The Mistresses Collection. Оливия Гейтс

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.”