Out of Hours...His Feisty Assistant: The Tycoon's Very Personal Assistant / Caught on Camera with the CEO / Her Not-So-Secret Diary

‘It’s the jet lag,’ she said, brandishing the box of breakfast treats. ‘I found these in your cupboard. How do you feel about coffee and a sugar rush for breakfast?’

He yawned and stretched long arms above his head, arching his back. The play of muscles across his torso drew Kate’s eyes. His arms dropped to his side. The bottom dropped out of Kate’s stomach.

‘Those are Joey’s.’ He nodded at the package as he scraped his fingers through his hair bringing his hand to rest briefly on the back of his neck. ‘He’ll be mad if we finish them.’ He walked towards her, his bare feet padding against the smooth granite tiles of the cavernous and luxuriously appointed kitchen. He smiled, a dimple appearing that Kate hadn’t noticed yesterday.

The cold marble work surface pressed into the small of her back as he stopped a few inches from her. His big body radiated heat. He lifted the Pop Tarts out of her hand and leaned across her to put them down on the surface. ‘Anyway,’ he said, his hands resting on her hips. ‘I’m sure we can do better than that.’ He pulled her against him, his thumbs stroking the silk of her dress. The light caress sizzled through her, making her toes curl.

‘I could cook, or we could call room service,’ he murmured, dipping his head to lick the pulse point in her neck. The sizzle flared into her breasts and her nipples hardened. ‘They do great maple pecan waffles, if you’re in the mood for something sweet.’ He wiggled his brows at her lasciviously. ‘I sure am.’

She took several shallow breaths, placed her hands on his chest and eased him back, her brain engaging for the first time since she’d spotted him in the doorway. ‘Who’s Joey?’

Did he have a son? Goodness, he might even have a wife? She’d seen no trace of a woman’s presence when she’d done a little tour of the penthouse after waking up, but, still, he could be married. It horrified her to realise she didn’t know for sure.

He straightened and let her go, studying her face. ‘Don’t look so scared.’ He rested his butt against the kitchen’s central aisle, folded his arms across his chest. ‘Joey’s my five-year-old godson. He sleeps over sometimes when Stella and Monty, his mom and dad, need a babysitter. Who did you think he was?’

‘I just wondered,’ she said, looking down at her toes, faint with relief. She forced a smile. ‘You don’t strike me as the babysitting type.’

‘There’s not a lot of babysitting involved.’ He smiled, the dimple winking at her again. How had she missed that yesterday? ‘I’m a total pushover. Joey calls all the shots. Hence the Pop Tarts. If Stella knew about those we’d both be toast. She’s like the sugar police.’As he spoke his face softened and his voice deepened with affection. He obviously adored the little boy and his parents.

This was a facet of him Kate never would have imagined. It made him seem almost as sweet as the Pop Tarts all of a sudden. Why the discovery should make her stomach tighten and her breathing become even more rapid she couldn’t guess.

‘So how about I order waffles?’ He arched an eyebrow, looking more dangerous than sweet. ‘We can get to the deadly sins we missed last night while we wait.’

She laughed, feeling pretty dangerous herself. ‘Did we miss any?’

He stepped back to her, his enticing male scent enveloping her as he brushed a knuckle across her cheek. ‘I bet I can find a few.’

‘Hmm.’ She considered him, holding her tongue between her teeth. ‘I’d love to take that bet,’ she said.

His hand dropped from her face as he grinned. He looked so delicious, it was almost indecent how much she wanted to take him up on his offer. Disappointment covered the fire in her belly like a wet blanket. ‘But unfortunately, I’ve only got fifteen minutes before I have to meet with your housekeeping manager, Mrs Oakley.’

To think she was going to be making beds all morning when she could have been tearing up the sheets with Zack Boudreaux. She’d had her one night of bliss, and now reality was back with a vengeance.

A line formed across his brow. ‘Why are you meeting Pat?’

‘I think it’s just a formality.’ She shrugged, turned to pour herself a cup of coffee. Looking at his bare chest was only adding to her misery. ‘I filled out the forms yesterday afternoon.’ She put the pot down, recalling the brief phone conversation she’d had with Patricia Oakley and the reams of paperwork that had been sent to her suite.

‘What forms?’

She pulled a cup out of the cabinet, placed it on the surface with a sharp click. ‘I couldn’t find any milk—will black do?’

‘I said, what forms?’

She looked at him over her shoulder, her eyes widening at his flat tone.

She turned round. ‘The employment forms, all two thousand of them.’ Cradling the mug of coffee in both hands, she blew on it, inhaled the delicious coffee scent. ‘Mrs Oakley’s going to sort out my social security number for me. It’s a good thing Andrew didn’t take my American passport with him. Or I really would have been up the creek.’ She took a quick sip. It might smell like coffee, but it tasted like water. She wrinkled her nose. ‘No offence,’ she said lightly, ‘but American coffee is disgusting.’

‘Why were you filling out employment forms for Pat?’

She frowned. Why was he behaving as if she were talking in a foreign language?

‘Because I’m going to work here—why else?’She narrowly avoided adding a Duh! It didn’t seem appropriate any more. The teasing mood of a moment before had disappeared.

His brows drew together in a forbidding line.

‘We talked about it, yesterday in your office, remember?’ Kate prompted. ‘You said you were going to ring her about it.’

‘Yeah, but I didn’t call her.’

‘I know you didn’t,’ Kate said, shifting uncomfortably against the hard marble.

She’d felt pretty foolish the day before when she’d mentioned his name to the housekeeping manager. He owned the hotel, for goodness’ sake, of course he didn’t concern himself with trifles. Still, she’d been oddly hurt when Mrs Oakley had told her she hadn’t been contacted by Mr Boudreaux, especially after getting his dinner invitation.

‘It’s all right,’ she said with a brightness she didn’t quite feel. ‘I sorted it out myself. Turns out two of the maids quit last week so Mrs Oakley was more than happy when I—’

‘You’re not working here.’ He interrupted her.

‘I..? Excuse me?’ Had she heard him correctly? She couldn’t have.

‘Kate…’ his voice softened a little ‘…I’ve got a strict rule against sleeping with women who work for me.’

‘Oh.’ The flush working its way up her neck made her feel foolish and more than a little hurt. She hadn’t realised how much she’d been looking forward to continuing their fling. She blinked, determined not to let her sadness at the dismissal show. Of course he’d only been looking for a one-night deal. So had she. When had she started thinking it could be anything else?

‘I understand,’ she said, concentrating on a space above his shoulder. She noticed the clock on the wall behind him and saw her get-out clause. She needed to leave before she embarrassed herself any further. ‘Well, it’s been fun, Zack,’ she said, putting her mug down on the counter. ‘But I really should be going. Mrs Oakley will be waiting.’ She gave him what she hoped was an unconcerned smile. ‘I don’t want to be late my first day on the job.’

She went to walk past him, but his fingers closed over her arm, stopping her dead.

‘You’re not listening to me, Kate.You’re not working here.’

She gawped at him. ‘Yes, I am,’ she said carefully. What was he on about?

‘No, you’re not,’ he said, the definite edge to his voice starting to worry her. ‘You don’t have to now.’

‘Of course, I do. I need the money.’

His jaw went rigid. ‘I gave you five hundred dollars. If that’s not enough, say so.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ She crossed her arms over her chest, trying to hold back her own temper. ‘I don’t want you to give me any more money. The more I take, the more I’ll have to pay back.’ Why was he being deliberately dense? ‘I left four of the hundreds you gave me in the living room, by the way. Mrs Oakley was nice enough to say she’d sort out a proper advance in a couple of days. When I—’

‘What are you talking about?’

She stiffened. Why was he so irritated?

He twisted away, shoving his fingers through his hair and combing it into unruly furrows. Frustration snapped in the air around him before he gave a long-suffering sigh and turned back. ‘You say you need money.’ He said the words slowly, surely, as if he were talking to a dim-witted child. ‘I gave you money. Why are you giving it back to me?’

‘Because it’s not my money,’ she shot back, annoyed at having to state the obvious. ‘It’s yours.’

‘So what? It’s only five hundred bucks. I don’t want it back.’

‘But I thought that was the advance we’d talked about.’

‘What advance?’ he said, holding his palms up in exasperation before slapping them down on the sideboard.

Realisation suddenly dawned on Kate. With it came the grinding feeling of helplessness, of inadequacy, she’d fought throughout her childhood.

‘Wait a minute,’ she said, carefully. ‘You mean you gave me five hundred dollars. Why would you do that?’

She’d thought the money was an advance, but if it wasn’t…? The events of the previous night came reeling back to her. Without the glow of sexual excitement, the romance of the moment, what she’d done took on a whole different hue.

She pressed her thighs together, felt the lingering tenderness and was suddenly ashamed of all the times he’d been buried deep inside her.

What had he been thinking when she’d flirted with him, when she’d thrown herself at him, when she’d come apart in his arms? She covered her mouth, scared she might throw up.

‘I’ve got to go,’ she blurted out, desperate to get away.

Zack couldn’t believe his eyes as the colour drained out of her face and she turned and ran out of the room. ‘What the…?’

It took him a minute, but he caught up with her in the hallway, snagged her arm. ‘What’s wrong with you?’

She shot him a disdainful look, but he could feel her shaking. Something had really upset her, but what?

‘I thought I told you yesterday,’ she said, the tears hovering on her lids. ‘I’m not a prostitute.’

‘What? Who said you were a prostitute?’

‘You don’t give someone five hundred dollars for nothing.’

So that was it. They were back to the money again. Damn, the woman had more issues than a daytime chat show. ‘You were in a fix. I helped you out. It’s not that big a deal.’

‘It is to me.’ He could see by the stubborn tilt of her chin she wasn’t kidding.

She tried to wrestle her arm free. He held firm. No way was she skipping out on him until they got this settled.

‘Will you let go of my arm?’

He softened his grip, but kept her in place. ‘Not until you tell me what the problem is.’

‘It’s simple. I don’t accept money from men I don’t know.’

‘First off,’ he said, pulling her closer, ‘you do know me. After what we did last night you know me pretty damn well.’ He felt a stab of satisfaction when she blushed a vivid red. ‘Second off, the five hundred wasn’t payment for sexual favours.’ Now he thought about it, he was pretty damned insulted himself. ‘I’ve never paid for sex and I never will.’

The blush intensified, but her arm relaxed. ‘Okay.’ Her breath gushed out and the rigid line of her shoulders softened. ‘I’m sorry I accused you of that. It’s just…It looked…I don’t know—it looked funny.’

‘It was a gift between friends.’

She nodded. ‘All right, but I still can’t accept it.’

Now she was just being stubborn. ‘Why not?’

‘Because I can’t,’ she said, her voice rising to match his.

Her lips puckered up into the defiant pout he’d admired the day before. He wasn’t admiring it so much any more.

‘Look, calm down, okay?’ He ran his palm down her bare arm, struggling to soothe while his own emotions were in turmoil. He could see the hot flash of temper in her eyes, but beneath it was something else that looked suspiciously like hurt. It bothered him he might have caused it.

He tried to figure out where he’d gone wrong. How things had got messed up so fast.

Everything had been great when he’d woken up, his body still humming from one incredible night of mind-blowing sex. He’d spent the next ten minutes lying in bed, the hazy dawn sunlight streaming over him while he’d breathed in the lingering scent of Kate’s perfume overlaid with the smell of freshly percolating coffee and enjoyed some inventive fantasies about what they could do for the rest of the day.

When he’d found Kate in the kitchen, clutching Joey’s Pop Tarts, the soft blonde hair he now knew was natural still damp from her shower and that sexy dress stretched across her lush rear end, he’d figured it wouldn’t take him long to start making his fantasies reality. The next few days had spread out before him like a smorgasbord of sexual pleasures and he’d had every intention of digging in.

Then she’d started babbling on about Pat and employment paperwork and money and everything had gone to hell in a handbasket. Well, she could forget about working here. He didn’t want her working for him, he wanted her with him—in bed as well as out—for the next couple of days, but he could see he was going to have to change tactics to get what he wanted.

‘Kate, this is dumb.’ He forced reason and logic into his voice. ‘We hit it off last night. I’ve got a couple of days before I have to head out to California.’ He stroked his thumb across the inside of her elbow, encouraged by her shiver of response. ‘We could have a lot of fun in that time.’She didn’t say anything so he pressed on. Surely she could see this was the smart option. ‘You can stay here as my guest and then I’ll buy you a ticket home to London when I leave. How does that sound?’

Kate didn’t think she’d ever been more humiliated in her whole life. This was worse than being turfed out into a hotel corridor in her underwear. She stepped away from Zack, humiliated all over again by the terrible yearning that seized her. That her body was clamouring for her to say yes to his insulting proposal only made the situation that much more unbearable.

‘I pay my own way. I always have and I always will.’ She tightened her arms across her breasts, willing herself to stop trembling. ‘And I’m very sorry, but, as much fun as we had last night, I’m not prepared to be your paid plaything for the next few days.’

He cursed softly. ‘That’s not what I meant and you know it.’

‘Mrs Oakley’s offered me a job here and I’m taking it,’ she continued, grateful when he made no move to touch her. ‘If you don’t want me working in your hotel you can have me fired, that’s certainly your prerogative.’ She prayed he wouldn’t do that, but she wasn’t about to beg. ‘But you don’t have to worry about sleeping with the staff, because we’re not sleeping together any more. How does that sound?’

He swore again, his big body rigid, his hands fisted by his sides. The frustration was coming off him in waves but he didn’t say a word.

She walked down the hallway to the elevator with as much dignity as she could muster and stabbed the call button.

‘Have it your way, sweetheart,’ he said, his voice brittle, before she heard the door slam shut behind her.

Her shoulders slumped in a cruel mixture of relief and regret. The lift pinged its arrival, the sound reverberating round the empty lobby like a mission bell.

As Kate stepped into the private car she spotted her gold sandals where they had fallen the evening before. The lurid memory of being wrapped around Zack, her body quivering with anticipation, made her tense as she bent to pick up the shoes.

The lone teardrop glittered as it splashed onto the golden leather.

CHAPTER SIX

‘YOU’VE GOT TO BE KIDDING me.’ Zack scrubbed his hands over his face, feeling weary. ‘She was coming to California with me. How am I going to get another PA so soon?’ And how could a day that had dawned with such promise have turned into this nightmare?

‘Seems Jill didn’t take too kindly to your attitude this afternoon. She said you shouted at her,’ Monty said from the other side of the booth. His friendly cockney accent rubbed Zack’s last nerve raw.

‘I did not shout at her,’ Zack said firmly, pretty sure he hadn’t. He could barely remember the incident with his PA. He’d been fixated on a certain blue-eyed temptress most of the day. ‘She did a half-baked job on the report I asked for on The Grange’s customer profile. All I did was point it out.’

‘Yeah, well, maybe next time you could point it out with a few less decibels,’ Monty replied amiably, lifting the bottle of beer to his lips.

Zack watched his business manager. ‘Fine.’ He took a swallow of his own beer, let the chilled amber liquid ease down his throat and forced his shoulders to relax. ‘Point taken.’

Jill Hawthorne’s resignation wasn’t worth getting worked up about. He expected one hundred and ten per cent from his staff and paid them the salaries to match. Jill hadn’t been up to the job since the day he’d hired her. It was just bad timing she’d picked today to walk off in a snit. He could have done without the aggravation.

Monty straightened in his chair and leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. ‘What were you doing in the office anyhow? I thought you were taking a couple of days off before you headed out to Cally?’

That had been the original plan, thought Zack, aggravated all over again. Until a certain Kate Denton had walked out on him bright and early this morning. After that, he hadn’t been in the mood to hang out in his penthouse. Every place he looked brought back memories of her lush, sexy body and the incredible things they’d been doing to each other most of the night.

‘Plans change,’he said dismissively. He wasn’t about to get into a blow by blow of what an idiot he’d been with Monty. He still wasn’t sure how he’d let Kate get under his skin the way she had. ‘I should let you get home to Stella,’ he added reluctantly, mentioning Monty’s wife. ‘She’ll give me the look next time I see her if I keep you out drinking on your first night back.’

Monty had returned to Vegas late that afternoon after a week of meetings with Harold Westchester, the owner of the hotel Zack was buying out in California. It had been Zack’s idea to meet up in the loud, lively and informal surroundings of the Sports Bar. He and Monty had spent the last half an hour going over the details of the negotiations together before Monty had dropped his bombshell about Zack’s PA.

‘No worries,’ said Monty. ‘Stel understands you wanted the low-down on how things went with Westchester.’

Truth be told, the meeting could have waited till tomorrow, but Zack hadn’t been in any great hurry to go back to his bed alone tonight. And Monty was always good company. They’d been best buddies ever since their early teens, when Monty had tried to pull a short con on Zack one rainy afternoon on London’s Oxford Street.

‘I guess we’ve covered everything for today,’ Zack said. ‘Why don’t you go on home? Tell Stella I said hi,’ he finished, not quite sure where the ripple of envy came from as he said it. Sure, Monty had a beautiful wife in Stella and a real little pistol of a kid in Joey, but that kind of wedded bliss had never been what Zack was looking for in life.

‘I’m good for another round, yet,’ Monty said, glancing at his watch. ‘Look, Zack, there is one other thing I wanted to sound you out on with The Grange buyout.’

‘What?’ Zack asked.

‘Why don’t you tell Westchester who you really are?’

Zack slapped his beer bottle back on the table with more force than was strictly necessary. ‘I told you before. No way.’

‘We could get a better deal out of him. I’m sure of it.’

‘Don’t count on it.’ Zack had been after The Grange for two solid years—the fact that Westchester had no knowledge about their prior connection had been paramount to the old guy agreeing to the deal in the first place, Zack was sure of it. ‘Westchester and my old man didn’t exactly hit it off together. I’m not risking the deal on—’

‘How do you know he blames you for what JP did?’ Monty butted in.

‘Drop it, Mont.’ Just thinking about telling Westchester made Zack feel edgy.

‘Fine, I tried.’ Monty threw up his hands. ‘It’s your choice.’

‘That’s right. It is. Now, do you want another beer or not?’

‘Just one. Then I better shoot off.’

Zack picked up a handful of mini-pretzels from the bowl of bar snacks, glad to have at least one thing settled. He turned to signal their waitress when something caught his eye across the darkened bar. He stared in the half-light.

Another waitress was dishing out drinks to a group of guys over by the pool tables, her blonde hair shone white in the harsh neon light. He squinted, trying to focus. It couldn’t be, could it?

She walked back towards the wait-station, her empty tray dangling from one hand. Her voluptuous figure looked ready to spill right out of the uniform all the female bar staff wore.

‘I don’t believe it,’ he murmured.

He’d recognise the soft, seductive sway of those hips anywhere.

Kate was floating. At least, that was what she tried to tell herself as she pushed through the crowd of people at the bar, her head throbbing in time to the electric guitar whining from the sound system and her heels and toes burning in the shoes she’d borrowed for the evening. She’d gone past exhausted about an hour ago, entering an alternative reality where her many aches and pains were buffered by a sea of numbness—sort of.

She dumped her tray on the wait-station and shouted out her latest order to Matt, the barman. Matt waved, not even attempting to be heard above the din, and went off to fill it.

Pushing an annoying tendril of hair behind her ear, Kate swayed slightly. She gripped the bar, steadied herself, forcing her knees to lock, and took another glimpse at the clock above the bar. The stupid thing had to be broken—the hands had barely moved since the last time she looked. Still over an hour to go till her shift ended.

She groaned, the next couple of weeks spreading out before her in a never-ending kaleidoscope of spilled drinks, overeager hands, dirty toilets and unmade beds.

Kate forced back the depression settling over her like an impenetrable fog. It could only be tiredness. So the next few weeks were going to be murder while she held down the two jobs she’d talked her way into. She’d worked this hard before. When she’d been seventeen, and newly free of her father’s influence, she’d held down three jobs to keep afloat. She could do it again. All she needed was a decent night’s sleep.

Thanks to the night flight two days ago, the bedroom Olympics she’d indulged in with the very creative Zack Boudreaux last night, a day spent changing sheets and cleaning toilets and the last four hours spent tottering around on heels that were two sizes too small, Kate reckoned she’d managed about four hours sleep in the last fortyeight.

She glared at the clock again, willing the hands to move faster.

Extreme fatigue was the only reason the picture of Zack and his insatiable body kept popping back into her brain. She didn’t regret her decision to turn down his insulting offer one bit. She would never be any man’s kept woman, no matter how gorgeous he looked or how fantastic he might be in bed. Her mother had done that and look what had happened to her.

She let go of the bar. When she stayed upright, she pulled a long fortifying breath into her lungs. Only an hour to go, then she could collapse into bed. She vowed she wouldn’t so much as twitch her little finger until ten minutes before her housekeeping shift started at six tomorrow morning.

‘Katie, Katie.’ Marcy, Kate’s fellow waitress, elbowed her way towards Kate on ice-pick heels, her chocolate-brown eyes beaming. How did she walk in those shoes, Kate wondered, without dislodging a kidney?