the night.”
“Are you?”
“Not the supernatural kind.”
She caught his curious look and, knowing she’d said too much, she diverted the conversation. Might as well hear his story.
“So, you were all staying in an old barn.”
“That had been renovated decades before to include a kitchen, living room, bedrooms in the loft. The electricity didn’t go off like here tonight,” he said, picking up the thread. “But only a handful of lightbulbs worked. The fireplace was covered in cobwebs. The walls and roof creaked enough to have my sister biting her nails. I think that’s where it began.”
“Your belief in the other side?”
“No. Sienna’s gnawing at her fingers. Still does it to this day.” Leaning back, he latched his own fingers behind his head and those delectable biceps bulged. “Anyway, the light in the boys’ bedroom blew.”
“How many brothers do you have?”
“Three. Mason, Dylan and Thomas.” He pulled a mock-serious face. “We weren’t scared, you understand.”
She suppressed a grin. “Oh, I understand.”
“But the wind was blowing like tonight, and when that light-bulb exploded, we all happened to need a glass of water at the same time. Thomas, the youngest, shot out the room first. The rest of us followed on his heels. Our parents were sitting in the musty living room on couches that needed condemning decades before. My father was fuming, vowing to sue whoever botched our reservation, which he later did. He said if a good enough gust came along, the whole place would fly away.”
“Where was your sister?”
“Sienna was already snuggled up on my mother’s lap. She’s the baby. Always will be.”
Grinning, Trinity imagined a cutie with pigtails and stubby nails who relentlessly teased her brothers and got away with it.
“So you spent the night together in the same room,” she said, “set up all cozy before a fire like we are now.”
“That’s right. Except…” His hands dropped from cradling the back of his head and he angled more toward her. “Around midnight, the noises began.”
“What noises?”
“Distant. Indistinct. But they grew louder. High-pitched, screeching sounds. Scratching on floorboards. Somewhere far off, a rooster crowed.”
“At midnight?”
“That’s when we woke our father. He’d drifted off, was snoring softly, but by this time Mom was hiding under the covers, too. He scolded us at first but when he heard the noises, I swear I saw his hair stand on end.”
A shiver raced over her skin. Bringing up her legs, she hugged her knees. “What did he do?”
“What any father and husband would do in that kind of situation. He went to investigate. He was gone for what seemed like forever, and with every passing minute the sounds only swelled. That cock crowed again, nearer, louder. And the screeches seemed right there on top of us. The flapping of wings. Smells of a barnyard. A coop. I pulled the cover up over my head when an eerie clucking began.”
“Clucking?”
“Right then our father returned. He told us not to worry. He’d found the problem. It was only a bunch of poultry-geists.”
She gaped and then glared at the same time Zack broke into a grin. Two beats later, she let out the breath she’d been holding on a growl and slapped his arm. “That was so not funny.”
“Ah, I was only egging you on.”
A small smile cracked even as her eyes narrowed more. “Don’t leave your day job.” Poultry-geists, indeed.
“My older brothers have kids. When I go over they always want to hear that story. Entertainment I can do. Diaper duty I leave to the experts.”
“Not daddy material?”
“As I’m sure you’d already guessed.”
She shifted to lie down, propping herself up on her side. She’d like to know more about his family.
“How often do you see them?”
“Not including Christmas, Easter, birthdays and other numerous family occasions? All the time. I don’t mind. They’re good kids. What does irritate is—” His jaw tensed and he cut himself off.
She prodded. “What?”
“It’s not important.”
“I say it is.”
He scrubbed his jaw. “Frankly I’m tired of hearing that I should settle down. Like it’s Regency times and—” he put on an Oxford accent “—every gentleman must find a suitable wife.”
“Maybe they just want to see you happy?”
His eyebrows knitted. “I don’t look happy?”
“Happy in a nonbachelor way.” She put it out there. “Your family must feel like they’re in a revolving door the number of times they see you with a new woman hanging off your arm.”
“Good thing it’s my life and not theirs.” He leaned back, latched his fingers behind his head again and stared off at some distant point past the ceiling. “Unless you weren’t aware, I’m content with my life just the way it is. What about you?”
“I’m busy, settled and happy with my job.”
“And unattached after that breakup.”
“Definitely unattached.”
“But I’m guessing you’d want to tie a knot sometime…have children someday. You have a knack with babies.”
Her heart dropped an inch and she looked into the fire. When she felt his expression sharpen, she explained. “I like children. Babies.”
“That’s kind of obvious.”
Her cheeks began to burn, but she shouldn’t feel awkward. Zack had his life and she had hers.
“Thing is,” she said. “I don’t have family to fall back on, and sometimes both a mother and father drop out of the picture, for one reason or another. I have friends,” she went on. “Good friends. But no one I’d trust enough with a child of my own if something, you know, ever happened. And I have nothing against adoption. Heck, I would’ve loved to have been adopted by a loving family. And, when it’s needed, I can’t slight good foster care.” She took a breath. “Life is about choices. I’ve chosen not to go down that having-my-own-children path.”
Trinity took a breath and looked from the bed of flickering flames back to Zack.
A crease forming between his brows, he shifted and lay down on his side, too. Propped up on an arm, he set his jaw in the cup of that palm. After a curious moment of his intense gaze skewering hers, she shifted, too, and frowned.
“You mean not get married, have children?” he asked. “I thought you sacked the boyfriend because he didn’t approve of kids?”
“That’s right. He didn’t approve of them at all. I mean, you might not want to be a father, but you like your nieces and nephews, don’t you? You like this baby?”
“She can be noisy and smelly and has caused me a ton of worry. But sure I like her.” He slanted his head and then nodded. “Who wouldn’t?”
“I might not plan to have any of my own, but I couldn’t spend my life with someone who thinks kids are a waste of space.”
His lips twitched. “Bet he didn’t like puppies, either.”
“Or kittens.”
Zack was kind enough to smile softly. “You were right to ditch him.” Then he shifted and changed the subject. “What about your professional life?” he asked. “What are you working toward?”
“One day I hope to be the editor in chief of the biggest, glossiest magazine around. Basically world domination in my field.” She added, “While staying clear of men who tell bad chicken jokes.”
“No getting away from me tonight.”
She put on a sigh. “Guess I’ll suffer for a good cause.”
The tease in his eyes gradually took on a vaguely different light at the same time the quirk lifting one side of his mouth faded away and a different awareness began to ripple between them. The crackle from the fire sounded louder, the rise and fall of his chest became deeper. Pumping in and out of the light, the pulse at the side of his throat throbbed faster and, entranced, her body responded to it all.
Her breasts came alive, swelling, heating. Low inside, a delicious ache flowered and grew. She watched his lips part slightly, saw his eyes darken more, then he reached out and a hot fingertip trailed her jaw. That delicious ache spread south—a sweet, raw burn.
When he brushed back hair fallen over her face and his hot palm stayed to cup her cheek, all the oxygen in the room disappeared. Suddenly heavy, her eyelids drifted shut as her body—her very essence—gravitated unerringly toward his. With the lights out, with this extraordinary man she barely knew, everything felt so unreal. So…imminent. She didn’t want to think about who he really was. That before today she would have given him less than the time of day. At this moment, he truly was irresistible.
“Your hair,” he said in a deep, drugging voice. “A wave came loose from its tie.”
“Oh.” She breathed in. Out. Then the words just slipped past her lips and she said it. “I thought you might’ve wanted to kiss me.”
That pulse in his throat beat twice as hard and, while she held her breath, he blinked slowly once. “Actually I’ve wanted to do that all night.” He leaned across and his mouth grazed hers, first slowly one way then the other. “Trouble is,” he murmured, “if I kiss you now, I won’t want to stop.”
She quivered to her pom-pom-topped toes and clapped a hand over her scruples’ eyes.
Who said anything about stopping?
But then her thoughts slid back to what had brought them here in the first place. “What about the baby?”
“You’re right,” he agreed even as his lidded eyes drifted shut. He leaned that inch closer and his mouth feathered over hers again. “We should think of our responsibilities.”
But his mouth lingered and as his scent burrowed deeper, Trinity couldn’t recall a single reason why she shouldn’t fan her palm up over his shoulder and bring herself delectably, irreversibly closer. When he tasted the corner of her mouth—a deliberate, potent caress—that beautiful ache flooded her core and the last remnants of common sense shut down. She’d be lucky to remember her own name.
The tip of his tongue slid a deliberate line across the seam of her lips. “Maybe if we just snuggled?” he said and she felt his grin. “You know. To keep warm.”
When his sandpaper chin grazed the side of her face and he dropped a kiss on the shell of her ear, the knowledge—the intense glow of longing—was too much. Near dizzy with need, she told him in a husky voice, “I think snuggling would be okay.”
A big palm traced down her side. She heard a sigh—her own—and then he was kissing her in earnest and with an innate skill that left her reeling.
As his tongue penetrated and twined languidly with hers, everything but the ecstasy evaporated. His kiss was hot and deep and thrilling. When his head angled down and body ironed up against hers, she only surrendered more. His superior weight eased her over and back until she lay flat beneath him.
With their mouths still locked, a satisfied noise rumbled in his chest as one arm haloed her head and the other hand held and gently directed her chin. Her splayed fingers found their way over the broad dome of his back while her foot—its slipper now lost—dragged curling toes up his hard leg and her hips pressed up longingly. She was drowning, dying in some perfect wicked dream. When the kiss deepened more and he ground against her, his arousal pressed into her belly and she groaned and reached down.
A log crumpled and fell into its bed of hot ash. The hiss of sparks flying brought her back with a start. When she turned her head, broke the kiss, his head came up.
His breathing was labored and his heavy gaze uncommonly dark. No hint of understanding or restraint marked in his expression. As he hovered above her, all she saw, and felt, was resolve.
An audible rumble vibrated from his chest as his gaze lowered to devour her lips and his head gradually dropped again. Uncertain, Trinity held herself still. She’d gotten carried away, too, but did she really want to make love to a man she was supposed to despise—particularly with a baby sleeping a few feet away?
His parted lips stopped a hairbreadth from hers. The walls receded as she swallowed deeply and the ground seemed to sink away beneath her. Then, on a real growl, he clenched his jaw and rolled away. Trinity’s heart fell at the same instant her throat clogged with a dozen different emotions. He was disappointed. Frustrated. She was sorry she’d led him on, if that’s what had happened, but he’d just have to deal with the sting of rejection like most of the population.
Then a powerful arm scooped under her shoulders and Trinity’s heart skipped two beats as he drew her mercilessly near, half on top of him. His body was beyond hard, as if a thousand steel links had locked him into place. She felt vulnerable, still wanting him, but also a thousand times decided. She might be physically attracted to him, more than she’d been to any man, but she hadn’t come here for sex. And she intended to leave this house with that assertion intact. Regret lasted longer than pleasure.
She was about to tell him again—no—but as that tense moment passed into another, he didn’t try to kiss her again. He simply lay there, stiff on his back, his arm holding her close, fingers beginning to drift up and down the silk of her sleeve.
“Does this qualify as snuggling?” he asked.
“Put me back down and I’ll tell you.”
He considered it then eased her over until she lay beside him. Resting on an elbow, his cheek balanced in a palm, he gazed down at her. “We should probably get some sleep.”
“That’s a good idea.”
He nodded and when his arm reached under and brought her gently over, she didn’t resist. Making love might be out of the question, but she wasn’t made of stone. What harm could come from cuddling with a man-god on a chilly night?
As her cheek gradually lowered to rest against the hard plateau of his T-shirt-covered chest, Trinity let out a long end-of-the-day breath, listened to his heart thumping like he’d run a mile and closed her eyes. She was almost asleep when a thought struck and her eyes flew open.
Damn it. She’d never made that call to New York.
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.
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.
Five
An hour later, returning to the living room from fitting Bonnie with a fresh diaper, Trinity stopped in her tracks.
Seemed Zack had grown tired of his own company and had prowled out from his study, where he’d holed up since their conversation about James Dirkins earlier. But now sorting through paperwork at the dining table, he only flicked her a cursory glance, a brief smile, before collecting his coffee and draining the cup. When she stayed put, wondering again why he’d disappeared the way he had—why he seemed so cool toward her now—he finally met her gaze.
His lidded eyes were dark. A lock of finger-combed strong black hair hung over his brow. She’d never seen a sexier sight than Zack at this moment, somehow managing to loll in a straight-back chair, his jaw bristled with morning stubble. His look was so sultry, lazy and hot—in a heartbeat, she was reliving the scolding heat of desire he’d brought out in her the previous night.
She’d ached to take their embrace to the next level. Falling asleep against his hard heat had almost been compensation enough. She’d felt vulnerable and yet inexplicably safe. Which was a feat in itself. Trust wasn’t her strong suit, and to think she’d felt it with Mr. Loose and Lucky here.
“Do you need something?” he asked.
“I figure I’d better call the office and let my boss know I won’t be in.”
Kate Illis was a fair but strong boss. To survive in business these days, a person had to be tough. Kate had placed her chips on Trinity Matthews when she could have backed other, some might say, more talented writers. Her catch phrase was: find a way.
Needless to say Kate would not be pleased with this wrench in the works. But even now, gazing down at baby Bonnie, Trinity couldn’t regret her decision to stay. Life was full of choices. Sometimes a person needed to put herself out on a limb. Bonnie had needed someone. And if her parents were permanently out of the picture for whatever reason, she’d need someone even more.
Zack was saying, “…should let them know you might not make it in tomorrow, either.”
She frowned. “You really don’t think anyone will be able to get in?”
“Or out.”
Rotating in the chair, he scanned the view through the window. The snow was still falling, growing deeper, it seemed, by the minute. Not for one moment had she thought she’d be in Zack’s company more than a couple of hours, and yet it seemed likely they’d have to put up with each other at least another day. He was the one who’d insisted they stay here and despite what she thought of him—what she’d read—she had to admit that he’d been patient and, in his own way, helpful. However, given his current detached demeanor, it seemed that patience might be running thin. The novelty must be wearing off. He wanted his own space back and, on a baser level, she got that. Normally, she liked her own space, too.
With the cooing baby in her arms, she crossed over and let him know. “I’m sorry you have to put up with me this long.”
His brows knitted then he exhaled. Almost smiled. “Trinity, I’m glad you’re here.”
She brightened. “Really?”
“No way would I have managed alone with diapers and burping and all that rocking.”
She deflated again. He might have come on to her last night—probably out of Don Juan habit—but his real interest in her was clear. She recalled his expression of near horror this morning when she’d lifted diaper-drenched Bonnie into her arms. In so many ways, he was a “strong, capable male” but not when it came to baby business. As long as Bonnie was here under his roof, he needed her. Couldn’t have managed without her. But once the baby was gone…
He was glad she was here?
She feigned a casual shrug. “Guess you owe me one.”
His eyes flashed and a ghost of that familiar mischievous smile touched his lips. “And how do you suggest I pay?”
She let her imagination fly. “Oh, how about a long, decadent vacation somewhere sandy and warm? No snow.”
“Colorful cocktails 24/7?” he asked, finding his feet and moving closer.
“With entertainment when I want it and only the lull of rolling waves when I don’t.”
“Are you partial to a massage or two?” he asked, circling slowly around her.
With the baby’s weight dragging on her shoulders, she confessed, “I’d adore a massage.”
From behind, smooth, low words brushed her ear. “With clothes or without?”
A surprise rush of heat filled her core. She had to concentrate to brace her legs to keep her knees from caving in. Was it his sultry tone, the provocative question or the sumptuous image of his big hands sliding over her well-oiled body that left her every inch burning for attention?
“We have a resort in the Bahamas.” His breath was warm against her crown now. “What would you say to a long weekend?”
She tried to laugh it off. “I wasn’t serious.”
His chin grazed her temple. “Let me know the moment you are.”
Her legs turned to water and, eyes drifting shut again, she swayed. Guess his mood was improving. It was all she could do not to pivot around, wind her arms around his neck and bring her suddenly hungry mouth to his. Of course, there was the baby to consider. But what about tonight?
When all was quiet and Bonnie had been put to bed, she was certain he would try to kiss her again. And if the caress was anything like the scorching moments they’d already shared…
But then reality struck again. Zack was bored, edgy. He was only filling in time the way he might with any woman he found attractive. No matter what he said, what he did or what he offered, she needed to remember that her being here was primarily a convenience.
Composed again, she told him, “I should make that call.”
She felt his considering pause for a heart-pumping moment before the warmth of his body at her back evaporated. With a fluid gait, he crossed over to the table and, broad shoulders squared, lowered himself into the same chair he’d been sitting in.
“If your cell doesn’t have reception,” he said, collecting a document to peruse, “feel free to try mine.”
She acknowledged the offer with a polite nod before going into the living room to set the baby down in her recliner. Her eyes bright, her darling expression content, Bonnie didn’t make a squeak. Trinity cupped her crown for a moment—so soft and warm—before asking, “Do you mind looking after her? This call should only take a minute.”
His head flew up from his work then his jaw shifted to one side. “What if she cries?”
“Panic?”
While Zack’s face lost a little of its color, grinning, Trinity made her way to the bedroom where she’d stowed her belongings. She wasn’t worried the baby would cry, and if she did, despite his claims, Zack would cope. And if he didn’t cope, well, help was two seconds away. This call had to be made, and she wanted complete focus when she and Kate spoke.
In the privacy of that room, Trinity turned her cell on, and noted the bars. After filling her lungs, she dialed. Typically efficient, Kate answered on the second ring.
“Something wrong, Trin?”
“A little hitch. I won’t be in today. Probably not tomorrow, either.”
“Are you ill?”
“Stuck in Colorado.”
“Ah, the snow. I skimmed something about the crazy weather out that way. So your flight was canceled?”
Trinity’s stomach swooped. She couldn’t lie. Honesty went hand in hand with respect. Kate deserved the truth.
“I missed my flight, but for a very good reason.” She explained about waiting for a cab, finding the baby, needing to stay until she was in the right hands. “But snow’s still falling, the power’s off and I can’t see the authorities getting out to collect Bonnie before tomorrow.”
“Stop there. Who’s Bonnie?”
“The baby.”
“I didn’t think you knew her.”
“I don’t. It’s just she has these amazing blue eyes and we both agreed the name suited her.”
“Both agreed? You mean someone at the hotel. I’m confused.”
“Actually I’m staying at a private address, a cabin a bit out of town.”
“You don’t know anyone in Colorado.”
“Zack was in the cab when we found her.”
“So you’re staying in the woods with a man you hadn’t met before yesterday? I hope he’s a gentleman.”
Trinity nibbled her lower lip. “Most of the time.”
“Okay. Now I’m worried.”
“Don’t be. I’m here of my own free will.”
“I see.” A pause. “Does this man happen to be good-looking?”
“That has nothing to do with—”
“Is he hot or not?”
Trinity sighed. “He’s hot.” Scorching, as a matter of fact.
“So who is this guy?”
She might as well admit to it. “Zack Harrison of Harrison Hotels.”
Silence ensued, followed by a long, low whistle. “New York’s most eligible bachelor. Looks, wealth, charisma and…”
“And a reputation as an amoral womanizer who’d sell his grandmother to seal a deal.” Kate was preaching to the converted.
“A real devil in disguise,” her boss confirmed, “and the girls line up for miles to be prodded by his pitchfork. Not that you’d be that stupid.”
Trinity’s chest tightened. Kate didn’t need to know about her slip. That kiss. Those terrible urges. She schooled her voice.
“His reputation has nothing to do with what’s happening here.”
“Good God, of course not. Must be hard being in the same room with a man whose only concerns are for his own bottom line. Closing that community center to use the land for up-market high-rises. Has he mentioned anything about his Colorado deal?”
She was talking about that hotel Zack wanted to buy? The one whose owner’s only son recently had passed away. Shivering, Trinity hugged herself. She knew where her boss was going with this.
“Kate, I couldn’t put in print anything I heard off the record here.”
“You know I admire your ethics. I’d just love to know how anyone gets through life without a conscience. Slapping a base offer on the table is one thing. Publicly blaming the poor man for his own son’s death as a way to wear him and the price down even more is shameless.”
Trinity was left gaping. She’d heard nothing of that story until now, and she found it hard to believe, even of Zack. But wasn’t she being naive? Zack Harrison was known for his ruthless dealings. Because he’d shown a sliver of compassion and had brought that baby home didn’t change his history.
Kate was saying she’d look after that interview scheduled for today and her other line was ringing. She had to go.
After promising to call in again, Trinity disconnected but she hung back returning to the lounge. She needed time to gather her thoughts. So much had happened since yesterday afternoon when she jumped in that cab.
A devil in disguise…
From the moment she’d laid eyes on Zack, she’d known women would fall at his feet. He oozed sex appeal and the kind of self-confidence that females flocked to and other men admired. Most likely he’d lost count of the notches carved on his bedposts around the country. The world. The Bahamas, for instance?
Her eyes prickling with emotion, she tossed the cell on the bed.
She must have been dreaming to have felt so safe in his arms last night.
While Trinity took care of that phone call and the baby relaxed in her chair, Zack finally cracked, slapped down a Harrison’s L.A. restaurant refurbishment quote on the table then shot a glance into every corner of the room. Last night’s retelling of his famed chicken-ghost story was not playing games with his head. That squeaky scratching was real and getting louder by the second.
Zack found his feet.
Where the hell was it coming from?
As he focused his every sense on the sound, a disquieting sensation funneled through his center. Yesterday he’d scoffed at Trinity’s suggestion of kidnappers…abductors. But this minute, more than ever, he wondered about their baby’s background. Well cared for, provisions supplied…Was she abandoned or had she been stolen? Perhaps by someone who’d ended up with cold feet, lucky for her.
Fingers flexing at his sides, Zack crossed to the wall of windows then, senses tingling, he leaned close to scan the apparent quiet outside. Drifts still slanted in from a gray churning sky. All the world was buried in a deep blanket of white. No sign of life anywhere. And yet that infernal scratching kept on.
He was about to grab a jacket—and his trusty baseball bat—when something leaped out of the swirls and at windows—at him. His thumping heart shot like a bullet up the back of his throat at the same time his brain registered rows of teeth, yellow eyes, a hairy, pointed snout.
A wolf?
A heartbeat later, from a pillow of white, the culprit bounded up again and tipping forward, Zack got a better look. Not a wolf but a domestic dog—a big one. A mix of every gigantic canine ever bred. Behind the woolly frame, a saber of a tail cut back and forth across the snow.
It was the dog the Dales had inherited from an elderly relative. With his owners away, he must have wandered off from the shelter of his gigantic doghouse and got lost in the storm last night. Clearly he wanted to be friends…to play.
No one could stay out in that weather, but what disasters would that lashing tail and mammoth body bring if let loose inside? Meaning to or not, his weight could knock Trinity flying, never mind the baby. Maybe he could lock him in the garage… .
“Who’s that?”
Zack glanced over his shoulder. Still in those baggy, sexy red pajamas, Trinity was back. He took a moment to reacquaint himself with her sparkling eyes, those tempting lips—the slight frown on her brow?—before focusing again on Fido. What was that dog’s name?
“He belongs to the Dales,” Zack said before Trinity could ask.
“He looks friendly.”
“And huge.”
“He must be cold.”
Zack took in the natural fur coat. “He’s well insulated.”
“We can’t just leave him out there. Bet he’s hungry.”
The dog bounced up and down, leaving a growing crater in the snow while Zack contemplated their dwindling supplies. “I’m not sure I have enough for his entrée.”
“You’re not going to leave him out there?”
“I wouldn’t, except…Well, hell—he’s a mountain.”
“A cold mountain.”
The dog licked the window, one long, upward swipe that left a noteworthy smear, and wagged his tail more.
Collecting the baby, Trinity pushed out a breath. “Are you going to let him in or am I?”
Zack looked back at Trinity and at the baby and rubbed the back of his neck. This place was getting crowded. “Maybe we should ask if the pigeons want to come in for cookies and tea?” But Trinity only rolled her eyes. “I’m just saying, he’s big.”
“So’s this house. But, I suppose if you can stand to watch him shaking out there knee-deep while we sit in front of that gorgeous warm fire…”
Zack locked his arms over his chest and shook his head. This was not a good idea, even with Bonnie peering out the windows and making mumbled noises past the fist stuck in her mouth, like she wanted to meet this energetic new visitor. Like if she could have anything in the world, it would be to have a dog.
That dog.
Throwing up his arms, Zack headed out, muttering, “I’ll let him in through the laundry room.”
A moment later, he fanned back the door. The dog was waiting right there, tail still, one paw raised, wanting to shake hands. When Zack was young, the family had a dog, a Labrador that reminded him a little of this guy. He’d thought once or twice recently about getting a boxer or some such, but his Fifth Avenue apartment wasn’t the place for a canine, and he didn’t get out here enough to consider that option.
Shivering against the icy breeze, Zack put those thoughts aside and stepped back.
He let the mutt know, “We’re letting the cold in.”
When the dog merely cocked his head, Zack clicked his fingers and waved him in. The dog’s face seemed to break into a smile before he shook out his coat. Zack shielded himself while specks of snow flew in every direction. Looking like a multicolored mop now, this most recent guest padded in and lumbered past his reluctant host. Watching his rump and shaggy tail disappear through the doorway, Zack groaned. Guess there was one more for lunch. He took another look outside, just in case anyone else was lurking around, then closed the door and followed puddle tracks back to the living room.
The dog was sitting quiet and erect at Trinity’s feet, his flap ears pinned back on his golden head. He was so still, he could’ve been set in cement. In contrast, Trinity was sighing her adoration. The way she clutched the baby high, shoulders hitched and smile wide, anyone would think she was six and had just met Santa Claus.
As Zack came closer, he could admit the dog’s eyes were a merry kind of brown. He gave off a happy, easy vibe. He remembered Mrs. D telling him how protective and loyal he was. That she trusted him with the grandkids. With any child. Well, fine. Just as long as he kept that sword of a tail in line.
Trinity reached down to ruffle the dog’s damp crown. His tail thumped on the wooden floor and echoed through the rafters. “He’s gorgeous!”
“He’s wet.”
“We’ll get him settled before the fire, poor thing. If you hold the baby, I’ll towel him down.”
Zack was already marching back to the laundry room. He wanted to control some of the hair that would no doubt fly. “I’ll towel him down.”
“It’s good to support someone when they need it,” she called after him.
He pulled up at the doorway and digested her tone. “He’s a dog,” he said, bending to grab towels from a cabinet.
“Dogs. People. Business associates.”
Collecting two towels, he stopped. What the hell was she talking about?
He spun around and, caught off guard, jumped a foot in the air. That blasted dog had followed him, was standing right in front of him, panting, looking like he’d found a new best friend. Then he barked, once—loud. Zack pulled in his chin.
“You have some kind of attachment disorder?”
The tail started to thump.
With the dog close behind, Zack moved back to the living room, set a bath sheet before the fire and unraveled the other, ready to dry off that voluminous coat. He looked hard at Trinity, who was swaying back and forth, Bonnie in her arms, like nothing was out of the ordinary. At first glance, she looked happy enough but her jaw was tight, her usually plump lips pulled into a line, and he got the distinct impression she was avoiding eye contact. Guess the call with her boss hadn’t gone so well.
Maybe she’d gotten the sack.
He hunkered down to dry the dog’s coat. One small blessing…He didn’t smell. Zack dropped the towel over the dog’s head and rubbed.
“Did you get through to New York?” he asked.
“Uh-huh.”
“Your boss not pleased?”
“She was remarkably understanding.”
He rubbed along the dog’s back. “Then what’s the problem?”
“No problem.”
“You sure?”
“Don’t I look like I’m sure?”
Zack studied her frosty stare then shook out his towel and hair went flying. Damn it.
It was his experience that women liked to talk, which didn’t always translate into them meaning what was said. He got the distinct impression Trinity wanted to tell him something that, through no fault of his own, he couldn’t grasp and might not want to particularly hear anyway.
Without being asked, the dog rolled over onto his back, legs in the air. Zack quickly smothered a grin. “Just don’t get too comfortable.”
This was only temporary. This was all only temporary.
Trinity sat on the arm of the nearest recliner. “Looks like a great family dog.”
“Did you have a dog growing up?”
“No. But I always wanted one.”
“We had one.” He rubbed the dog’s belly and one hind leg began to kick.
“Did you take him to puppy school and for lots of walks?”
“I was too busy, shooting hoops, kicking balls or studying.”
“You’ve always been competitive.”
“I was motivated.”
“Ever thought about sitting back on your laurels rather than pushing all the time?”
He looked over. There was that tone again and those gorgeous eyes were sparkling like she was angry. Upset. At him? Wondering, he kept drying.
“You mean take a backseat with my father’s company?” He nudged the dog’s ribs and he rolled back over. “Too much to learn. At some stage someone has to take over the reins.”
“The reins of Harrison Hotels. And that’s you. Mr. Ruthless.”
Zack set his teeth. Now he was upset. “I’m not interested in labels.”
“Yeah. I got that. What do your brothers and sister say about you taking possession of the crown?”
“Sienna has her own life. Off backpacking around Europe.”
“Backpacking? With the Harrison money and connections, why not five stars all the way?”
“She’s the rebel. Wants to do things her way, in her own time?”
Her head slanted and she smiled. “I think I’d like her.”
Everyone did. “The guys have their families.”
“And dogs, I suppose.”
His stomach muscles tightened. Enough. He set down the towel and pushed to his feet. “Have I missed something? You’re edgy and not because I thought twice about letting King Kong here into my house.”
She shrugged. “He’s obviously harmless.”
“Don’t avoid the question.”
“There’s nothing wrong.”
Her exasperated get off my back expression didn’t impress. He dropped the towel and sauntered over. “What happened during that phone call to New York?”
“I told you—”
“Not everything.”
“I told Kate the story. She was surprised but understood. We talked about the weather, about you—”
“What about me?”
“That you have…a reputation.”
“We established that. What else?”
Her slim nostrils flared then she released a breath. “That she needed to hear from me later in the day.”
“Or no job?”
“Something like that.”
He studied her wide, glistening eyes. What are you hiding?
He took another step closer. An instant later, the dog knocked the back of Zack’s leg on his way to plunking himself down between them both. When the dog looked up at him, Zack arched a brow and squared his shoulders. Those big brown eyes weren’t merry anymore. They were telling him to be smart and button up. Mrs. D had said he was protective.
As he took the dog back over to the fire to towel dry his rump, Zack reminded himself that normally when a member of the fairer sex started to push his buttons, he said goodbye. Easy. Cut off in a remote location by a freak snowstorm, not so easy this time.
But even if they weren’t snowed in, he wouldn’t walk away. Not yet. Because like it or not, Trinity had gotten under his skin in a way no one else had ever managed, and clearly he’d gotten under hers.
Six
A text on Zack’s cell flashed five minutes after the power flickered back on around noon. Trinity studied his thoughtful expression as Zack read the message while she rocked the baby, who was drifting off for a postlunch nap.
“Cressida Cassidy from Child Services,” he said. “Roads are still blocked. Tomorrow’s the soonest they can get out. Still no word on leads about the baby’s situation. The media hasn’t gotten the story yet.”
Trinity dropped a soft kiss on the baby’s brow. Where had this little darling come from? It was as if she hadn’t existed before she and Zack had happened upon her. Hard to believe that no one was out looking. That she wasn’t missed. Trinity had always found comfort knowing that, for as long as she’d been able, her own mother had tried to find her.
But, whatever this baby’s situation, for the time being at least, Bonnie was here, safe and warm. And if the price was sharing time with a man who stooped to any level to win and dominate, she’d see her way through.
She wouldn’t mention what Kate had told her about his unscrupulous dealings with James Dirkins. It would only make her angry and she didn’t want to raise her voice and upset the baby. She’d like to give him the benefit of the doubt but didn’t Kate’s latest gossip surrounding Zack fit? Making Dirkins feel responsible for his son’s death for leverage…It made her sick to think about it.
Zack was glaring at the screen. “Wonder what the paparazzi will dig up and spin when they get a hold of the story.”
Trinity bristled. She was part of the paparazzi. Or that’s how he’d consider her, anyway.
“Tell Ms. Cassidy the baby’s fine,” Trinity managed to mumble. “I’ll take care of her.”
He frowned then slowly nodded.
Brows knitted and a pulse beating in his cheek, Zack texted back. He’d never complained about the baby, or her, being here. After his initial gripe, he hadn’t said a word about Cruiser joining them, either; Zack had found his name on the tag buried beneath all that hair.
But she’d noticed Zack repeatedly catching the time on his wristwatch. He’d peer out those windows, rocking back on his heels, scanning the scene as if willing the sun to break through and the snow to melt clean away. He was edgy. Feeling crowded. These confined conditions were obviously a challenge. A drag.
For her own part…
Trinity tucked the wrap under Bonnie’s chin.
Well, she was feeling remarkably comfortable—with the baby at least. Whenever Zack was close, it was exactly the opposite. Her endorphin levels surged over the bar to a point where she felt giddy. Earlier today she’d toyed with the idea that he might have felt something similar when he was around her. But with her blinkers off, Trinity could see that last night’s kiss in front of the fire—this morning’s suggestion of the time out at the Bahamas—had meant nothing more to Zack than an opportunity to slough off some sexual tension and try his luck. His competitive male brain was programmed that way.
And now they would be here together another night… .
What would she do if he brought out the red wine and brandy and tried his charm on her again? Not that she wanted him to. But with the lights off and his magic switched on, the urges he brought out in her were difficult to deny. She could tell him she wasn’t interested.
But what if he cut her off with a mind-robbing penetrating kiss? She might not approve of his character, but his seduction techniques were certainly a force. Was he the type who preferred sex fast and furious, or did he craft every move, absorb every touch…savor every sip? How would it feel to have Zack Harrison’s hips grinding above hers, his mouth and tongue and teeth on her neck as she exploded and came apart in his arms?
Zack was at her side now, running a fingertip around the baby’s cheek. “She looks like she might go down again.”
Coming back to reality, Trinity scolded herself. Concentrate. He asked about the baby.
“I, eh, don’t think she’s ready yet.”
“Why don’t you sit for a while then?”
“She likes the movement.” The rocking.
“Even if your arms fall off?”
She tested him. “Care to take over?”
He studied the baby but eventually his hand dropped away. “You’re the expert.”
“Not where wearing people down are concerned.”
He looked at her sideways. “Do you want to explain that comment?”
“No.” She took a breath. “Except to say if we’re spending another night together, I’ll be sleeping in one room and you’ll be sleeping in another.”
His smiling eyes dropped to her mouth. “I thought you liked camping out.”
“What happened last night in front of the fire—” she walked back to the baby’s recliner “—it won’t happen again.”
“No?”
Her back to him, she confirmed, “No.”
“And if I decide to wear you down?”
His deep voice was at her ear, husky enough to send a wave of heat curling through her veins. In quick time, she tamped down the flame and turned to face him. But she hadn’t banked on just how close he’d be, his broad chest so near, the rugged angles of his face slanting over hers. At this range, his presence was phenomenal…larger than life.
With his dark gaze penetrating hers, she fought to straighten her thoughts.
“I’m the enemy, remember? Aren’t you afraid I’ll get too close and expose all your secrets?”
His gaze turned hard then cold. “You’re welcome to them.”
When he moved away, Trinity felt the adrenaline drain from her body. The sooner this time was over, the better. She just prayed the authorities found Bonnie’s mother soon.
He crossed to stoke the fire while she continued to sway with the baby. After a few more minutes, feeling confident Bonnie was about to nod off, Trinity eased the baby down onto the freshly laundered blanket on the recliner and bit by bit straightened.
When Bonnie shifted, Trinity thought she was merely getting comfortable. But then she moved again, blinked open her big blue eyes and, curious, Cruiser padded back from the fire to check. At the same time the baby gave a whimper, Trinity remembered her foster mother’s favorite saying: doesn’t hurt to let them cry.
And cry and cry and cry.
The short time Nora Earnshaw had looked after that baby so long ago was the best and worst time of Trinity’s childhood. Only young herself, Trinity had helped where she could, eager to fetch a diaper or a rattle if the baby got tired of her singing and stories of white unicorns with golden horns and wings. But bedtimes were strict. When 7:00 p.m. arrived and teeth were brushed, Trinity wasn’t allowed out of her room.
Maybe the baby cried because he’d wanted a bottle, but Trinity had always thought he’d simply wanted someone to sing to him. Lots of times she’d come close to taking the risk and sneaking out, but to her shame she never had. Instead she’d lain stiff while hot tears slid from the corners of her eyes and she’d stared, sick to her stomach, into the everlasting shadows. Into the dark.
Even now she wanted to cover her ears to the memories.
Back firmly in the present, Trinity swooped to pick Bonnie up again. If she was spoiling her, too bad. She’d rather a child have too much than too little. Who could ever say they had too many cuddles?
From the corner of her eye, Trinity saw Zack taking in the scene but he didn’t offer an opinion. Slotting the poker away, he sauntered back to his laptop, which was open on the table, while she rocked the baby some more.
Twenty minutes later, when Bonnie finally looked completely gone and Trinity’s back was ready to break, she carefully, carefully lay her down. But no sooner had her fingers slipped away than the baby pulled a face and shifted again. Her heavy eyelids dragged opened, her precious bottom lip began to quiver and Trinity’s heart broke in two. What was she doing wrong?
She checked the baby’s satin brow. No temperature. Collecting Bonnie again, she glanced around. Light snow was still filtering down outside but, to a degree, daylight brightened the room.
She asked Zack, “Can you draw some blinds?”
Rather than spend all day in pj’s or change into business clothes, Zack had found her a pale blue cashmere sweater, which served wonderfully as a soft, comfy dress. He’d donned a sweater, too, dark slate in color to match his eyes. Coupled with a pair of well-loved jeans that hugged his buns and long athletic legs just right, he looked like every woman’s GQ dream come to life. Well, he was.
Now those broad cashmere-covered shoulders squared as he stood tall, ready for action.
“Those windows don’t have blinds.”
None at all? “Don’t you believe in privacy?”
“We’re in the middle of nowhere. No one’s going to peep unless it’s a bear.”
“I thought she might settle if it was dark. I’m going to try her in my room.” The one where she kept her overnighter and changed Bonnie. “It’ll be quieter in there, too.” No rattling of coffee cups or Cruiser’s claws clicking over the timber floor. They wouldn’t have to tiptoe around, holding their breath. “Can you get some pillows together?”
“I’m on it.” He strode ahead.
When she crept in the darkened room, he was retrieving extra pillows from a walk-in closet. Without her having to ask, to make it snug, he positioned the pillows in a rectangle on the bed then stuffed another quilt around the outside to keep the structure sound. Trinity lowered the baby and, checking inside the suit, made sure again her diaper was dry.
Seconds then minutes ticked by. The baby didn’t move. Maybe it was the lack of light; perhaps she was simply wornout, poor love. Trinity only knew she felt so happy and relieved when Bonnie stayed asleep; she was torn between laughing and collapsing. But it only took Zack to approach her—to come near—for her senses to begin to stir in that different, R-rated kind of way.
His rumbling voice was extra low. “Success.”
She hugged herself. “Fingers crossed.”
“How long do babies’ lunchtime naps last?”
“Guess we’re about to find out. Hopefully a couple of hours.”
She gave Bonnie one last heartfelt look before she followed Zack out. When he moved to click shut the door, she automatically set a hand on his arm. Beneath the fine wool, that limb felt like a length of warm steel, so inviting to the touch, despite it all, she found it difficult to let go.
Schooling her expression, she stepped back.
“Leave the door open a crack. I want to hear if she cries.”
A corner of his too-kissable mouth quirked up at one side at the same time he leaned an inch closer and her pulse began to thud.
“My guess,” he whispered, “is you’ll be going back to check every two minutes.”
She sighed. He was right. “Maybe we could set up some remote control audio device like a baby monitor so I don’t wear a track in your floor.”
“We might already have a monitor. One that comes with his own batteries.” Zack looked down.
Cruiser lay in front of the door, his head dropping onto crossed front paws, his tail as still as midnight. Only his eyes, and the soft folds on his brow, moved as he shared looks between them both. Trinity wanted to bend down and hug his neck.
“He wants to take the first watch.”
“This dog has experience.” Zack ruffled one floppy ear. “Before he gets too entrenched, maybe we ought to tell him this posting is strictly temporary.”
Trinity hid her wince. It hurt to hear what she already knew. As far as she and Zack went, they were proverbial ships passing on a stormy Colorado night, and hopefully the baby and Cruiser would be reunited with people who cared about them. Soon they’d all be separated with no reason to meet again. Like her and that baby so many years ago.
Back in the main area a few minutes later, Zack was checking out the contents of his fridge.
“After those leftover steaks, the dog won’t need anything for a while.” Hands on knees, the fridge light casting shadows over the chiseled planes of his face, he glanced at her. “You hungry?”
They’d had cereal earlier and nibbled cookies throughout the morning. Exhaling until her lungs were completely empty, she eased down into a recliner.
“I’m more tired than anything. I might just spread out for a while.”
“Get a proper rest. There are a couple of bedrooms upstairs.”
Yes, she knew. One of them was his. Safer to stay here.
“This’ll do fine.” She grabbed a quilt. “Cruiser won’t have to go far looking for me when the baby wakes.”
“The baby can cope for a couple of minutes without you.”
“Doesn’t hurt to be close.”
Really wouldn’t hurt to grab a few winks, either.
She closed her eyes…let her muscles and tendons relax and float. While a series of snapshots and snippets of conversation from these past hours wound through her mind, she snuggled down more.
She might have been drifting when a strange sensation began to niggle and take hold. In a heartbeat she was hyperaware of a scent and muffled sound at the same time she felt something shift around her shoulder.
Her stomach jumped and eyes snapped open. Zack stood over her. His hand was on the quilt, lifting it higher.
“Your cover slipped.” He finished tucking the edge in around the back of her neck before drawing away. “I thought you were asleep.”
She exhaled a groan and stretched an arm high. “Trying to.”
When he turned on his heel, Trinity fought the urge to call him back. She knew what he was. Knew that he used people to get what he required.
But not in this case. With no thought of personal gain, he’d offered his help with Bonnie, and while she didn’t need to fall into his arms and pretend she was special to him, neither did she have to be rude. This was his house, after all.
She shifted up a little. “I’m really just resting. It feels good to lounge around but…”
Zack prodded. “It’s great to lounge around, but what…?”
“It’s weird,” she confessed, “but after taking care of Bonnie for so long, now, without her right here with me, it almost feels like a part of me is missing.”
“It’s a motherly thing.”
She had to grin. “How would you know?”
“My sister-in-law said something the same the first time their eldest had a sleepover. She said it felt like a limb was cut off.”
Trinity considered that and nodded. Made sense. A child was such an integral part of her mother. Or she should be.
He glanced toward that downstairs bedroom. “Cruiser’s still on duty.”
She angled up. The dog was in the exact same position as they’d left him and now Zack was taking a seat at the foot of her chair.
With her huddled up and Zack resting back against a neighboring recliner, one arm balanced on a bent knee, she forced herself to accept his proximity and they watched the fire’s sleepy flames dance and curl. Listening to the faint snap and occasional tumble of ash, inhaling the aroma of fresh coffee, knowing the snow was falling gentler now…She tried to put all the negatives out of her mind and focus on this perfect peaceful moment.
She was nowhere near ready for Zack’s somber question when it came.
“Trinity, what happened to your parents?”
A terrible ice-cold then burning heat flooded her middle. He’d caught her off guard… . She didn’t talk about the past. She’d worked to put it behind her where the pain or numbness belonged. But she and Zack would never meet again and, while he might be curious now, it was a sure bet he’d forget her and their conversations much sooner than she ever would.
And, after thinking about her foster years just now, she felt an odd niggling need to share.
“I’d like to believe my mother loved me,” she finally said, “even though I wasn’t a product of love. My foster mother told me when I should have been too young to know that my mother was raped.”
Swinging around, Zack swore under his breath. “Please tell me that woman’s child-minding days are over.”
“I keep in touch with a couple of people where I grew up. They assure me that she’s long since retired.”
He rolled back one shoulder and a measure of the distaste dragging on his mouth eased. “Did you have other family?”
“Apparently my grandparents wanted my mother to give me up. She fought to keep me, but one night, not long after I was born, I was taken away. To this day I don’t know how the legalities were handled—I think some forging must have gone on—but it seems my grandparents thought she’d get over it. That eventually my mother would get on with her life…or, rather, the life they’d prescribed for her. She didn’t, or couldn’t. My mother left her home and set out to find me.”
Trinity always smiled when she remembered that part of her story, but never for long.
“With no money or support,” she went on, “my mom ended up on the streets. I found that all out when I hired a P.I. a couple of years back. He also learned that my mother died a day before her twentieth birthday.”
Zack’s jaw was thrust forward but his eyes were glistening enough for Trinity to see her own reflection. “Your grandparents?”
“They’ve both passed away. As far as that P.I. could ascertain, they never tried to find me. My mother was an only child so there are no uncles or aunts, either.”
He bowed his head, shook it once and murmured, “I’m sorry. I can understand why you made that decision.”
“Which decision?”
“Not to have a family of your own. That’s a lot to cope with. A lot to forgive.”
Forgiveness was a strange concept, Trinity thought now, gazing into the fire. She’d heard a person needed to forgive a wrong committed against them in order to get on with their lives. But she’d gotten on with hers without needing to forgive. She could stem the tears. She could logically plan for the future. That’s why she’d made that promise not to have children of her own and, since that time, had never second-guessed it. Had never thought differently.
Until today.
Taking care of Bonnie was so rewarding. Felt so worthwhile. Of course she didn’t plan to run off and get pregnant or anything as crazy as that. But for the first time, she truly understood why, in times so full of uncertainty, people took the risk and brought innocent defenseless lives into this world.
Why people took a chance on falling in love.
Trinity had been asleep for an hour when Cruiser padded over to where Zack stood, hands slotted into the back pockets of his jeans, studying the vast panorama of snow. The dog knocked his nose against Zack’s leg and gave a barely audible gruff. It took one-point-five seconds to interpret. Bonnie was stirring.
He wondered why Cruiser hadn’t gone to Trinity instead. Most likely because the mistress was sound asleep while the master was whiling away the time, daydreaming about how different, peaceful—lonely?—the place would be tomorrow after the snow had started to melt and everyone had gone their respective ways.
Be that as it may, he was the “fetch it” guy. Trinity took care of the baby.
He could always steer Cruiser over to where she lay curled up on that recliner. But he’d used up that card this morning when the baby was wet and he’d cleared his throat hoping Trinity would wake and take the pressure off. Of course, that had been before he’d heard the rest of her story.
Good Lord. What an eye-opener. He’d known his life was blessed a hundred different ways. A great family. A terrific childhood, even if his father hadn’t been around half as much as he should. When Trinity had admitted her mother had been a victim of rape then had suffered such injustice at the hands of her own parents…
Zack grimaced.
Who in the name of God could scheme to get rid of their own blood? To his mind, a child conceived through such a violent act deserved consideration, protection, all the more. It was surreal to know that same child was the woman asleep on his lounge now.
He couldn’t hope to grasp how she must feel. How she dealt with that past brewing in the back of her brain every day. Or perhaps she’d succeeded in blocking it out most of the time. Isn’t that what survivors sometimes did?
Probably good those grandparents were deceased. Since Trinity’s confession, he’d needed to tamp down the urge to form a plan to seek them out, and not to host a family reunion. His own Gran and Pap were the backbone of the Harrison clan. Where family was concerned, no sacrifice was too big for either one. Never having known that kind of bond, would Trinity feel alien in his family’s company?
Although no family—including his—was without its hiccups. And shadows, past and present. They simply kept them better hidden than most.
Cruiser’s snout nudged again and Zack came back to the situation at hand. Baby awake. Captain needed on deck. He blew out a breath and shook out his hands. He could do this. Hell, it was the least he could do.
Zack padded past Trinity’s recliner. She was breathing evenly, brow smooth, eyes closed. His fingers itched to touch the silky sweep of her hair but he wouldn’t risk waking her. This shift was his.
With another nose nudge, Cruiser knocked open the bedroom door. Zack pulled up his sleeves and inched inside. The baby was awake, watching her fingers wriggle in the shadows. Her gaze roamed, quickly found his and she kicked her legs in their wrap as if saying hello the only way she knew how.
Zack remembered how soaked she’d been that morning. But he was a man who commanded many and normally never backed off from a challenge. This couldn’t be too hard. Just get your mind around the problem, Harrison, and do it!
In a fluid movement, he scooped her up and, holding her firmly, tested her padded behind with a palm.
Not wet. No leakages around the legs. He rolled back his shoulders. That was good enough for him.
He cradled her in one arm, waited for the inevitable—for her chin to dimple and bottom lip to drop. But she only gazed up at him, blowing bubbles and wriggling her toes in her leggings. Zack’s throat clogged. Sweetheart was definitely the word.
Cruiser gave his leg a bump and Zack growled down. “Stop pushing already. I’m here, aren’t I?”
He moved out to the main room, thinking about his next step. Bonnie had had a bottle before going to sleep. She shouldn’t be hungry, but she did look wide-awake. He had experience with older kids. They were easy to entertain. But a three-month-old? No success. In fact, plenty of failures.
What was he supposed to do now?
Waking slowly, Trinity sucked in a breath then noticed that the light in Zack’s living room where she’d fallen asleep had changed. From the shadows stretching over the timber floor, it was long past midday. More like midafternoon. However long she’d slept, she certainly felt refreshed. Bonnie must still be sleeping soundly, Trinity thought as she shifted to sit straighter in the recliner, or she’d have heard from Cruiser.
Enjoying a stretch and a yawn, she rubbed her eyes but stilled when she heard a sound rumbling nearby. Zack’s voice. But there was another noise. A gurgling. Giggling.
On a burst of energy, Trinity scrambled up on her knees so that she could peer over the back of the recliner.
She couldn’t believe her eyes.
This had to be a dream.
Propped up on forearms, Zack was lying on his front on a blanket on the floor. The baby was propped up on a bank of pillows opposite. Zack was shaking something that rattled and wobbled. Trinity had no idea what it was or how he’d come by it. She only knew the baby thought the sight and sound hilarious.
Zack was smiling, too, in a way that both surprised and warmed Trinity to her core. In that instant, in her mind, he was transformed. No longer simply the handsome, ruthless hotelier, but so much more a regular guy in sexy blue jeans who obviously enjoyed making a little girl laugh. Trinity wanted to laugh, too, even as moisture welled in her eyes. If she didn’t disapprove of him so much, she might even be convinced to like him.
He glanced across and that glossy lock of hair fell over his brow as he beamed out a dazzling smile.
“Hey, look who’s up.”
“What’s going on?” Trinity moved off the recliner, thinking how goofy her expression must be. She couldn’t stop grinning and her voice was tellingly thick. “How long has she been awake?”
A sound came from behind Bonnie’s bank of pillows. Cruiser’s snout popped up, smiling and panting as usual. Zack shook the rattle again.
“We’ve been playing for around fifteen minutes.”
“Is she wet?”
“She wasn’t when she woke up. She’s made me work since.”
Trinity’s palm caught her chest, and not totally to mock him. “You changed her?”
“I did. Fed her, too, when she started to grizzle.”
Trinity made her way over. “So I’ve lost my job. Changing, feeding, maybe some rocking…”
“Whoa.” Zack tipped onto to his side and she caught a long, horizontal view of “totally carefree and masculine” that would fit superbly in the center of a ladies’ magazine. “Let’s not get carried away.”
He said the words but didn’t look half as reticent as he had before and, across the way, the baby was throwing out her arms to him like she’d been doing it her whole life. Bonnie wanted the toy Zack held. Trinity was curious, too. Joining them, she sat cross-legged on the floor. That’s when she saw the stash…a pile of similar-looking toys—colorful homemade stuff—bunched up by Zack’s side.
“My nephews and nieces pass on these treasures all the time. We have dolls with wobbly heads.” He shook the rattle then swapped it for a stuffed sock with pipe-cleaner whiskers. “As well as lots of animals. The teachers keep them busy in preschool.”
From a distance, she eyed a duck, a giraffe and a horse with three legs and a trio of purple-button eyes to match. A brown plaster disc with odd markings left her stumped, though.
“What’s that?”
He collected the piece. “Tom-Tom the Turtle.”
When the baby stretched out her arms and wiggled her fingers, Trinity held her tiny hand in hers. “Oh, you can’t have that, sweetie.”
“There’s nothing sharp. Nothing that’ll fall off.”
“She’ll put it straight in her mouth.”
Zack jumped up, rinsed the turtle under a steamy faucet, shook it off and brought him back. “All clean.” He handed Tom-Tom over to a bedazzled Bonnie. “I’m sure Nicki won’t mind.”
“Who’s Nicki?”
“My second-oldest nephew. This was last year’s birthday gift.”
“And that?” She nodded to a face with a fluffy yellow mane.
“Loger Lion. No body, I’m afraid. He was from Ava my niece for Christmas. She’s four.”
“Loger?”
“Ava has trouble with r’s.”
Her heart warming all the more, Trinity accepted Loger when Zack handed him over. She’d known he had lots of extended family, and it made sense kids liked to make gifts of their craft bits and pieces, but, “Why do you have all this here?”
“They’re at my apartment, too. Some at the office. My brothers have eight kids between them. Believe me, that’s a lot of bead picture frames and finger paintings to go around.”
His dark eyes were sparkling, with pride. With love. Here was a side Zack had never shown, particularly not to the press. He’d never let go and shared himself like this with her. Then again, she wasn’t normally one to share, either.
He chose another animal from his stockpile. “I was about to have Necky Giraffe duel with Loger.”
“Necky?”
“I don’t choose the names, remember?”
“Why can’t they dance instead?”
His brow wrinkled in a delectable frown. “Because they’re both guys.”
“Guys can dance.”
“Only with beautiful women.”
His dark eyes shone as a ghost of a different, mischievous smile hooked his mouth. It was all Trinity could do to keep from pushing common sense aside and doing something stupid like leaning forward to brush her lips over his. Instead she shelved the urge and concentrated on working out the show Necky and Loger were set to perform.
“Guys can dance together,” she pointed out, “if you’re a lion who’s taken classes and wants to show his best friend how much he’s improved. Loger used to have two left feet.”
He grinned. “All these years and I never knew.” He slid over to give her space on the blanket beside him. “Have a seat. There’s plenty of room.”
Trinity’s heartbeat skipped. The urge to do precisely what Zack suggested was so strong, the impulse was a little scary. But his mood was more light not seductive, and with Bonnie looking so happy and content…why not?
She shimmied over and lay down on her belly beside Zack and facing the baby. While Bonnie sucked on Tom-Tom, Trinity held up Loger. The baby sat riveted, waiting for the show.
Rolling a little toward Trinity to accommodate the movement, Zack trotted out his giraffe.
“My dear Mr. Loger,” he began, but she interrupted.
“On second thought, maybe it should be Miss Loger.” She was a girl, after all.
He set off again. “My dear Miss Loger, I couldn’t help but notice how luminous your mane looks today.”
“I did wash and straighten it very carefully.”
She looked from the animals to Zack. He was smiling, not at the show or at Bonnie, but at her. An amused, highly appreciative look.
“Would you care to dance?” he finally asked.
She waited for her heart to stop beating in her throat before she replied, “But there’s no music.”
“I’ll sing to you.”
And this time, while the baby giggled and, engrossed, sucked Tom-Tom more, Trinity heard a different, deeper note in Zack’s voice. Her skin started to heat and thoughts began to veer to places best kept under lock and key.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
But he tipped closer and insisted. “I’ll sing about your eyes.”
Trinity quivered to her curling toes. He’d spoken near her ear and she knew without looking that his gaze was intent, on her profile…on her lips. She tried to get her suddenly whirling thoughts back on track.
“Maybe we should find a song we already know.”
“Know what I really want to sing about?” His warm breath brushed her hair. “How much I enjoyed holding you last night.”
A series of brush fires ignited and raced through her blood. She ought to move away. Tell him to stop. With him so near, devouring her with that hungry gaze, she wanted to forget what she knew and admit that she’d enjoyed it, too.
When his mouth grazed her temple, she tingled and weakened more. “Dance with me, Trin,” he murmured. “Dance with me tonight.”
As his chin grazed a lazy path around her cheek and his fingers slid away from the giraffe, a spike of adrenaline shot through her and finding her senses, dropping the lion, she leaned away. Got to her feet. Unbalanced, flushed, she pushed back hair fallen over her brow.
“I should probably get a bottle ready for Bonnie.”
He gazed up at her, his dark gaze intense. Determined. “I already fed her, Trin. She’s perfectly happy.”
“Then I’ll put on coffee.”
“I don’t want coffee. I want you.”
He reached for her but she dodged his touch and, panicked, crossed to the kitchen. Her body burning, she felt his gaze on her while she collected the pot with a trembling hand. Would he follow her? Run his hot palms over her shoulders, down her sides? God help her, she wanted that. Wanted him. And she shouldn’t.
Couldn’t.
She was a convenience, nothing more, no matter how wanted he made her feel.
When he began to talk again to the baby while she saw to the coffee, Trinity let out a long breath, but the craving didn’t ease. She closed her eyes and imagined him kissing her objections away, almost felt his mouth sliding over her body and his hard, long length bearing down. Despite the absurdity of it all, she wanted those things badly.
In fact, she was beginning to want this—the whole package—way too much.
Seven
Zack growled. “Cruiser, get your nose out of there.”
“He’s definitely found something,” Trinity said.
Probably scaring the life out of some poor squirrel, Zack thought.
Cruiser barked. Propped up in Trinity’s arms, Bonnie screeched and, delighted, tried to clap her hands.
After the Loger/Necky scene, the mood had been strained. When the sun had poked through its thinning cover of clouds and the snow looked as if it was covered with a billion scattered diamonds, Zack had suggested they all get some fresh air. He’d loaned Trinity some boots that were way too big and an overcoat that came down past her shins. After bundling the baby in blankets, he’d shrugged into a bomber jacket and had led the other three outside.
He hadn’t intended for the toy pantomime to veer off in that direction, with his instincts taking over and body leading where he clearly wanted to go. And Trinity’s determination to refuse him only made the need stronger. More insistent. Watching her saunter around in his cashmere sweater all morning had driven him near crazy. At one point, when the baby had been down, he’d very nearly crowded her into a corner and spoken to her in a language she had to understand. Could be something to do with deprivation of sensation—being stuck out here on their own—but whenever she was remotely near, every cell in his nervous system lit up like a pinball machine and gravitated toward her. And he could see in her eyes, hear in her voice, she felt it, too.
Tomorrow Child Services would be out and that would be the end of playing house. But before they said goodbye, he was determined to have Trinity curled up around him, murmuring his name while they made love throughout the night. He needed to end the anticipation. Once and for all, put those fires out. But all that would need to wait till dark.
Now he packed a snowball in his hands and pitched a slider at Cruiser’s butt. The dog jumped then crouched low before zipping off full speed at them, skidding out at the last minute and spraying snow all over them. Trinity was laughing while she checked the baby whose smile split her little face. When Zack pegged another, it hit Cruiser’s leg and he did the galloping skidding thing all over again. But this time rather than running off, he arced around and caught the back of Zack’s coat in his teeth and tugged, trying to drag him back.
“Hey, quit that!” Zack pulled the other way while Trinity and the baby ended up in fits.
When his jacket was finally free, he lunged at the dog who dodged at the last minute. Zack landed face-first in the snow.
His head shooting up, he blew snow from his mouth and caught Trinity’s stage whisper to her conspirators.
“Quick, let’s get him. Let’s get Zack.”
Cruiser was barking, his tail wagging furiously and the baby was squeaking, her arms going crazy while she giggled. Trinity pounced up and kicked snow over his back and legs at the same time the dog leaped over him, back and forth like a not-so-graceful steed in a steeple race.
Sliding in the mush, Zack got to his feet. He was outnumbered and cold and near out of breath from laughing. But he was far from defeated. Meaning business now, he prowled toward Trinity and Bonnie. Her eyes flashing in a stream of late afternoon sunshine, Trinity blinked several times then backed up toward the house.
“Okay. Game’s over.”
“Uh-uh. I don’t think so.”
“I’m holding the baby.”
“She’s in trouble, too.” Cruiser barked and Zack narrowed his eyes at him. “Don’t worry. You’re next.”
Zack belted forward and swung Bonnie out of Trinity’s arms. After twirling her carefully in the air, he set her in her carrier, which sat in its upright position on the porch, then set off after Trinity. When he caught her, they both fell into the snow while Cruiser yapped and their laughter echoed through the trees. Then the dog trotted off to look out for the baby and suddenly everything other than a pair of beautiful violet-colored eyes faded into the background. His blood was singing, his senses sparking and she was trapped in his arms, her lips so pink and close and tempting. There was no escape. He was going to kiss her, and when he was finished, he’d take a breath and damn well kiss her again.
His gloved palm holding steady the back of her head, he slanted his head over hers. Because she was panting and winding down from a fit of laughter, he didn’t have to work to part her lips. He struck gold on contact and, without thinking, she accepted then embraced his kiss.
As their tongues wound around each other and the sizzle morphed into a burn, he drew her shoulders in and gave her no room for doubt. He’d found the magic combination to her lock and now that she was open to the possibilities he wouldn’t let anything hold them back.
Except, of course, the fact they had a three-month-old probably wondering why all her fun had stopped.
Reluctantly Zack forced his saner self to surface and broke the kiss, but his lips stayed close to hers. He meant for her to see the hunger blazing in his eyes.
“It’s been a good afternoon,” he murmured while his blood throbbed and, giving in, his head angled down again.
But, still out of breath, Trinity turned away. “We have to go in. Bonnie needs her bath.”
“She’s already had her bath.”
“It’s getting dark.”
Grazing his lips over her cheek, he smiled. “I know.”
“The baby—”
“Will sleep in the bedroom tonight and before you remind me about our responsibilities, it’s a well-known fact that adults make love with babies in the house.” His smile brushed her cheek.
She seemed to hold her breath. “It’s not a good idea.”
“It’s possibly the best idea I’ve ever had.”
“I don’t even like you.”
He frowned. “You don’t know me.”
“All the more reason—”
“For you to say yes…”
An hour later, Trinity emerged from that bedroom and announced, “She’s down.”
From the kitchen, Zack looked over. “That was easy. Is Cruiser at his post?”
“Couldn’t drag him away if we tried.”
“Ready to eat? We have omelet à la Zackery. Secret ingredients are mushrooms and cheese.”
“Sounds delicious.”
Trinity held the plates while he cut the omelet with his spatula, served up half each and, as usual, her nerve endings began to buzz. How would she ever survive the evening without having Bonnie as an excuse to put between herself, Zack and his confessed intent to finish what they’d begun last night and this afternoon in the snow.
Sitting at the table, he poured them both a generous glass of white wine then put some salad from a center bowl on his plate. While Trinity absently found some lettuce, Zack enthusiastically sliced into his eggs. She was moving a mushroom around when, on his second mouthful, he frowned.
“No good?”
“I’m sure it’s delicious. I want to clear the air first.”
He chewed, swallowed. “Clear away.”
“About that kiss this afternoon.”
“I’m sure our communication there couldn’t have been clearer.” His fork bobbed at her plate. “Your omelet’s getting cold.”
“But I’m not finished—”
“And if the baby wakes up you’ll need some nourishment, so eat now. I promise I’ll listen to everything you have to say later.”
Trinity nibbled her lip. She didn’t like the gleam in his eyes. She didn’t think he’d give her any more of a chance to talk when they’d finished here. In fact, she could envisage him quietening her words with another of those devastating kisses. She had her ethics, but how could she hope to win against that?
But in a way he was right. Hopefully Bonnie was down for good, but bedtime and babies wasn’t a science. And this omelet did smell and look divine. A growl from her stomach decided for her.
A few minutes later, halfway finished, she said, “This is really very good.”
“I don’t cook much. Back home I usually don’t get out of the office until late. If we don’t get food delivered and I don’t have a dinner engagement, I pop into a great steak place a couple of blocks away.”
“I’m amazed you don’t have a bevy of women lining up to cook for you.”
He sent her a knowing glance before collecting his wine goblet. “My brothers are the domesticated ones, remember.”
She feigned an enlightened look. “How did I forget?”
They both knew women lined up to do a whole lot more than flip Zack’s steak. Although…
“The way you were getting along with Bonnie this afternoon, anyone might be fooled into thinking you’re a regular family man.”
That he might actually enjoy having his own wife and child around. Which was crazy. Zack was a bachelor businessman, pure and simple.
Although hadn’t she had a change of heart since caring for Bonnie? Yesterday a seed had been replanted, and now she couldn’t deny feeding into the fantasy of having a child of her own. Having a husband, a family…
Oh, but she was getting all muddled when, tonight like never before, she needed to keep everything straight.
Zack’s brows dipped before he drained the wine from his glass and made a sound of deep satisfaction in his throat. “This really is an exceptional year.”
Having tasted the wine, she had to agree. But no matter how enjoyable, she didn’t intend to indulge beyond one glass tonight. After that incredible kiss in the snow, he’d told her exactly how he felt. He wanted to make love to her. Sitting across from Zack now, looking so casual yet dynamic, if she was a weaker woman, she might easily fling her napkin to one side and suggest they cut dinner short.
But as much as she’d enjoyed the day and having the opportunity to see this other more human side of Zack, those other darker considerations kept weighing on her mind. She’d known he liked women, that he was beyond ruthless in business, but to discover via Kate this morning that he’d used another man’s sorrow to move closer to a contract’s finish line? It set her teeth on edge.
She was attracted to Zack in a way she hadn’t known existed but she couldn’t live with herself if she put physical need before her conscience. Not that iron man Zack would understand that.
When his cell lying on the counter buzzed, Zack went to check the message. Without replying to the text, he returned to the table and drew his chair in.
He took a long pull from his glass and explained, “Dirkins wants to see me tomorrow.”
Trinity sat straighter. “Do you think he’s ready to meet your offer?”
Had he succeeded in wearing the poor man down?
Zack collected his fork again. “Yes, I think he’s ready to sign.”
“Guess you finally got to him.”
He studied her then shrugged. “I’m sorry. You’ve lost me.”
Should she tell him what she knew or should she accept that she could do nothing to change the way Zack approached life and let it slide? The only rule in his world was “there are no rules.” Even when it came to an anguished father’s emotions. A broken man who’d been knocked down twice—once by the death of his son and again when Zack had insinuated he was in some way to blame.
Trinity shifted her plate away. Right or wrong, she needed to know. “How did James Dirkins’s son die?”
“Car accident.” Zack patted his mouth with his napkin and thoughtfully set it back down on his lap. “Some say it was suicide. Apparently he’d been troubled of late.”
“Apparently? So you did some research?”
His gaze sharpened. “Where’s this going?”
She couldn’t keep quiet. She had to ask, and if Zack didn’t want to admit that he’d played on this man’s feelings to gain an upper hand, she wouldn’t be surprised. Men like Zack rarely took responsibility. They only plundered the rewards. Or that’s the way the media depicted him.
But the man she’d come to know a little came across as more complex than that, and certainly capable of compassion. Being part of his pantomime for Bonnie and those games when they’d fooled around in the snow…Could that story about Zack putting those kinds of emotional screws into Dirkins really be true?
“When I spoke to Kate this morning,” Trinity began, “she said you’d let Dirkins know you believed he was somehow responsible for his son’s death.”
Zack’s brow furrowed and his gaze darkened until the irises appeared black. His voice was low and grating. “She said what?”
Her cheeks flushing, Trinity pushed back her chair. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“‘You’ being Trinity Matthews or the so-called free press?” He swore and dropped his fork on his plate before he met her gaze again. “Usually it doesn’t bother me, living in a society where everyone is consumed by what the other half wear and eat and say. It’s a circus. Three parts illusion and the other part bullshit.”
Trinity’s heartbeat was crashing high in her chest. She hadn’t expected this reaction. Was this some kind of show to get her on his side? Gain her sympathy? Or was he better than the press made out? Than even Zack might sometimes give himself credit for?
“Are you saying you didn’t suggest to James Dirkins that he as good as killed his own son?” she asked.
“Does it matter what I say? You people print what sells.” His lip curled. “And you think I should be ashamed of myself.”
His expression, his tone, the conviction of his words…
She gave a hapless shrug and muttered, “I didn’t say it was true.”
He looked at her hard then huffed like he was tired of it all. His plate in hand, he moved to the kitchen.
She glared at her own plate then came up with an idea that might work for everyone.
“Even if Dirkins can’t manage it on his own anymore, he must be torn. It’d feel like he was saying goodbye to his son again. Maybe there’s some other option where he can still be a part of the hotel without having to take all the responsibility. What if you offered him a partnership?”
His dish rattled into the sink. “I don’t do partnerships.”
Her lips and stomach tightened. “Of course you don’t.” How could she forget? His brothers believed in partnerships, not Zack.
He moved back to the table. “I’m not a bad guy. I go out of my way to be fair in business, to be a good son and uncle.” He reached, found her hand and pulled her to her feet. “And in case you hadn’t noticed, I’m also a man who has normal desires and needs.”
She caught her breath but, defiant, challenged his gaze. “I’d noticed.”
“Tomorrow the authorities will come and take that baby away. Hopefully they’ll find her parents but either way our involvement will end.” His fingers brushed down her forearm, gripped her hand. “That doesn’t mean we have to stop seeing each other.”
The world tilted beneath her feet. Everything was suddenly way out of balance.
“You want to see me again?”
He brought her close. “What do you think?”
His mouth dropped over hers and her body flashed with an energy that had been building all day, that had bubbled on the brink of boiling over since she’d put the baby down. Now the fuel racing through her blood rushed to her core, making her feel heavy and hot and desperate for him to make good on the promise he’d made today. The promise about making love.
His hand cupped her cheek, directing the slant of her head while he worked a kiss that left her floating inches off the floor. The sensations and emotions were so powerful she wanted to thread her arms around his neck and forget about what was wrong or right, or smart or pathetically stupid. She was smoldering, unable to pretend she could walk away before experiencing more. And wasn’t that only human? Why shouldn’t she have this night? There was nothing stopping them except her pride. If this was a mistake, she’d need to live with it, like everything else.
She’d all but surrendered, fanning her palms up over Zack’s hard cashmere-covered chest, when his caress changed in tempo and in tone. His kiss was still expert and breathtakingly thorough but in her heart she was aware he knew he’d won. And as his hand moved higher and his fingers splayed up through her hair, she was at a loss to do anything other than sigh in surrender and dissolve that much more. The hard length of his body seemed to combine so seamlessly with hers, she couldn’t think where he finished and she began.
With his mouth still on hers, he swept her up into his arms. A moment later, she was vaguely aware of passing by Cruiser. Before he started up the stairs, his chest expanded on a breath and he reluctantly dragged his mouth from hers. As he peered down through lidded eyes, feeling the hammer of his heartbeat pumping through her own blood, she fought to get her breath.
“I can walk up myself,” she offered, “if I’m too heavy.”
The white of his teeth shone in the shadows as he flashed a smile. “I’ll manage.”
He carried her up to the second floor while Trinity’s pulse throbbed and her grasp of reality seemed to fall away. As he crossed to the center of a room draped in quiet shadows, she recalled her first impression of him in the cab, how his presence had dominated and his deep voice had more than intrigued. Later she’d thought how attractive his lips were, particularly the fuller lower one. She’d wondered how their bows would feel grazing over hers, never dreaming for a moment she’d find out.
Now as he stopped before the foot of a king-size bed, the need to know Zack Harrison intimately and all night was so powerful, she positively ached with it. After vowing never to succumb, at this high-octane moment she was leagues beyond ready.
First moving to elbow on a corner light, he then angled to flick back the covers before laying her gently on the bed. One knee on the mattress, the other foot on the floor, he sculpted a slow teasing hand over her shoulder while running a band of barely there kisses over every erogenous point from her brow to the sweater’s V at her breasts.
But in a corner of her mind an image of the baby, alone in that bedroom downstairs, sneaked in and, dragging herself from the headiness, Trinity sat up.
“What if Bonnie wakes and we don’t hear?”
His focus shifted to lifting the sweater up over her hips, her waist.
“I can attest to the fact,” he said, “that she’ll only have to squeak before Cruiser bounds up here to let us know.”
Her arms came up, the sweater came off and his heavenly mouth came down again, this time to taste a bone-melting trail along the sweep of one shoulder at the same time he snapped the clasp at her back. As the bra fell, those tantalizingly mouth-on-skin drops angled lower until he was lightly sucking the tip of one breast and she was going out of her mind. When the stiff tip of his tongue twirled a slow wet circle then flicked a few mind-blowing times, the buildup of sensations overflowed their dam.
While his palms on her bare back pressed her closer, she let her neck roll to one side and plied her fingers through his hair. When his head came away and cool air hit hot flesh, he urged her back down onto the sheet before drawing that other nipple deeply into his mouth.
Her mind floating and body humming, she soaked up the pleasure and waited. She imagined his tongue soon trailing lower as his slightly roughed fingertips grazed over tender peaks, rolling and gently pinching the tips. Instead his mouth drew completely away a moment before the furnace of his body left her, too. Bringing her arms up around to circle her head, she frowned and forced open her eyes.
He stood at the side of the bed, catching the back of his sweater then dragging the wool forward over his head before dropping it at his feet. With his hair mussed and his magnificent body backlit, a silver halo shone out from around his broad shoulders’ expanse. So muscular and bronzed, she couldn’t take her eyes off the extraordinary figure he cut.
He flicked open the button on his jeans, eased the zipper down and when he pushed on the hips, the denim rustled to the floor. In the shadows, she could make out the line of dark hair that arrowed from his navel to black briefs that were having a hard time keeping his erection penned in.
When he came to her, the light changed and every working muscle was cast in a mesmerizing show of rippling relief. He stopped to hover mere inches above her. Adoring his musky scent, she filled her lungs and threaded her arms around his neck.
“I’ve thought about this moment,” he said, “from the second you slipped into my cab.”
“From the very first second?” she teased.
He grazed his beard over her cheek. “Hmm…maybe before.”
She drove her hands up over the muscled contours of his shoulders, relishing the anticipation, and whispered close to his ear.
“Then we shouldn’t waste any more time.”
His hand trailed up her leg then detoured to find that most sensitive part of her. While he dropped soft, slow kisses down her neck, across her shoulder, two fingertips trailed up her center then settled into circling that swollen burning bead.
Everything but sensation dropped away. She was only aware of the slow, delicious flame that she never wanted to go out as his circling touch slowed to an agonizing pace that felt so incredible, she had to bite her lip and hold onto his arm to stop from grinding against him. But then he shifted, and she was left trembling on the edge.
Next thing she knew, he was easing inside her, his mouth covered hers and his hand found its way between them again. Trinity snatched back a breath as a bolt of heat ripped through her core. She was so close, she could see the orgasm in her mind, calling her nearer…hotter…higher.
When the friction between them reached fever pitch, he thrust in a final time and her world imploded with wave after wave of incomparable pleasure. She rode a roll of continuous peaks, murmuring his name, clinging to his heat, thanking fate.
And cursing it, too.
Eight
“I’m glad you talked me into that.”
Agreeing wholeheartedly, Zack flipped Trinity over and on top of him then wove his palms over the satiny plane of her back, down over the smooth rise of her behind.
“You really didn’t need much persuading.”
“Must be the isolation.”
He grinned. “Cabin fever?”
“I’m still a little restless.”
His hands curved in and went deeper. “Good, because I’m nowhere near finished with my remedy.”
Her smile slid over to capture his mouth. It seemed they hadn’t stopped kissing and yet he couldn’t imagine ever growing tired of the way her tongue danced with his—sometimes darting and hungry. At other times, like now, sensual, weaving…coaxing blood to rush to places that were more than ready for Act II. He’d never felt so satisfied and yet so ready for more.
He was repositioning her hips over his, seriously considering grabbing another condom and taking this joining to the next heart-pumping level, when a little of her kiss’s enthusiasm seemed to wane. Zack craned his neck, deepened the kiss but gradually her lips left his. In the misty light, he frowned up as she peered with a guilty look glistening in those beautiful thickly lashed eyes.
“Are you tired?” he asked.
“A little uneasy.”
Grinning, he swept her over until he was the one on top. “I know how to fix uneasy.”
He lowered his mouth to her throat and began to work his way inch by delectable inch down. But rather than feel her sink into the mattress and melt beneath him, she held back. Stiffened. His head came up and he frowned.
“Am I losing my flair?”
She caught him under the arms and he let her drag him up. She looked so concerned, his chest squeezed. Whatever her worry was, he wanted to kiss it all away.
“Would it be silly,” she asked, “to move back downstairs?”
“You want to be nearer the baby?”
“I know Cruiser’s there on watch,” she went on. “I know she probably won’t wake until morning.” She fingered a lock of hair away from his eyes. “Just somehow I’d feel better.”
He thought it through and nodded. “Me, too.”
Her face split with a smile. “Really?”
“On one condition. We stay warm only through body heat and the fire. As sexy as I find them, I don’t want a hint of red silk pj’s coming between us tonight.”
She snatched a happy kiss and stayed close to rub the tip of his nose with hers. “Deal.”
While she visited the bathroom, he found two oversize robes from his walk-in closet and slipped a couple of extra condoms in the largest robe’s pocket. A moment later, they were “dressed” and stepping over Cruiser to pop their heads inside that downstairs bedroom.
A sidelight cast a soft glow over the room. Bonnie was sound asleep, her arms at right angles along either side of her head. Cruiser appeared to be off in doggy slumberland, too, although Zack wondered whether he was playing possum in case, for some reason, they tried to get him to move.
A moment later, while Trinity got herself snug under the quilts, Zack stoked the fire. When the flames were beyond toasty, he shirked out of his robe and joined her. He pulled at her sash and Trinity didn’t object. She merely sat up, peeled the heavy sleeves off her shoulders and happily snuggled down against him, naked among the pillows and quilts.
Seeing her body briefly in the flickering of the fire glow only fed his intentions to make love again. And again. But she seemed so comfortable nestling against his chest, her cheek resting on one pec, her breath warm on his throat; he didn’t want to disturb her. So he wound that arm more securely around her and dropped a lingering kiss on her sweet-smelling crown.
This day couldn’t have had a better ending.
After the way Zack had brought her to climax, Trinity was content to simply lie here and reflect. But when her trailing nails brushed his growing erection, she couldn’t help from turning her face to graze his flat nipple with her teeth while her hand clutched his shaft and dragged the length up to its tip.
His body locked at the same time his penis throbbed and he rubbed his lips over her hair.
“I was thinking you might want a break but I’m more than happy to play.”
“We can talk as well.”
He shuddered out a sigh. “Keep doing that and I’ll agree to anything.”
“What if I do this?”
She dragged her hand back and forth at the same time dabbing moist kisses between his sternum and his navel.
“I need to warn you right now how good that feels.”
Teasing, she tugged again and his hips came off the floor.
“Tell me more about this house.” Your home.
His eyes closed, he groaned and his head went to one side. “What do you want to know?”
“What drew you to it first?”
“It feels…peaceful.” Her hand slid away and he growled. “You don’t have to stop.”
“I’m afraid you won’t be able to carry on a conversation.”
“Some say talk is overrated.”
She rolled over more toward him and rested her chin on her bunched hand. “A sense of peace, you say.”
“This whole town has it,” he croaked. “At Christmas time, they put on a big evening of music and games for the kids. At the end of the night, a huge tree in the middle of Main Street gets lit up. The star at the top is massive.”
“Sounds like a great place to raise a family,” she said, half to herself.
“The family I bought this home from had twin boys. The dad would take them fly-fishing and hiking. Both times I came to look the house over, the entire place smelled of brownies baking. I like brownies.”
“Ever tried to bake them yourself?”
“I usually pick some up from a shop in town.” In the flickering light, his gaze sharpened. “Do you bake?”
“I used to do all the cooking when I was younger so now I avoid it every chance I get.”
“Ever go hiking?”
“Never in Colorado.”
He tucked one hand behind his head. While he smiled at some imaginary point beyond the ceiling, Trinity drank in the magnificent view of one bulging bicep.
“The scenery here is pretty amazing,” he said. “The air when you really get out is the purest you’ll ever breathe.”
“Doesn’t sound like you’re in a hurry to get back to New York.”
“New York’s home.”
“It doesn’t have to be. Isn’t the saying—‘home is where the heart is’?”
He shifted so that she moved and he lay on his side facing her. As shadows danced over his arm, he curled hair back from her cheek and asked, “Where’s your heart?”
The question took her aback. She thought and decided, “I guess I’m still searching.”
“So not in writing for magazines?”
“That’s what I do, Zack. Not who I am.”
“Why can I see you working with children somehow?”
“I thought about it once. Believe it or not, I wanted to work somewhere in Child Services. But I didn’t know if I was strong enough.” She had a flashback to that much earlier darker time and winced. “Too close to it all, I guess.”
“I think being close is exactly what a job like that needs. Any department or organization to do with children would be lucky to have you.”
She wanted to hug him for that but…“I wouldn’t feel as if I could ever do enough.”
His grin was soft, encouraging. “Says you who obviously has so much to give.”
When his gaze lowered to her lips and his mouth found hers again, Trinity was taken over by a wave of new emotions, feelings that left her so energized and at the same time strangely serene. Zack Harrison barely knew her, and yet this minute it felt as if he knew her better than anyone, including herself.
Nine
He was dreaming of a snarling tiger with foot-long canines pouncing on Bonnie, meaning to drag her away, when the rhythmic pounding of those distant jungle drums suddenly changed tack into a more conscious stream and Zack was thrown awake with a jolt.
Jumping up, Zack’s reflexes sent his every sense flying to the source of the noise—the windows. One horrifying moment later, he realized what he was hearing and why. On the same breath, he understood that he was crouched in a defense/attack stance and wearing exactly no clothes.
He couldn’t recall the last time he’d been embarrassed but he was darn sure he’d never forget this moment.
Ripping a quilt off the nearest recliner, he lashed the bulk as best he could around his hips at the same time Trinity groaned and, scratching her head, sat up. Wild hair. Big yawn. And no clothes there, either. Not a stitch.
Blinking drowsy eyes, she squinted up at him and frowned. “What’s going on?”
“Someone’s outside?”
“Someone else needing a home?”
“I’m pretty sure it’s the woman from Child Services.”
Trinity’s questioning look turned to a mask of stark horror. And as her focus flew to the windows—to the woman wearing rubber boots and a dour face—he read Trinity’s mind. Why had that woman come around the back? For Pete’s sake, hadn’t anyone heard of a front door?
While Trinity scooped her arms through a nearby robe and knotted the tie at her waist, Zack took a breath and crossed to open the door. Her boots were muddy but he wouldn’t ask this visitor to come in via the mudroom entry.
She stepped inside with a, “Mr. Harrison. I’m Cressida Cassidy. I’ve caught you at a bad time.”
“Not a bad time.” He tossed an innocent look Trinity’s way. “Would you say ‘bad’?”
She shrugged and hugged herself in a robe that puddled around her feet. “Maybe a little inconvenient.”
Ms. Cassidy’s smile was paper-thin. “You didn’t mention you were married.”
“I’m not.”
The woman blinked then sniffed. “I see.”
He pushed on. “This is Trinity…” His mind went blank. “Ah, Trinity…”
Trinity threw out a welcoming hand. “Matthews.”
Zack ran a hand through his bed hair. “Early mornings my brain doesn’t work so well.”
“It’s after nine,” Ms. Cassidy said, releasing Trinity’s hand as if it might be contaminated with some rare STD. “I apologize for taking you both unawares. You may not know but a large trunk has fallen directly across the entrance to your front door. Rather than trying to scale the—”
A far-off cry interrupted Ms. Cassidy’s tale. She blanched at the same time Zack froze and Trinity leaped off and into action. The baby sounded as if she’d been stuck with a pin. While his pulse thudded in his temples, Zack forced himself to stand calmly as a clearly concerned Ms. Cassidy waited for Trinity’s return.
As worry turned to suspicion, Ms. Cassidy’s face began to harden and her double chin pulled in. “Mr. Harrison, where have you got that baby?”
An appeasing gesture, both Zack’s palms went up. “She’s perfectly safe. Cruiser’s looking out for her.”
“Who’s Cruiser?”
At that moment, the dog barreled out and plowed into the backs of his legs. Zack winced and introduced the other member of the household. “Cruiser, Ms. Cassidy.”
“You let a dog babysit?”
“Only last night. We were right here pretty much the whole time.”
Her attention skated over to the empty wine bottle and her lips pursed. “I’d like to see the baby.”
Trinity sang out. “Be there in a sec!”
While Ms. Cassidy tapped her boot, sending mud splatters over the timber floor, Zack zipped into the laundry room and pulled on some jeans and a T-shirt. He came out running a smoothing hand through his hair and wishing that Cruiser hadn’t taken his babysitting job quite so seriously and had left his post long enough to warn them ahead of time about visitors. He and Trinity might not have heard a car arrive, but a dog’s hypersensitive hearing must have.
“Trin must be changing her,” Zack told Ms. Cassidy. “She wakes up soaked.”
The woman’s lips tightened more. After another brittle minute, she shifted to force her way past. Thank God Trinity was on her way back out. She was dressed in the business clothes she’d worn the day they’d met, although the skirt was crooked and some of her blouse buttons weren’t fastened. The baby in her arms, however, looked happy and healthy and wide-awake.
“Have you found out anything?” Trinity asked their visitor as she stopped at Zack’s side.
“We’ve located the mother,” Ms. Cassidy said. “She’s outside in a police car now.”
Zack’s blood pressure dropped. Police? “So something is wrong?”
“I’m not at liberty to say.” Ms. Cassidy put out her arms. “I’ll take her now.”
Trinity turned a notch away; a natural enough reaction, Zack thought, feeling a twitch himself. If a person looked after a baby the way she had, of course they’d be shielding. Obviously they’d have grown attached.
“She’ll need a bottle,” Trinity said.
Ms. Cassidy replied, “The mother says she takes the breast as well as formula.”
While Trinity stood agape, clearly lost for words, Zack stepped up. They had a right to know…didn’t they?
“I think you can imagine how worried we’ve been for this little girl. How did she come to be in that cab all alone?”
“You’ll appreciate, Mr. Harrison, there are legal issues regarding privacy involved here.” Ms. Cassidy found an understanding smile. “But I assure you the mother is ecstatic to have her baby back. It was all an unfortunate mistake.”
“Mistake?” he said. “I’m sorry, but that’s hard to believe.”
“I’ll pass on your contact details,” Ms. Cassidy said firmly, “and she can get in touch with you, if that’s what she wants to do.”
Zack’s back teeth ground down. He burned to say more, for himself and Trinity, too, because as much as there was no way out, clearly she didn’t want to hand the baby over like this. He felt the same way. Sure, Bonnie wasn’t theirs. He supported privacy issues; he had people enough try to delve into his business and dig up the dirt. But didn’t he and Trinity deserve at least an explanation?
Was the mother negligent? Did she have support? What’s to say Bonnie wouldn’t end up in a worse situation and soon?
The woman’s arms were still out. Trinity took two deep breaths and then, her eyes glistening, carefully handed the baby over.
Cressida pulled back Bonnie’s wrap to inspect her rosy cheeks and for the first time released a genuine smile. She glanced up. “Thank you, Mr. Harrison, Ms. Matthews, for looking after her.”
Zack had fetched the car seat. With his other arm around Trinity’s waist, he said, “We’ll walk you out.”
Not an offer. Rather a statement.
Together he and Trinity followed Ms. Cassidy and the baby back out the opened glass door and all four—five including Cruiser—set off along the snow-covered path.
The sun was out, uncommonly bright and warm, Zack thought. All around, snow was turning to slush and the air had that freshly washed smell he usually liked. As they rounded the path, two cars came into view in the driveway. In the backseat of the police car, a young woman sat holding her brow. Through the window, she looked decidedly wan.
As Zack grudgingly handed the carrier to Ms. Cassidy, his stomach muscles gripped and every hair on the back of his neck lifted. Surely they wouldn’t hand Bonnie back if the mother was ill. Hell, maybe she was on drugs and didn’t even remember leaving her baby in that cab.
Ms. Cassidy crossed to the police vehicle and while the policeman fit the carrier on the far passenger side, the baby was handed to the woman—girl—in the backseat. He heard her gasp and saw her snuggle Bonnie close. He should have felt relief. He only felt chilled. What was her story? Was there any way of finding out where she lived? He wouldn’t sleep tonight. Maybe ever again.
Trinity was shivering beside him, more due to shock than the weather, he suspected.
“She looks sixteen,” she murmured, “seventeen, tops.”
Zack held her more firmly against him, her side to his. “Only a kid herself.”
“She must have parents who can help.”
“So where were they when the baby was left alone in that cab?”
Truth was they might never know.
Trinity curled into him more as they watched the young mother slide Bonnie into the car seat and buckled it up. When she sniffed, he almost felt her tears needing to break. Damn it, his throat was so clogged, he felt like crying himself.
Ms. Cassidy slid into her dark blue sedan and the policeman got into his vehicle while Zack stood there, feeling more helpless than he had in his life. He had this absurd urge to bolt over and snatch the baby back. He had to keep reminding himself…
She isn’t ours, she isn’t ours.
The police car was pulling out, Trinity’s fingers were wound up in his T-shirt’s front and Zack’s heart had fallen to his knees. But when the car reached the end of the driveway, the wheels stopped turning, the back door swung open and the girl—the mother—came striding out.
She wore fashionably distressed blue jeans and a pink sweater. As she neared, she pulled back the hood and a crown of blond waves tumbled out around her slim shoulders. She was a little taller than Trinity but twice as thin.
“You’re the couple who looked after Belinda,” she said.
“Belinda,” Trinity murmured. “That’s a pretty name.”
“We called her Bonnie,” Zack said. “It means ‘happy.’ ‘Pretty.’”
The girl’s blue eyes sparkled as she shoved her hands into her sweater’s pockets. “She smiled at me the first time at six weeks. She hasn’t stopped since.” Her expression firmed as she rolled back her shoulders. “I wanted you to know I never meant to lose her. I wanted to tell you it was an accident.”
Zack exhaled. “That’s some accident.”
“And I didn’t mean to get pregnant, if you want to know—” her chin and tone lowered “—but I never regretted for a moment bringing Bel into this world.”
Trinity asked, “What about the father?”
“That’s where I was headed that afternoon. Ryan never knew about my pregnancy until after Bel was born. He doesn’t have a mom and his dad…” The girl’s gaze dropped away. “Well, he’s away a lot.”
“And your own parents?”
“My dad left a long time ago. Mom’s not happy with me.” She shrugged. “What’s new? From the very first day she told me I should give Bel up. She said it’d be easier that way.”
Trinity made an anguished, barely audible noise and Zack held her firm.
“That day my mom had been at me again,” the girl went on. “She said I couldn’t stay there anymore. It was costing her too much. I wasn’t paying my keep. So I decided to pack some stuff and Bel and catch a bus into town. I was going to get a connecting ride to my boyfriend’s place. He’d moved to Wyoming. When we got to the bus stop, though, it started to snow. I had to get Bel out of the weather so I left my suitcase to walk over and ask that cabdriver how much it’d cost to get to the bus depot in town. But he was moving inside the store, getting something hot to drink or eat, I guess. It was really cold by then and the snow was falling harder. I put Bel inside the cab and hurried back to the stop to get my case. I was crossing back when the cab pulled away.” Her eyes glazed over and Zack knew she was reliving that moment. “I ran after them up the road, but he didn’t stop. I ran until I couldn’t run anymore.”
Trinity asked, “But you didn’t tell anyone?”
“I rang Bel’s father but he wasn’t home and wasn’t picking up his cell, either. I didn’t have a choice. I had to go back to Mom. I was crying and shaking. She put me to bed and promised she’d phone the police. When we hadn’t heard anything by the next day, she admitted she hadn’t made the call at all. So I did.”
A tear dropped down her cheek and the girl’s throat bobbed on a swallow at the same time Trinity bowed her head and groaned. Zack’s hold around Trinity’s waist tightened. A maternal grandmother as good as disowning her own granddaughter. The situation must have sounded alarmingly close to her own.
“I wanted you to know that I love Bel. I’ve only ever wanted what’s best for her.” The baby’s mother slipped the hood back over her head. “Sometimes it’s just hard to figure things out.”
Zack was moved. But feeling sorry for this girl didn’t help the baby.
“Where are you staying now?”
“Ms. Cassidy organized a place in a shelter. There’s heaps of support there.”
“If you need anything…” Zack proceeded to give out his full name, and where and how to find him. “Don’t forget, okay?”
More tears filled her eyes as the girl-mother looked at them both almost questioningly. “I’m glad you were the ones to find her. You seem like a really nice couple.”
Trinity stood, stunned, as the girl jogged back and the police car, with little Bonnie—Belinda—drove away. She didn’t take her eyes off the vehicle until it was a speck in the distant forest of trees. Zack didn’t move or talk, either. It was as if all the energy in their personal world was suddenly captured and taken away.
It was bad enough having to hand over that defenseless child to a person who didn’t look old enough to have graduated high school. In her more rational mind Trinity knew there must be wonderful, devoted and careful teen moms who didn’t lose their babies…who had support and didn’t need to act impulsively. But this young mother had less than no help.
The only word for little Bel’s grandmother was heartless. No, there were two more words. Selfish and negligent. How was it that Trinity had been more than willing to care for that baby when she’d never laid eyes on her before, when there was no previous attachment, and yet a woman who should have no hesitation in giving her own life to protect had failed so miserably in the “decent human being” department? Hell, even Zack, with his mercenary reputation, had stepped up to act honorably.
Trinity had never been able to get her head around her own grandparents’ dismissal of their own flesh and blood. It didn’t compute that basic instinct shouldn’t override other considerations like social shame or disappointment. Where were their compassion and love? As a baby, there’d been none for her from her maternal grandmother, none for this baby, either. And the pain was so great, squeezing and tearing at her heart that Trinity felt as if she was right there in the backseat of that police car, too, looking out over a span of uncertain years all over again.
What if something happened to Bel’s mother? That baby would have no one and Trinity would never know. She’d be in the dark about that baby’s future for the rest of her life.
And she didn’t know if she could bear it.
When another car came into sight, heading up the lonely road, Trinity didn’t pay it any mind. But the late model SUV turned into Zack’s driveway and a lady with neat silver-blond hair and a chic woolen pantsuit slipped out of the driver’s side door.
Zack’s arm slid away from around her waist; she’d only been half aware of it being there but now she missed the support…the warmth. The cool of the morning seeped in, sending shivers scuttling over her skin. As the visitor neared, she slapped her thighs at the same time Cruiser strolled over to join her, his tail wagging low between his legs.
“There you are, you bad boy.” The woman patted Cruiser’s head then addressed Zack. “Has he been much trouble?”
Although he felt like his gut was on the floor after watching that police car drive away, Zack did his best to welcome his neighbor. Last night before dinner, he’d thought to leave a message on the Dales’ phone, letting them know where to find their dog when they got back. Mrs. Dale was here now to collect Cruiser. Take him home.
And then there were two.
He thought he’d be relieved when the “lost baby” situation was settled…when this monster of a dog was out of his house. But he didn’t feel relieved. Zack felt more hollow than he ever had in his life.
“Mrs. Dale,” he said, “this is Trinity Matthews.”
Mrs. Dale’s smile broadened. “Lovely to meet you.”
Zack explained, “He showed up here yesterday morning.”
“When Jim and I went out the other afternoon, we left him on a long lead outside. We expected to be back by early evening but that storm held us up. When we got back, we found the lead chewed through and no Cruiser anywhere to be seen. Since the weather’s eased up, we’ve searched around. We called all the folks around with kids. I told you how much he’s drawn to children. I never thought to call here.”
Trinity glanced over at Zack but he didn’t bother to explain to Mrs. Dale about the baby. He merely hunkered down and when Cruiser waddled over, he caught his big hairy face, smiled and said, “Guess this is your lift.”
Cruiser whined out a growl, his backside wobbling as his tail wagged harder.
Crossing her arms, Mrs. Dale pegged out a leg. “Zack, dear, I think you’ve made a friend.”
“He’s made one, too.” Zack pushed to his feet.
Mrs. D’s head slanted as she spoke to Trinity. “Are you staying for a few days?” She examined the sky. “The weather’s cleared up beautifully.”
“Actually I’m on my way back East.”
“Don’t tell me. New York? Too busy for my liking, but home is home.”
Mrs. Dale thanked Zack again and after Trinity gave his neck a big hug, obedient as always, Cruiser followed Mrs. Dale back to her car. She opened the tailgate and a moment later, another member of their quartet was whisked away.
Trinity began to shiver again and this time she couldn’t seem to stop. Zack brought his arm around her shoulder. “Come in out of the cold.”
“I’m not cold.”
“Come in for coffee then. I sure need one.”
Noting the fallen tree trunk blocking the front entrance as they passed, Trinity followed as he headed toward the back of the cabin. Even with the shivering, she would rather have stood out here awhile longer although, of course, there was no chance the baby was ever coming back. She knew Bonnie—Belinda—wasn’t hers. Wasn’t theirs. Still, she felt as if a slice had been taken out of her heart.
Inside, Zack put on the pot while, feeling numb, she took a seat on a stool at the counter.
As he fished the milk out of the fridge, Zack commented, “She seems like a nice girl.”
“Girl being the operative word.” A withering feeling coursed through her and Trinity had to close her eyes to, in some way, try to contain it. “With a mother like that, how’s she ever supposed to get ahead?”
“I’m sure she’ll manage.”
Trinity supposed she had. But she also knew how tough and long that road was. Someone of Zack’s background would have no idea what a hard slog “going it alone” could be. So…
“What if she doesn’t manage?”
He set down the milk and cast her a comforting look. “I gave her my contact details. We can’t do anything more than that.”
“Can’t we?” Surely there must be something.
His brow furrowing, he crossed over. “What are you saying?”
“It shouldn’t be too difficult to find out her name and address.”
“That’s not the way this is supposed to work. Mother and child are reunited. I know it doesn’t look ideal, but I thought you’d be pleased.”
“I am.” Her heart sank more, her shoulders slumped and Trinity lowered her voice. “I just want to keep an eye out. Maybe babysit sometime.”
“From New York?”
She grunted and swung away. She didn’t want to hear rational arguments. She wanted to be there. To help.
When he went back to making coffee, she moved to the windows and the view that had once seemed so private but now only looked…lonely. She hugged herself but her body seemed to have lost all its heat. She couldn’t imagine ever feeling truly warm again.
She muttered more to herself than to Zack, “You could never understand.”
She heard a cup hit the counter, his footsteps falling on the timber, coming closer. Then he was behind her and, hands on her shoulders, he spun her around. His jaw was tight and nostrils were flared the barest amount as if that might help curb the emotion she saw flashing in his eyes.
“You’re upset now,” he said calmly enough. “We need to sit down and let this all settle in. This ended the way it was always supposed to—baby and mother reunited.”
Stinging emotion crept up the back of Trinity’s throat. “I can’t help thinking we should do more.”
“Trinity, it’s not our place.” While she recoiled, he scrubbed a hand down his face and sucked in a breath. “In a couple of days, you’ll begin to see. You need to let her go.”
One part of her knew he was right. They’d played out whatever part fate had laid in their path. Now they had to move on. But how did a person move on when they felt stuck? All she could see was Bonnie’s smiling face. All she could hear was that little girl’s laughter. Then she thought of that young mother’s mountain of problems. It made her feel physically ill.
But as Zack brought her near and rubbed her back as he leaned his cheek lightly on her head, she told herself: he’s right. Of course, he’s right.
That baby—their baby—had always belonged to someone else.
Ten
Trinity didn’t want to stay for breakfast. She didn’t want to stay, period.
So after they’d showered and were properly dressed, he relented and called a cab. But he insisted on accompanying her to the airport. He’d wanted to wait until she was booked on a flight, but she was just as insistent that he needed to plow on with this day.
Get on with his life.
After his “we need to let it go” speech, guess he’d asked for it.
He kissed her goodbye outside the terminal but the caress was as different to last night’s as today’s blue sky was to the previous gray. Their lips didn’t linger, her smile wasn’t convincing and as she walked away, it was all he could do not to drag her back and demand that she stay until they’d found some way to make their peace. Get beyond this somehow.
Instead he watched her disappear into a building thrumming with a backlog of folk needing to make up for the lost time that freak snowstorm had created. He wasn’t aware how long he stood there, watching, thinking, before the cabbie wound down the window and gave him a verbal prod.
“Where to next, sir?”
Zack glanced back. Where to, indeed.
He slid into the back passenger seat and gave a Denver city address.
Trinity arrived in New York later that day feeling exhausted but unwilling to delay taking action on the decision she’d made during the hours spent waiting at the airport and during the flight back home.
Now she slid out of the cab and headed through the automatic glass sliding door of the familiar downtown building remembering how that word—home—had tugged at her heartstrings for as long as she could recall. She’d worked hard to put herself through college and find the wherewithal to move from Ohio, to get away. She’d never forget her exhilaration when she’d been awarded a position with Story. Her apartment in Brooklyn was tiny but she’d filled it with bits and pieces that made her happy—paintings by talented new artists, books that were favorites and felt like old friends.
But that apartment wasn’t hers. Wasn’t truly home.
As she thumbed a foyer elevator button, she could admit that those walls and neighbors had only ever felt temporary. She would never tell Zack although she thought perhaps he’d guessed: despite her initial disapproval of him, his cabin in the woods had felt more like a safe haven than any address she’d known.
But that time was over. After their amazing night together, Zack had said he wanted to keep in touch. But something wiser than blind hope said he wouldn’t call. She didn’t blame him. He had a brilliant life with concrete goals, as well as family and friends and associates to keep him company whenever he felt the urge. He didn’t need her moodiness and baggage bringing down his party. And, honestly, she didn’t need him, either. She had a plan.
As Trinity moved out of the elevator, nodded a greeting to the receptionist on her way to Kate’s office, she knew precisely what she needed to do. She’d never felt more determined, anxious—right in her life. Today was the beginning of all her best tomorrows.
“I know I said I’d get Dirkins to sign,” Zack said. “I haven’t given up yet.”
Thomas sat on the right-hand side of the mile-long conference table, elbows on chair arms and fingers steepled as he watched his older brother pace the length of the Harrison Plaza District office suite. Zack knew he must look like a caged jungle cat because that’s precisely how he felt. Since he’d arrived back from Colorado two days ago, he hadn’t been able to settle into anything, including coming any nearer to closing that Denver deal.
He’d thought about Trinity’s suggestion, putting forward an offer of a partnership of co-ownership to Dirkins. Although a big part of Zack wanted to help the older man out if he could, that simply wasn’t the way he did business. Equal equity meant disputes down the track. Any weakening of the Harrison foundation—even in a small way—was anathema to his motto.
Stay calm, stay focused and succeed.
With his father floating in and out of the office and his brothers happy with nine-to-five, someone had to man the bow.
“Maybe we should let the deal slide,” Thomas said. “Since Mom and Dad had their split, he’s not nearly as hell-bent on soaring through this economic downturn. Not that their break is permanent,” he added.
Really? Who said it wasn’t?
“Our family’s not invincible, Thomas. We all just like to pretend that it is.”
The steepled fingers lowered. “Where’s this coming from? You’ve been a royal pain in the butt since getting back from Colorado. You did nothing but frown and growl at Nicki’s school play last night. What the hell happened out there?”
“Nothing of consequence.”
“Every time I ask about those female guests you had holed up in your cabin, you fob me off. Now I’m telling you, I want to know.” Thomas swore. “Is someone blackmailing you?”
Zack moved to the wall-to-wall windows. “Don’t be melodramatic.”
“From what you told me, that actress you were seeing wanted to test those waters.”
“And I told her where to get off. If she wants to spread rumors about cracks in the Harrison family camp, she can try her hardest. No one rattles me. Nothing gets under my skin.”
“I’d always thought so, but clearly something or someone is screwing with your cool and composed gauge big-time.”
Thomas crossed to where Zack was staring out over a panoramic view of Midtown that normally never failed to inspire. Colorado was relaxing but this was where he thrived. Where the real opportunities lived.
“We’re more than brothers. We’re friends. Talk to me.” Thomas set a hand on Zack’s shoulder. “Let me help.”
Zack tried to ignore the empty feeling funneling through his middle. He muttered, “You’d never believe it.”
“Try me.”
After another moment of indecision, Zack moved over to a chair and spent the next fifteen minutes divulging the top points of his most recent stay in Colorado. Thomas looked surprised when he described how he’d found the baby. He’d looked stunned when he’d said he’d offered to bring her home until the authorities could take over. He talked about Cruiser and what an intelligent, responsible, big dog he was.
Mostly he talked about Trinity. He even admitted how close they’d grown. He recalled how Trinity had described the feeling when she’d put down Bonnie—Bel—after caring for her nonstop. Now it was like some part of him was missing.
“I’ve never felt so edgy in my life.” Zack threw up his hands and got to his feet. “Obviously the isolation played tricks on my mind. I identified with my captor. What’s that called?” He snapped his fingers. “Stockholm Syndrome.”
Thomas looked amused. “It was your home. I imagine your rules.”
Zack held his brow then wiped the damp away. “I must be sick.”
“Absolutely. Heartsick. Zack, buddy, sounds like you’re in love.”
Zack stared hard at the younger man then coughed out a raucous laugh. His brothers were always on him about finding Miss Right. They never let up.
“Trin and I were together two days.” He held up as many fingers to accentuate the point.
“Sometimes that’s all it takes. I knew I wanted to marry Willa after our first date. Dylan knew Rhian only a week.”
“I’m different. I’ve always been different.”
Thomas sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers again, and Zack remembered his little brother had once wanted to be a psychologist. He might be a touch off course, but he sure didn’t need to suffer a bad imitation of Freud.
Thomas asked, “What are you so afraid of?”
Zack set his hands low on his hips. “For one, falling in love is not in my plans.”
“Those plans being…?”
“To take over Harrison Hotels. Dad’s practically set to retire.”
“And the rest of us lost our brains the moment we said ‘I do’ and had kids.”
Zack arched a brow. “Let’s be honest. You all have different priorities.”
“Our families. Damn right. Doesn’t mean we can’t run a business.”
“If Dad had spent more time with Mom, they wouldn’t be going through this separation now. He should have slowed down five, ten years ago when the cracks started to show.”
“Zack, that’s not your place.”
That pulled him up. He remembered saying the same words to Trinity when she wanted to get involved more with the baby after she’d gone. He’d tried to make her see reason but the truth was she’d been closer to the real heart of that situation than he’d been, like he felt closer to his parents’ problems than his younger brother, or any of the others, for that matter.
Thomas was still talking. “And I’m here to tell you that a man can have both—a family of his own as well as a fulfilling professional life.”
“Not without sacrifices.”
“Life is all about sacrifices. Or it should be. Believe me, that’s when we really start to reap the rewards.”
“Like endless 3:00 a.m. feedings?”
“Sounds as if you can handle it.”
“How about apologizing over and over for getting home late from meetings?”
“If you’re smart, and devoted, you can organize your time. What are you trying to prove? You don’t have to sell your soul and make a billion or three to be happy.”
No one seemed to get it! “It’s how I see myself. Calm. Focused. Eye forever on the horizon.”
“One could conjecture they’re fine qualities for a husband and father.”
Zack didn’t know about that. But, after this conversation, one thing was clear. He wouldn’t be able to rest—to think straight—until he saw Trinity again. If she was going through anything like the torture he’d known these past days, she’d need to lay her own cards on the table and see him, too.
And he happened to have the perfect night in mind.
Eleven
Trinity was about to leave for the day when a special delivery arrived—a small box wrapped in white gloss paper. The label was addressed: Trinity Matthews. Careful. Fragile. The deliveryman said he’d been instructed to wait for a response.
While the man gave her some privacy and ducked outside the reception room door, from the reception counter, Narelle Johns popped her perfectly coiffed, titian-blond head up.
“You were on your way out, Trin. I’ll take care of that, if you want.”
Trinity received goods from many of the people she interviewed—merchandise ranging from beauty products to quaint artworks to scented soaps resembling flags of the world. But as she weighed this particular gift, she felt most curious. She rotated the box and read the return label.
She murmured aloud, “From Mr. Poultry-geist.”
Her stomach looped and perspiration broke down the line of her back. She had to find the nearest chair or chance rubber legs buckling beneath her. Seeing her reaction, Narelle shoved back her caster chair and zoomed over.
“Are you all right? Do you want a glass of water? Do I need to get security?”
“No, no. It’s nothing like that.”
“Then why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost?”
Trinity thought of Zack’s chicken story and her lips wobbled on a smile. “In a way, I have.”
Narelle pulled up a nearby chair. With no one else in the room, Trinity found she couldn’t contain her curiosity enough to wait until she got home, or even make it back to her office. With the receptionist looking on, she peeled back the red ribbon, tore open the iridescent white paper, pried open the fitted lid and pulled out…
Narelle let out a rapt sigh. “OMG. It’s beautiful.”
Moisture edged Trinity’s eyes as she studied the thin glass ball that seemed to tell so many stories.
“A snow globe,” she murmured, tipping the ball, which was set on a gold stand, upside-down then right-side-up. Her smile widened as a flurry of snow fell and settled on the scene. There was a wood cabin—nothing near as extravagant as Zack’s but just as homey looking—a big dog standing on his hind legs, perhaps barking at, or catching snow in his mouth. A couple stood by the front door. In the woman’s arms lay a baby swaddled in a white wrap.
Trinity screwed her eyes shut and swallowed deeply. Looking into that globe brought to the surface such a mix of emotions—feelings she’d fought to control these past days but never to forget. She wanted those memories to live on in her mind until the day she died. Still, she didn’t want to live in the past, not anymore. She’d already decided to take Zack’s advice and move forward.
“Who’s it from?” Narelle had picked up the box and was peering and digging around inside. “I don’t remember anyone we’ve interviewed having a connection with snow globes.”
“It’s personal.”
“In that case, you’d better read this note.”
Trinity took the folded piece of notepaper from Narelle and scanned the lines. Every word made her heart lift a little higher and her resolve dig in a little deeper.
Narelle asked, “Are you going to go?”
Trinity darted a look at the younger woman who’d been reading over her shoulder.
Narelle shrugged. “I couldn’t help but pick up on a few phrases, like ‘need to see you again’ and ‘this Saturday night.’”
Trinity admitted, “When I was snowed-in in Colorado, I stayed in a place something like this.”
“A wood cabin? With a dog?”
Trinity nodded.
But then Narelle tipped closer, squinted into the globe. “Isn’t that a baby?”
“Yes, it is.”
The receptionist sat back. “Wow. For a minute I thought this guy might’ve had this specially made.”
“I think he did.”
“But, a baby?”
“Believe me, it’s a long story.” One she’d told Kate but no one else.
“I guess the only question is…” Narelle waggled her eyebrows. “Are you going to accept?” She glanced again at the note, now lying open on Trinity’s lap. “Says it’s an engagement party. Black-tie at a private address in Oyster Bay Cove. All sounds terribly romantic.”
Gnawing her lower lip, Trinity tipped the globe up and righted it again. The snow drifted down, coating the scene, and in her mind she could hear Cruiser barking, Bonnie Bel laughing and Zack…
She sighed.
He was intelligent and strong and funny and knowing him the way she did now—not the way the press depicted him—she couldn’t help but miss him. At night, alone in her bed, she could still feel his warmth, his soul-lifting kiss.
On that final night, he’d said he wanted to see her again. The more time had gone by, the less she’d believed that he had. But it seemed he was as good as his word and, of course, she needed to accept, if only to tell him how that experience in Colorado had changed her life and why she could never see him again. Trinity sent word back. She accepted his invitation but she would make her own way to his parents’ estate.
When Zack received her reply, he’d reached for his cell to call her. He had Story Magazine’s office number, and if she’d left for the day, he’d also searched out and had on quick dial her private line details. But, twenty-four hours later, as he stood in his parents’ home overlooking the sound, he was glad he’d refrained. If she wanted to find her own way here, no harm. As long as she accepted that he would drive her home, and not until morning.
Feeling a tap on his dinner jacket’s shoulder, he angled around. His mother, dressed in an elegant cream pantsuit, had left off entertaining the guests long enough to check on her middle child.
“I swear you’ve been standing staring out this window for an hour. Are you sure this girl is coming?”
“She’ll be here.”
“There’s so many interesting ladies asking about you. Your sister does have a lot of lovely friends.”
“And given it’s Sienna and her fiancé’s party, I’m happy to leave the mingling and small talk to her.”
His mother’s green eyes glistened much like the emeralds dangling from her ears. “That’s unlike you, Zackery. You’re usually so amenable.”
Leaning forward, Zack brushed a kiss on his dear mother’s cheek. “I’m fine. Go and enjoy yourself.”
Disappointment and confusion lining her still beautiful face, she moved off to rejoin her many guests. Through the library door, Zack caught sight of his father cutting her off at the pass. He was offering to top up her champagne but clearly he wanted to talk, to stay close. Zack could imagine his mother’s thoughts.
Where were you all those nights I wanted to talk?
She’d been left largely to bring up the children while the man of the house had basked in the glory that was Harrison Hotels. They’d come together twice a year for vacations and his father usually made all the important dates in his kids’ lives. But as Zack had grown older he’d come to appreciate how lonely his mother must have been all those evenings her husband had stayed late at the office…the many weekends he’d worked out of town.
They never argued in front of the children, but there’d been a couple of midnight quarrels Zack had overheard. Accusations with ugly words bandied around like “adultery” and “divorce.” As a boy, he’d flung the covers up over his head and prayed for his parents to stay together. But he never believed his father had ever cheated unless his mistress was his office and career.
As the couple walked together into the mansion’s main reception lounge where a small band was playing and the party was in full swing, Zack returned his focus to the view outside one of the private library’s tall arched windows. He hoped his parents worked it out, but he would understand if they didn’t. His father had tried his best; his mother had, too. But if a man wanted to become a corporate force to be reckoned with, no matter what Thomas said, there simply weren’t enough hours in the day.
The swinging arc of car lights on the driveway had Zack thrusting back his shoulders. When he confirmed the vehicle was a cab, he strode out to meet the likely occupant. A moment later, near the front door, he cleared his throat and told Keats, their regular doorman for special events, that he would greet this guest himself.
Out on the extensive portico, Zack rubbed his hands together against the slight chill in the air while the cabdriver held open the back passenger door and Trinity Matthews alighted.
She wore his favorite color on her—a deep vibrant red. The dress was silky and two hundred percent sexy with silver brocade crisscrossing the bodice and looping around her neck. A luminous lightweight wrap rested in the crooks of her arms, its tails lifting softly in the breeze either side of the shapely high-waist-to-heel sheath.
When she saw him, her eyes rounded before she gathered herself and, shifting the wrap up around her bare shoulders, clutched her silver pocketbook close to her chest. He’d heard about women looking like veritable visions. Now he could take pleasure in that wonder himself.
As he moved forward, she seemed to take a breath and moved forward, too. When they stopped, standing face-to-face, he covered her chilled hands in his. He wanted to circle her in his arms and generate some heat the way they did best. Instead he smiled into her gorgeous moonlit eyes and led her into his family’s home.
Trinity had been ready for affluence but this magnificent waterfront estate was almost beyond imagination. The driveway had wound on forever. The house—more a mansion!—exuded an elegant yesteryear charm with an architectural design that reminded her of those old larger-than-life black-and-white films.
“This makes my studio apartment look like a shoebox,” she said as, his hand on her elbow, Zack led her up a wide arc of stone steps. “When was it built?”
“Nineteen thirty-six. With ten acres to romp around on, it was great here growing up, but seven bedrooms and an equal number of full baths, along with a library, ballroom, office, plus, plus, plus…It’s too big for my parents now.”
“They’re thinking of selling?”
“That’s still to be decided.”
Inside, a three-tiered crystal chandelier hung from the soaring ceiling of a majestic vestibule. Artwork on the walls looked as if they might belong in a museum. She guessed the trimmings were all twenty-four-karat-gold plating, at least.
With that dynamite smile that never failed to leave her lightheaded, Zack urged her along.
“Come in and meet the family.”
Family…
The very word made Trinity’s stomach jump so high, she had to press a palm to help slow the knots. Logically she had nothing to fear. From all she’d heard, the Harrisons were a great bunch. And their obvious wealth didn’t put her off. It was the fact she’d come at Zack’s invitation—as his date—and she was expecting everyone to be suitable, curious and ask a slew of questions.
She’d already decided to be her usual vague self where private matters and the past were concerned. She was certain Zack would understand. But she intended to soak up this atmosphere and the conversation tonight. After spending those days in Colorado, she was curious like she’d never been before about seeing a truly happy family in action.
“Are the children here?” she asked as they moved beneath a soaring ornate carved wood archway and the live music grew louder.
“Wouldn’t be a party without the munchkins. Although they’ll be put to bed at a reasonable hour.”
“In one of the seven bedrooms,” she concluded.
But, taking her wrap and handing it to a uniformed maid, he shook his head. “There are a couple of private guesthouses on the grounds in case any of us decide to stay over but also want our own space.”
“Are you staying over tonight?”
“Oh, yes.” He sent her a lopsided grin. “So are you.”
Trinity almost swallowed her tongue. Before she could object, she was standing among other guests and Zack was handing her a flute of champagne while introducing her to an inquisitive-looking man who resembled Zack a great deal. Same raven’s-wing hair. Same dazzling smile.
“Thomas, this is Trinity Matthews.”
Thomas took her hand and dipped his head in greeting. “So glad you could make it. It’s not every day our little sister accepts a marriage proposal.” He flicked a glance Zack’s way. “That leaves one.” He called over to a curvy redhead whose smile was as big as her generous bosom. “Willa, sweetheart, come meet Trinity, Zack’s date.”
Willa was there in a heartbeat. “We’ve heard all about you. Being stuck in Zack’s cabin, cut off from everything.”
Trinity waited for her to mention the baby. But Willa only talked on about the recent freakish weather. Clearly Zack hadn’t divulged that much about their story, although she did catch Thomas looking at her thoughtfully. She knew the siblings were close. Were Thomas and Zack close enough to discuss the more intimate details of the night they’d spent together?
After five minutes of chatting, Zack called another woman over. She wore an amazing peach-colored evening gown. Her brunette hair was swept up in a flattering loose-curl style.
“This,” Zack said, “is Sienna, my baby sister and woman of the hour.”
“Congratulations on your engagement,” Trinity said, subtlety checking Sienna’s hands, not for the engagement ring so much as those chewed nails carried over from her childhood. “You must be very happy.”
“I’m beyond happy! And a little shocked. I only accepted David’s proposal on the weekend. Mom insisted on putting this bash together. You know how mothers are.”
While Trinity kept her straight face, Zack explained the engagement situation.
“They’ve only known each other four weeks—”
“Three,” Sienna cut in. “We met during a chocolate-making workshop in Brussels, although we ate more pralines than we made. Then we went on to Amsterdam together, then Berlin, then home. David’s from New York, too.” Sienna laughed. “We had to go halfway around the world to meet and fall in love.”
Trinity held her brow. “Your heads must be spinning.”
“It’s strange,” Sienna said. “I guess I knew I’d do it one day. Tie the knot, I mean. It’s in the Harrison DNA. But now I so totally get what people mean about love at first sight.”
Trinity was intrigued. “You knew you were going to be married the first time you laid eyes on each other?”
“It wasn’t so much a ‘club to the head’ deal. It wasn’t as if I imagined a big gold ring the instant we met. Just somewhere deep inside, I knew we’d be together.” Her earnest look faded and she laughed again. “Sounds silly, doesn’t it? My cool, collected brother here wouldn’t buy it for a second. Although I’m betting sparks flew when the two of you met.”
Sienna was about to expand on that point when a woman—clearly a good friend—grabbed her free hand and unceremoniously dragged her away to another circle of people. No sooner had Zack’s sister left than another brother and sister-in-law introduced themselves as well as one of their children.
As they spoke about the handmade toys Zack kept at the cabin, Trinity found herself relaxing in a way she never had before. It must be her imagination but she felt connected to these people who came from perfect backgrounds and seemed to lead such charmed lives. What a wonderful dream come true to really belong to all this.
She was introduced to Zack’s mother and father separately, as well as a myriad of other people whose names she could never hope to remember. Zack was a perfect host and the hours sped by. When the music’s volume dropped and guests began to leave, Trinity couldn’t believe the time she caught on her wristwatch.
“It’s past twelve.”
Zack’s fingertips slid down her bare arm. “If your name’s not Cinderella, I don’t see a problem.”
“But the night…It went so quickly.”
“These big family occasions usually do. By the time you get through speaking to everyone, the staff is already tidying up.” Zack ducked a look around her shoulder. “But there is someone you haven’t met yet.”
He beckoned a man over. Again, the family resemblance couldn’t be mistaken. This must be the eldest brother.
“Dylan, Trinity Matthews,” Zack said.
Trinity extended her hand but was a little taken aback when Dylan shook with his left rather than right hand. As the brothers talked, including her in the conversation wherever possible, Trinity couldn’t help noticing Dylan’s right jacket sleeve hung and its flat cuff was tucked into the pocket. He was an amputee? How long ago had the accident happened? Or was it a birth defect?
A woman joined them, waving a hand full of diamonds. She addressed Trinity.
“Hi, I’m Rhian, and I’ve come to rescue you from these two. They’ve been known to talk past dawn when they get started.”
Dylan spoke behind his good hand. “She’s always bossing me around.”
Rhian play-growled. “Oh, you love it.”
Dylan shrugged. “She’s right. I do. Are you staying over tonight? We can do breakfast.” He spoke to Trinity. “The kids love Nana’s pancakes.”
Rhian knuckled her husband’s ribs. “So do you. But we need to say good-night now if we’re going to get up at the crack of dawn.”
“Do you jog together?” Trinity couldn’t think of another reason—any reason—for getting up that early.
Dylan explained. “When the sun rises, so does our youngest. Rhian drags herself out of bed Monday through Friday so—rain, hail or shine—I take the weekend shift.”
They each said good-night and before anyone else could sidle up, Zack took her hand and headed for a doorway. Not the enormous carved-wood arch this time, but a far less ostentatious exit that took them down a dimly lit hall.
Trotting on his heels, she asked, “Where are we going?”
“Home.”
“What do you mean, home?”
He stopped abruptly and she was pulled up in her tracks. In the shadows, she felt his gaze burning into hers, felt his will reaching out and wrapping around her, strong and warm like a snug cocoon she couldn’t hope to escape.
“I told you when you arrived,” he murmured dangerously close to her lips. “Tonight you’re staying with me.”
Trinity balked. And I don’t have a say?
But when she opened her mouth to object—because she’d always meant to object, hadn’t she?—he took the opportunity, as she should have known he would. He locked an arm around her waist, dragged her near and then he kissed her until the space they occupied was spinning and all thoughts other than submission shot like a round of fireworks out of her mind.
Twelve
They went out the back door where his car was parked and waiting. A few minutes down a winding private road then he was opening her passenger side door again and they were hurrying like teenagers into his private villa overlooking the water.
The moment they were inside and the door was shut, he took her in his arms and, running his hands over her bare shoulders, down her back, he kissed her again like he’d been dying to do all evening. When his mouth finally left hers, his breathing was labored. So was hers.
“It killed me to play polite host all night and not drag you away sooner.”
“You were so sure that I’d come.”
He unclasped the strap at her nape. “I knew I could convince you.”
When the gown dropped to her feet, her eyes glittered up into his before she stepped out of the silky puddle at her feet and kicked it aside. Naked but for a pair of skimpy silk panties, she smiled like a cat about to get her cream.
She murmured, “So start convincing.”
Every drop in his veins heated to a point long past stable. He swept her up off her feet and strode to the main bedroom.
He’d left instructions for the bed to be turned down and candles to be lit at midnight. She was looking adoringly into his eyes, curving her palm around his cheek as he set her purposefully down on the bed. But unlike the last time, she didn’t lie back quietly. Rather she brought herself upright until she was kneeling on the side of the bed before him. Then she reached up and stud by stud undid his shirt while he tried to keep it together enough to roll his shoulders out of his jacket and tossed it aside. He heeled off his shoes at the same time she concentrated to release the cummerbund then the catch at the top of his trousers.
And every second, he watched from above… . The way her beautiful body moved and swayed as she worked to undress him. How her soft skilled hands drove up over his bare chest once his shirt was set aside. All night her scent had near driven him wild…light and flowery and at the same time sensual. Sexy. While she’d spoken with guests, he’d imagined her getting ready for tonight, dabbing pulse points with a long, thin stick of perfume…behind her ears, on her wrists, between her breasts, across her bikini line.
When he stood before her wearing nothing but socks, she crouched in front of him and, without fair warning, guided his heavy erection into her mouth.
He was no stranger to sex. He’d enjoyed many women and in every way possible. But he’d never been lifted to this bonemelting place before. As her nails dragged up over his scrotum and her head bobbed down farther, he couldn’t be certain he’d last the distance. Closing his eyes, he combed his fingers through her long, silken hair while, second by second, both their movements grew—and to a crucial point where all too soon he had to ease away.
“I like what you do to me.” He groaned. “In fact, I like it a little too much.”
Her eyes in the muted light were liquid. Her smile was nothing short of pure sin. As she rolled back, he caught the slim bands of her panties and silently thanked her when she lifted her legs so he could peel them off the rest of the way. When she put out her arms to him, he positioned himself between her open, bent knees. Holding onto her thighs, he drank in the sight of her while the tide inside him swirled and climbed even higher.
He found the condom wrap on the side table. When he was sheathed, he cupped the back of her neck and claimed another kiss while he pushed forward and at last entered her. He forced himself to go slow and build the rhythm. But the way she was kissing him back—so hungry and deep—it wasn’t long before he was left balanced on the brink. He murmured against her lips, “God, I missed you.”
“I didn’t think you’d call.”
“I was an idiot to wait this long.”
She smiled against his lips. “Your invitation arrived two days after I got back.”
“Like I said…” He nipped her lower lip. “Too long.”
When she gripped his hips and wound her legs around the back of his thighs, his every thought and fiber zeroed in on raw, scorching sensation. He felt on fire, inside and out, and as his rhythm increased, she let him know with her sighs and her moves that she was already almost there, too.
The burn was too good. Her mouth nibbling his, too sweet. As she began to tremble and clutch around him, Zack’s mind fogged then went a perfect high-pitched blank. The earth began to shudder as he stilled, and in that stellar, precise fragment in time, he knew.
If he ever fell in love, he’d want it to feel just like this…just like Trin…“I love your family.”
They were lying quietly, enjoying the afterglow of their lovemaking while Trinity drew aimless patterns through the hair on Zack’s chest. The occasional distant blow of a ship’s horn and the wash of ancient branches over the roof were lulling. But she’d enjoyed her evening so much, she’d simply had to let him know.
Now he asked, “You didn’t feel overwhelmed?”
“Maybe a little, but only in a nice way. Do you mind me asking…? How did Dylan lose his arm?”
“A car knocked him off his bike when he was twelve. His right arm was caught beneath the tire. The main nerves were severed. He lost all movement and the limb withered. The arm’s still attached but he can’t use it.”
“So Rhian met him after the accident… .”
He craned up to give her an odd or protective look. “It doesn’t make Dylan any less a human being. In fact, if anything, it makes him more a man. He still plays ball with his kids, makes them dinner, chases them around the yard. And he’s a whiz with the company books. None of us even think about his arm anymore.” He relaxed back down. “Dylan and Rhian will be together forever.”
She believed him.
“Your mom was so welcoming,” she said then. “And your dad’s so funny. I know where you get your storytelling abilities from.”
“They suit each other. That’s what I think anyway.”
“Who doesn’t think that?”
“They’re in the middle of discussions.”
“About?”
“Whether to split.”
“What? I don’t believe it.”
“It’s been coming for a while. He’s always spent a lot of time at the office, away on business. Last straw, she booked a Mediterranean cruise for just the two of them. At the eleventh hour Dad said he couldn’t make it. Mom went on her own and when she came back, she wanted a separation. She brought us all together and explained that she’d raised her family and was beyond happy to be a grandmother but she also wanted some time with her husband before they were too old to enjoy one another. If he didn’t agree, it was time to go their separate ways. Dad didn’t think she was serious until she moved into their city apartment. She’s made the social pages quite a few times on her own recently.”
“So it’s too late for a reconciliation?”
“I only know the writing was on the wall years ago.”
“Personal and business don’t mix?”
“Not when there are kids involved and the onus is placed on one parent to raise them. Not when you’re talking billiondollar turnovers that need to be met.” He squeezed and tugged her up against him. “But that doesn’t apply to you and me. We both have careers. Neither of us have kids.” An awkward moment in which they both must have remembered Bonnie passed between them before he went on. “I want to see you again.”
Trinity felt every one of her emotions condense and begin to glow. She’d enjoyed this evening. Even more, she’d enjoyed sharing Zack’s bed again. But, unfortunately, that didn’t change anything.
She moistened her lips. Took a breath.
“Zack, I can’t see you after tonight.”
His chest stopped moving then he asked, “You want me to prove how much you mean to me?” He rubbed the tip of his nose with hers. “I’ve been told I choose excellent gifts.”
“You know that’s not it.”
“Then you liked the globe?”
“Of course I did. I meant to tell you a dozen times tonight only we never seemed to be alone. But I’m not here now because of a gift. I came because I needed to see you again.”
He nuzzled against her neck. “And I needed to see you.”
Her eyes began to burn. She thought she was ready for this conversation. But ready or not, she had to go on.
“I’ll never forget those two days away. They changed me, Zack. Changed how I think about the world. About the future.”
He rolled her over. “This is getting entirely too serious.” But when his head slanted over hers, as difficult as it was to deny them both, she wound away and sat up.
He scratched his cheek and thought a moment.
“Okay,” he finally said. “You want to talk. Let’s talk.”
She clutched the cover under her neck and admitted, “I don’t want to hide from who I really am anymore. I had a tough time as a kid but I’m not going to let that beat me. I’ve decided. Someday I want a family of my own.”
“A family…?” His brow and voice lowered. “Is this supposed to be some kind of ultimatum?”
“No. Never. You do whatever you want to do. Although I have to say, after seeing you tonight with your family, I think you might be hiding at least a part of who you really want to be, too.”
He huffed. “Why is it so difficult to believe a man wants to commit to a career?”
She lifted a brow. “Some say careers are overrated. In fact, I quit my job when I flew back from Colorado.”
His six-pack crunched as he sat up. “You love that job.”
“I do. I did. But we get just one life. I want to work with kids. Maybe in counseling or shelters—”
“You’re doing this to get in touch with Bonnie again,” he cut in.
Her temper spiked. “Her name’s Belinda. And you’re wrong. I’m doing this because it’s right for me, and I hope Bel and her mother find what’s right for them, too.”
His gaze held hers. “I don’t believe you never want to feel this again.”
“We want different things. I want more. Eventually marriage. A family. It’s not a crime. Ask your brothers and sister.” She sighed but didn’t trust herself enough to touch and soothe away the crease cut between his brows. “It’s just the way it is.”
In the candlelight, she saw the determined glint in his eye. He didn’t accept it. But for once, the decision wasn’t up to him.
What she didn’t say—what hurt the most—was in these few short days, she’d gone and done what, looking back on their time together, now seemed inevitable. She’d fallen in love.
As she’d lain awake at night thinking of all they’d shared during such a small vacuum in time, the realization had only grown. She was yet another Zack Harrison victim. She’d never feel for someone else the way she felt for him. If she wanted to fool herself, she could think about taking up his offer to continue their affair and hope that she’d be the one he’d end up with. Have a family with. But no matter how convincing this evening had been, truth was he must have been convincing with scores of other women before her.
“You’ll spend the night,” he finally said.
“Until dawn. I don’t want to have pancakes with your family and give them the wrong impression.”
“That we slept together?”
“That we’re serious. Besides, I don’t think a red evening gown is suitable attire for breakfast fare.”
“I have sweaters in the closet.”
She shook her head—was about to say the words—No, Zack. No—when his cell on the side table buzzed.
“You should answer it.”
He growled. “I don’t give a damn who it is.”
“Maybe it’s one of your brothers. Or your mother or father.”
“They wouldn’t call at this time of night—”
Her stomach pitched and she finished for him. “Unless something was wrong.”
Turned out that the caller wasn’t any part of his family. Wasn’t work. It was the last person on earth either of them expected to hear from, particularly this late on a Saturday night.
Thirteen
On the other end of the line, Zack’s caller took a halting breath then continued to explain her unhappy situation. When she was done, Zack asked, “Is there a motel nearby?”
He was given an establishment’s name—she could see the motel’s neon sign from where she stood making the call. Zack said he’d organize a room—not to worry about needing a card or cash—and he’d be there as soon as he could.
Already on his feet, heading for the walk-in closet for some jeans and a shirt, he terminated the call. He was thrusting his arms through the first button-down shirt he could grab when Trinity’s shaky voice filtered across the room.
“Zack, you’re scaring me. Who was that? What’s wrong?”
“That girl. Bonnie’s mother. Her name’s Maggie. Maggie Lambert.” He zipped up while collecting some running shoes. “She has the baby at a truck stop outside of Denver.”
He heard something fall to the floor as she scrambled out of the bed. “Why? What happened?”
“I’ll explain on the way. Here.” He tossed her a shirt. “Put this on. Hurry.”
After stopping at her apartment so that she could change into traveling clothes, Zack called in a favor and organized a private emergency flight to Colorado. They arrived in the early hours of Sunday morning. The predawn was eerily dark and despite her overcoat, Trinity shivered as she alighted from the black Mercedes rental before he’d even shut down the purring engine.
Huddling into her coat, Trinity surveyed the motel, a rundown building with an erratically blinking blue neon sign. She flinched. “Are you sure this is the place?”
“Hardly five-star but better than hanging out in the early hours with an infant at a truck stop.”
But when Zack roused the sleepy caretaker and the man rang through to Maggie’s room—not once but three times—no one answered. Belinda and her mother were gone.
The long flight from New York to Denver had been nerveracking enough. Now Trinity held her roiling stomach.
“What do we do now?”
“Call the police.”
Trinity perked up. She’d half expected Zack to say there was nothing they could do. But if he hadn’t offered to call the authorities, she would have phoned them herself. She couldn’t rest without knowing that those two were safe. From the set of Zack’s jaw, he felt the same way.
Moving out from the motel foyer back in the misty morning light, he stopped, found her gaze and firmly took her hand.
“We’ll find them,” he told her. “We won’t leave until we do.”
Unable to speak over the tears stinging her throat, Trinity nodded then gazed despairingly up and down the neon-blue-tinged road. Across the way was that truck stop. If Maggie had decided to catch a ride, she could be anywhere by now.
Zack had found his phone, presumably to contact the police, when a call came through. He frowned down at the screen before pressing the phone to his ear. “Hello?” He paused a moment then demanded, “Where the hell are you?”
A few seconds later, Zack ended the call.
“That was Maggie. Belinda woke early and wouldn’t settle again so they went for a walk and ended up back over there.”
He gestured toward the stop at the same time Trinity let loose that pent-up breath. They were here after all. Thank God.
Hand in hand, they strode across that road and in through the entrance of Big Bill’s Burger Stop and Gas.
Inside, the café’s chairs and booths were covered in worn red vinyl. The Formica tabletops shone, the aroma of coffee permeated the air and in a far corner a bereft young woman sat, waiting, a baby carrier perched beside her on the floor.
Trinity and Zack rushed over. She wanted to hug the girl, tell her they’d been so worried. But the words would sound judgmental and Zack had sounded annoyed enough just now on the phone. So instead Trinity forced a shaky smile and peered down at the baby while her heart leaped and sank at the same time.
The baby looked so peaceful, wonderfully oblivious to the turmoil surrounding her young, precious life. With all her being, Trinity wanted to lift her out of that carrier, hold her close to her heart and never let her go. Perhaps that was wrong. Bel wasn’t hers but that maternal drive was so strong, she felt as if she were breaking inside.
Zack waited for her to slide into the booth then followed.
“We came as quickly as we could.”
Maggie’s face was drawn and her eyes glistened with unshed tears. She looked as if she’d trudged a thousand miles and had a thousand more to go.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for you to come all the way back out here. It’s just—” Maggie shrugged those too-slim shoulders in her denim jacket “—I didn’t know what else to do.”
Zack prodded. “Tell us what happened.”
“I spoke to Bel’s dad on the phone late last week,” Maggie began. “He said there were some great opportunities out where he was. That I should come out, too, and bring the baby. The people at the shelter were nice. We’d talked about me going to college. Getting a degree. But I thought he was inviting us. I thought he wanted to help take care of us.”
When tears slipped down both Maggie’s cheeks, Trinity felt her own throat throb with emotion. She reached across the table and held the girl’s hand tight.
“I put together what money I had,” Maggie said. “I left the shelter and called my mom to say we wouldn’t be back. Then I phoned Ryan, Bel’s dad, to set up times and stuff. He sounded…different.” She seemed to look inward before her gaze lowered to her sleeping child. “I should’ve known. I got such a terrible feeling, but I went ahead and bought the ticket anyway then phoned again to tell him what time we’d be getting in. I so wanted it to work out.” She bit her lower lip as her mouth bowed and more tears fell. “He hung up on me, but before he did, I heard a girl’s voice in the background.” Tears were spilling down her face now, curling around her quaking chin. “That’s when I remembered your offer to help, Mr. Harrison—”
When he interrupted, Zack’s voice was hoarse but also gentle. “Call me Zack.”
Maggie nodded. “And Ms. Cassidy…She said what a lovely couple you were.”
Zack blinked. “She did?”
“Uh-huh. But I already knew that. She had your number, the same one you told me that day when I got Bel back.” A look of uncertainty and fear shuttered over her face. “I hope I’m doing the right thing.”
Trinity squeezed Maggie’s cool, bony hand. “Of course you are. We’ll make sure you’re both safe.”
“But there’s more,” she said. “I’ve had so much time to think.”
Trinity took a breath and waited.
“You both looked so torn up when I left with her that day,” Maggie said, “and here you are, just like that, after a thirty-second phone call. I know you care about Bel. She’s so easy to love.” Maggie squirmed in her seat then, elbow on the table, she held her head. “This is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to say, to do, but I know in my heart that it’s right.”
Zack prodded. “What’s right, Maggie?”
A look of irreversible calm stole over her tearstained face. “I want you to step in. Will you adopt my baby?”
The sensation was akin to having a heavyweight’s glove belt him in the solar plexus. Zack lost his breath, instantly felt physically ill. At that moment, a waitress with a row of silver studs lining the shell of her left ear appeared at the table.
“You folks want coffee? Breakfast menu’ll be out soon if you’re hungry.”
Trinity said something, Zack didn’t hear what. His ears were ringing and he realized he was staring at the baby, looking so tiny and needing someone to rescue her. He’d rescued her once—was it only a week ago? He’d been edgy about that decision. If he’d known how events would play out, would he have left Trinity to sort things out while he’d followed his more basic, less flattering instinct and taken that cab home?
“Zack? Are you all right? Did you hear what Maggie said?”
He pushed back in his seat and the room began to tilt. “Of course I heard.” His voice sounded gruff to his own ears and when Maggie recoiled, he summoned up a shaky smile. “Maggie, you do know that Trinity and I…Well, we’re not married.”
Maggie nodded. “Ms. Cassidy told me. But you’re obviously committed to each other.” Her hopeful smile shone out. “You’re both here, aren’t you?”
But, God knows, he hadn’t come here for this.
“Excuse me a minute.” Feeling crowded, Zack fell upon a weak excuse. “I left my cell in the car.”
He got to his feet and made his way toward the exit, winding between tables, feeling as if he were moving across the deck of a lilting ship. At the main entry/exit, he put out his palm, crashed through the swinging glass door and out into blessed fresh air. But his stomach was still churning and his legs felt as if they might collapse beneath him. Setting his hands on his knees, he propped himself against the outside brick wall and bent slightly over as his head went into a spin.
He couldn’t adopt a baby, not even Bonnie. He was a sworn-to-uphold-the-code bachelor. Cold, hard fact was he didn’t have time to worry about a child full time. And Maggie had said she wanted them both to adopt. She thought they were committed to each other. Did that mean he was supposed to marry a woman he barely knew? Didn’t matter that the woman was Trinity.
He couldn’t do it. It might seem like an easy fix for young Maggie, but he was old enough to see on down the line. He wasn’t the marrying, settling-down-with-a-brood kind of guy. He’d never professed to be. He was a career man, pure and simple. No blurred lines or people got hurt. This request—the unique situation—changed nothing. And if that sounded harsh, then so be it.
The door swung open. Sucking down another gulp full of fresh air, Zack straightened. Slipping her hands into her coat pockets, Trinity crossed over.
“A bit of a shock, huh?”
He cleared his throat. “Just a bit.”
“I think Maggie’s really thought this through. She wants to get to know us better. Make a hundred percent sure it’s the right thing for the baby.”
His head pulled back. “You sound as if you’re actually considering this. That it’s a done deal.”
“If I can help them, I will.”
His laugh was clipped. “Well, don’t count me in.”
She blinked several times. Then a wry, sad grin hooked up one side of the mouth he’d kissed so thoroughly the night before.
“I guess this news has knocked us both out of the ballpark, especially given what I said earlier.”
“That we want different things,” he reminded her.
She gave a contrite nod. “I’m not sure what it will take to make sure Bel gets everything she deserves. I only know I can’t walk away. I truly thought you’d be on board, too. Or would at least consider it.” Her beautiful eyes filled. “I honestly thought you loved that little girl.”
His jaw clenched. “If I loved her, isn’t that all the more reason not to set her up like this? I’m not father material.”
“You’re wrong. You’d make an excellent dad. You’re just too stubborn to give up even a smidgen of who you were.”
His temper flashed. “Who I am.”
She folded her arms. “Well, I’m going to help Maggie and Bel.”
“With no job?”
“I have savings.” Her brows knitted. “Besides, money isn’t everything.”
“It goes a long way to helping. In fact…” The solution exploded in his head. If he hadn’t been so blindsided by Maggie’s surprise announcement, he would have thought of it sooner. He couldn’t adopt but he could certainly help financially.
“I’ll transfer money into Maggie’s account. As much as she needs.”
“So her mother or deadbeat ex can get to it?”
He growled. At times Trinity was so damn difficult. “No. So she can get a place, go to college.”
“Who’ll look after the baby?”
“Sitters. Even my brothers have sitters.”
“I think Maggie is looking at the baby having a stable upbringing, with people who will be there for the long haul rather than a string of girls after a few dollars an hour.” She gave him an evaluative, ultimately disapproving look that made him feel about five years old. “I’m going back inside to tell her I’ll be there for them both, and if Maggie wants me to take on that child on my own, if there’s a way, you can bet I’ll do it.”
“Trinity, you don’t have any support.”
That disappointed look turned to jaded pity.
“With that attitude, I think you might be right.” She firmed her bottom lip. “That baby’s better off without you.”
The free sample has ended.
