To All a Good Night

by Donna Kauffman, Jill Shalvis

  Trevor laughed. “I’ve never quite thought about it that way, but…kind of.”

  “No one is that selfless. Blindly so, I might add.”

  “It matters to me. Who I am, where I came from.”

  “And Lionel doesn’t suspect this? Does anyone in your family know or believe what you suspect? Do they treat you poorly or something?”

  “No, they treat me fine. Or would, if I hadn’t nosed around my family tree when I was younger and started asking questions no one wanted to answer.”

  Now Emma frowned. “Why? It’s not the Dark Ages anymore. Surely they accept that every family, even ridiculously wealthy ones, have skeletons. Why wouldn’t they tell you the truth? I mean, it’s still your money. If they know there were affairs and the lineage isn’t perfect, but still dole out the trust funds, then…why does it matter? You’re a Hamilton in every way that really counts, right?”

  “Not right. Not to me, anyway.”

  She sighed. “You’re really a very contrary man.”

  “Just an honest one. Who wants to know who he is.”

  “I understand that, on an emotional level. But even if you find out your lineage branches off to an entirely different tree somewhere back, will that make you feel any differently about who you are? I mean, you were raised by your parents, as part of this family, which you are. How would you feel different if you found that your great-great-whoever slept with someone other than the Hamilton she was married to?”

  “That’s just it. I’ve always felt different. For as long as I can remember.”

  She smiled a little. “Poor, hot-looking, rich…misfit?”

  He grinned. “Like I said, you had no idea how pathetic. But, uh…essentially, yeah.”

  She shook her head. “I…really don’t understand.”

  He slid his arm around the back of her waist, and tugged her, finally, fully into his arms. “And, you see…that’s what so intrigues me, because, I already happen to think you’re going to be the first person who really does.”

  “You do, do you?” she asked, unable to keep from smiling up into his beautiful blue eyes. If this really turned out to be just a dream, then the hell with it. She was going to milk it for all it was worth. “Why is that?”

  “Because you see clearly. And you think clearly.”

  “Not when you’re holding me like this, I don’t.”

  His grin widened. “I understand the condition, trust me.”

  “So you’re not just fogging my brain so I’ll help you look for…whatever it was you came here to find? Proof, I presume.”

  “If I was thinking clearly, I wouldn’t be anywhere near you, and you’d never suspect why I was here. I’ve waited what feels like a lifetime to finally have the chance to get to the truth. I’m a fool for risking this chance by spending my time here with you, much less confiding in you.”

  “You say all the right things,” she said, wanting to distrust him, knowing she needed to maintain a healthy dose of skepticism around him, because, the truth was, she wasn’t going to be around him for any real length of time.

  Which rendered all of this as much a foolish venture on her part, as it apparently was for him. Only for vastly different reasons. She knew she was a confident person, and came off as such. But, in this arena, she was as vulnerable as anyone. Maybe more so, because she wasn’t the sort that people—male people—thought needed much tending to. Emotionally anyway. And, in addition to being wildly attracted to him, she was really starting to like Trevor Hamilton. It was a killer combination.

  And she didn’t need the one-two sucker punch that was surely coming her way. Stuff like this only happened in movies. In real life, the pet-sitting Emma Laffertys of the world simply didn’t get the trust-fund Trevor Hamiltons. Not for more than a night, anyway.

  “I mean what I say,” he said. “I want you to know me. Because I think you actually would. Know me. For me. You might even like me.”

  “I know I’m going to probably regret saying this, but I do like you. Or I’m starting to.”

  “Then I’m going to be completely honest with you about something else.”

  “See, I knew it. You’re going to tell me you’re dying, or that—”

  “I’m going to tell you that we’re going to be trapped in this house for a day or two at least. Maybe more. I’m thinking hopefully more, and you have no idea how big a surprise that is to me, considering my plans when I came here.”

  “So, what’s the confession?”

  “That I want you. Now. In front of the fire, or, for that matter, right here on the pile of books. And I know how important all that foundation stuff is. It’s important to me, too. Which is why I want days with you, and maybe, if I’m insanely lucky, a lot more than that. But, right now, the secret room, the proof I need, and all the talking we need to do, all the important getting-to-know-you stuff, can wait. Has to wait. Because I’m not sure this can.”

  “This?”

  “Yeah,” he said, taking her face in his hands and pulling her mouth to his. “This.”

  8

  “T revor,” she said, her voice catching along with her breath. “We’re—”

  “I know,” he said. “You’re not a one-night-stand kind of woman. Which is good. I don’t believe in them either.”

  “I’m glad to hear it, but any future night potential isn’t great. You’re from North Carolina, I live here.”

  “That’s just geography,” he said, kissing the corners of her mouth, and along her jaw. Like a man starved, he suddenly couldn’t get enough of her.

  “Says the rich boy,” she said, but she was tilting her head back, giving him access to that tender spot on her neck, clutching at his shoulders, nails digging in, like a woman drowning.

  He understood the feeling. It all felt so overwhelming, and yet remarkably simple. He didn’t have a moment’s hesitation in going after what felt incredibly right, even though, having just met her, it made no rational sense. And he was nothing if not a rational man.

  Just not around Emma. And damn but it felt good.

  Wildly, insanely, ridiculously good. Maybe because he felt…safe with her. Which was kind of crazy, but as soon as the notion came to him, he realized it was exactly right. And true.

  Because she would be true. Good, bad, one night or a hundred nights, she’d be true. And honest. With herself. And with him. Whatever happened, she’d be the kind of woman who would never duck, never hide, and never lie. How he knew this with such clarity, and such faith, he had no idea.

  But he did. And, for now, it was enough to go on. Enough to not stop at the edge, but jump off. If he crash-landed…well, he’d deal with that, then. But, oh, how he wanted to fly.

  “Not rich, remember,” he clarified, working his way along the underline of her jaw.

  “Not yet,” she managed, nails still digging, breath still catching. It was damn sexy, hearing those little gasps, knowing he was the cause. “Not that it matters. I don’t want your money, but you might have to come to terms with having some, at some point.”

  “Wouldn’t matter, either way,” he said. “About the distance, I mean. It’s still just geography.” At the moment, he was pretty sure he’d crawl through hell if that was what it took to get to her.

  “Dreamer,” she breathed, gasping as he nipped at the lobe of her ear.

  “Realist,” he countered. “Stubbornly so.”

  “How do you explain this then?” She moaned a little as he nibbled on her ear. “It sure as hell feels like a fantasy to me.”

  “Yeah, I know,” he said, grinning against the side of her neck. “Pretty fucking fantastic, isn’t it?”

  She laughed. “I should be offended, except that’s exactly what I was thinking.”

  He lifted his head. “See? Fated.”

  “We’re either both going to be really sorry in the morning, or—”

  “Let’s go with ‘or’…okay?” He kissed her again, but this time it was slow, and there was nothing behind it
other than the need—the absolute need—to know her. And this seemed like a perfect place to start. “I never leap first,” he said, against her mouth. “Not ever.”

  “Neither do I,” she murmured back. “Crash landings suck.”

  He grinned at their parallel thinking, again.

  “But life offers no guarantees, either,” she said, taking his face in her hands and taking an active role in this fantasy they were sharing. She tilted his mouth to fit hers. “And I’m having a hard time staying safely on the ledge.”

  He groaned as she kissed him—really kissed him—for the first time. Damn, this was something. Really something. Everything else ceased to matter in that moment. All the other moments would come along anyway. Right now he could think of nothing more important, perhaps ever in his life, than making damn sure this particular moment, and the ones that immediately followed, were as perfect as he could make them. Because there was this feeling, this instinct, this…whatever the hell it was in his gut, that was telling him that they had to be perfect…because he was going to be remembering this exact moment for the rest of his life.

  “Jump with me, Emma,” he whispered against her lips. “Just…jump.”

  So she did.

  She was flying. She felt weightless, her pulse soaring as she coasted along on the currents that were sweeping through her and around her, pushing her along almost effortlessly toward some great and glorious destination. Which was such a ridiculously over-the-top thing to even think, silently in her head, that she should either be laughing hysterically at herself or running, screaming, from the room, and maybe even the house.

  Trevor Hamilton had cast a spell over her. And there was no way that it should be working. She was in for the mother of all crash landings. Any idiot could see that. All rational logic dictated that he had to be using her.

  But then there was the fact that he had told her why he was there, giving her leverage. One call to Lionel, or Lionel’s people anyway, could certainly make his life difficult. If he was telling the truth about the whole trust fund, family tree thing, that is. But…why make something like that up? If he was going to lie, he could have made up any one of a number of more plausible reasons for snooping about. And it hadn’t sounded like a lie. He didn’t look like a liar when he’d said it.

  And, fool or no, this kiss sure as hell didn’t seem like a lie.

  So, she kissed him back.

  And that made it even better.

  Yeah…there might be a crash landing in her immediate future, but this one just might be worth the ride down.

  9

  T revor felt her sink into him, and he pulled her, finally, tightly against him. She fit him, which was both stunning and the most natural thing in the world. She was shifting her mouth to fit his even before his hands slid to cup her face.

  Those lips of hers, so soft, so…plush. Heaven. And then she parted them, and it was so sinfully sweet, sliding his tongue between them, tasting her so intimately. She wasn’t tentative in tasting back, which should have surprised him, with all her talk of him being out of her league, but didn’t, because it was her frank approach to life that had drawn him in in the first place. He doubted she’d be any less direct with him in this. And given the rock hard state of, oh, pretty much every inch of his body, he was very happy he was right about that.

  He turned slightly to pull her more tightly against him, fit her more perfectly between his hips, causing them both to trip over a few scattered books. He’d completely forgotten his surroundings, he’d been so focused on her.

  “This isn’t exactly…can we—”

  “Find a nicer room,” he finished. “I think there might be one or two that we could choose from.”

  “The animals…” She was kissing the corners of his mouth, and now running her teeth lightly along his jaw, which made it almost impossible for him to comprehend any words being spoken, but they eventually sunk in.

  “Sleeping. By the fire. Very content.”

  “The fire. Should we go…stoke it? Or something?”

  “Oh, we’re doing just fine stoking the fire. Come on.” He kissed her again, hard and fast this time, and they were both gasping a little when he broke it off and took her hand. “I’ll lead the way, you provide the light.”

  “Oh, right. I—I think I dropped it…at some point.” She crouched down and fished around, finding the flashlight quickly and flicking it back on. “I don’t even remember turning it off.”

  He had the immense pleasure of looking into her face now, seeing her eyes, all dark and sparkling when she looked at him. Her hair was a wild halo of curls, which only accentuated the sultry way her lips parted when he tugged her back against him and took her mouth again. “It’s kind of insane, how badly I want you,” he said.

  “I’d be insulted, except—”

  “Not what I meant.”

  She tugged his mouth back to hers and smiled against his lips. “I know. I’m not that lacking in self-esteem.” She crowded her hips against his. “Besides, you’re being pretty convincing about wanting me.”

  He laughed. Why was it so easy with her? “Promise you’ll always be this open and direct,” he said, as he led her from the room.

  “Not everyone appreciates my…directness.”

  “You have no idea how refreshing it is.”

  Now she laughed. “Let’s hope you still feel that way…later.”

  He caught the hesitation, and knew that, despite leaping along with him tonight, she was still unconvinced on how they could do anything beyond share this night together, or maybe the next ice-bound few…. Well, he wasn’t exactly sure himself. But no way was he walking away from this, from her. So, he’d just have to do whatever it took to make sure she didn’t want to walk away, either.

  He led her down the dark hallway, and back upstairs, only he ducked down the right wing this time, not toward the left where the parlor and the dogs were. He felt her hand shudder a little in his. “I know, it’s getting chilly up here. But I know where—” He broke off as he stopped in front of a set of double doors. “This was my aunt’s favorite guest room, and I was lucky that I was her favorite great-nephew, so it was always mine when I stayed here.” He opened the doors, and Emma flashed the beam of light around the interior, stopping first on the beautiful, ornately carved fireplace, then a bit longer on the equally beautifully hand-carved sleigh bed.

  “I can see why you both loved it,” Emma said, as he pulled her inside and closed the door to the hall.

  There was wood stacked by the fireplace, which, given Lionel’s attentiveness to detail, he’d expected to find. “It will only take me a few minutes to get the fire going.”

  She let go of his hand, and helped illuminate the area in front of the hearth so he could get things set up. “How long has it been since you’ve been here? You said things sort of broke down between you and your family…” She trailed off, then said, “I’m sorry. We don’t have to talk about that now. I was just—this is a lovely room and the way you spoke about your great-aunt…it sounded like you loved her very much.”

  “I did. She was the best. And if she were still around, I think she’d have been my ally in finding out the truth. She was the only one who could stand up to Lionel without pissing him off. If anyone was going to make him understand why it was so important to me to know, it would have been her.”

  He stacked the wood, stuffed in the tinder and kindling, then sparked one of the long fireplace matches he’d drawn from their special brass container beside the mantel.

  “How long has it been? I mean, since she’s been gone?”

  “I was seventeen. And just starting to make noise about things.”

  “Why did you even suspect?”

  “I know it sounds hokey, but I never felt like I fit in. I didn’t have the same killer instinct my family did, or the same mind-set about conquering all for the sake of the victory. Amassing wealth—or more of it, I should say—wasn’t how I wanted to judge my success in the world.
And no one seemed to get that in this family.”

  “Not even your parents?”

  “My father was a true Hamilton, through and through, and my mother lived to serve my father…and her own societal needs. I know that sounds rather harsh, but…we knew who we were, and who we weren’t. We got along fine, mostly because we just pretended not to notice our differences. They just wanted me to be a fine, upstanding young Hamilton, and I wanted to keep the peace.”

  “You said ‘was.’ Are they—”

  “Gone? Yes, right after I graduated from college. Drunk driver.”

  “I’m so sorry—”

  “That’s when I decided to forge my own path. I graduated, decided to stay in North Carolina—”

  “And start your own empire.”

  He laughed. “Hardly. My degree is in environmental geology. I started a company that works with builders to make sure the land they build on is safe. I also work with already established communities, older communities, to pin down problem areas and help them work with the local authorities to clean things up.”

  “That’s—”

  “Not very Hamilton-esque. I know.” He shrugged. “I really enjoy it. I have good people working for me. And, unless being a Hamilton will open doors to helping the people I’m trying to help, I don’t have to pretend to be something I’m not. Or never felt like, anyway.”

  “So…because you felt different, you assumed your family tree was—”

  “A bit twisted? Well, not specifically. But you know how some kids feel like they were adopted, or should have been? Like they’re aliens in their own family? That’s what it was like for me. When I was in school, I had a class on psychology and one of the projects we did was working on our own family tree. That got me started, and I kept digging. Not because I intended to prove that there was a bastard line somewhere up the tree, but, I guess in hopes that I’d find at least one ancestor I identified with personally. Just to feel connected in some way, to know more about who I was and where I came from.”