The Mistresses Collection. Оливия Гейтс

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