The Mistresses Collection. Оливия Гейтс

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