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

‘Honey, you hit the jackpot.’ Marcy slapped her tray down on the bar and snapped the gum she was chewing.

‘Oh really?’ Kate said, trying to muster some enthusiasm. She liked Marcy. She was so perky she made Mary Poppins look like a killjoy. But right at the moment Kate could barely string a coherent sentence together, let alone have a conversation with someone as full-on as Marcy.

‘Oh, yes, really,’ Marcy said, mimicking Kate’s accent, her smile so bright it was practically radioactive. ‘You’ll never guess who’s in my Number Four booth and just asked to have you serve him his next beer?’

‘Who?’ Kate asked, sure she didn’t want to know unless the guy was Rip Van Winkle.

‘Give me a minute.’ Marcy winked and shouted out an order to Matt for two bottles of premium beer. She turned back to Kate, her face still beaming excitement. ‘Only the big boss man.’ Marcy pointed out one of the booths near the entrance. ‘He’s over there with Monty Robertson, his business manager.’ Marcy touched Kate’s arm. ‘Mr Zack “Gorgeous Butt” Boudreaux, no less.’

At the mention of his name, Kate felt the headache gnawing at her temples roar into life. Then her stomach rolled over, the burn in her feet flared up and the dull ache in her back shot straight up her spine. So much for numbness.

‘Honey, he’s taken a real shine to you. He asked for you special.’ Marcy nudged her, still talking a mile a minute, but the words barely registered on Kate.

‘Here you go, babe, three margaritas.’ Matt placed the drinks Kate had ordered on her tray. As Kate thanked Matt Marcy whisked the tray away.

‘I’ll take care of these for you.’ Marcy checked the tab and hefted the tray onto her shoulder. ‘You take the beers over to Boudreaux’s booth when they get here.’ She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively, grinned. ‘This could be your lucky night, hon.’

Before Kate could form a protest, Marcy waltzed off, weaving expertly through the crowd as she balanced the tray of margaritas on one hand. Kate stared dumbly at Marcy’s back, her jaw clenched so tight it was a miracle she didn’t crack a tooth.

‘If I get any more lucky, I might as well shoot myself,’ she grumbled.

Zack was fuming, but he was keeping a lid on it.

What was she doing working tables in the Sports Bar? If she had set out to torment him she couldn’t have done a better job. Just when he was trying to get her off his mind there she was, all hot and luscious in a skimpy skirt that showed her panties every time she moved and a too-tight V-neck sweater that pumped up her breasts. She might as well have been naked, the amount of flesh she was displaying to the whole bar. Watching her walk towards him and Monty, the tray of beers held high, her head down and tantalising little wisps of hair framing her cheeks, Zack had to force his eyes to stay on her face. He guessed he must be the only guy in the place who wasn’t staring at her butt.

‘Wow, she’s built,’ Monty murmured, confirming Zack’s suspicions.

‘Keep your eyes to yourself,’ Zack snapped, ‘or I’ll tell Stella you’ve been checking out other women.’

‘I wasn’t checking her out,’ Monty said, sounding offended. ‘I was just stating the obvious. What’s between you two anyway?’ Monty wasn’t dumb—he’d already asked the question twice since Zack had called their waitress over and asked her to send Kate back with their beers.

‘Nothing,’ Zack said, determined to prove himself right, even if his mouth was drying up and his muscles tensing the closer she got. The ache in his crotch didn’t mean a thing either. It was just residual heat from last night. He stretched his legs out and crossed them at the ankle, making his eyes go blank as she stepped up to the booth and slid the tray onto the table.

‘Hello, Kate,’ he said, his voice as bland as a slice of white bread.

‘Hello.’ Kate gave him a brief look before concentrating on putting the bottles on the table without spilling them.

Even in a plain black T-shirt and worn jeans the aura of power pulsed around him, intimidating her. But worse than that was the wet heat that had pooled between her thighs and the parched feeling in her throat brought on by the sight of his lean, solid length relaxed against the leather bench seat.

Her eyes connected with his. She must not show any weakness. He was watching her, the handsome planes of his face defined by the light coming from behind her.

‘What are you doing here?’ he asked in a slow, measured voice as if he wasn’t really all that interested in her reply. ‘I thought you were working for Pat today?’

‘I did work for Pat today. I’m working here tonight.’

A muscle in his jaw clenched. ‘I see,’ he said, still in that controlled, indifferent monotone. ‘You know, I don’t think I want you hanging around my hotel.’

Heat seared Kate’s cheeks at the callous words, the assessing, dismissive once-over he gave her.

‘In fact, I’m sure of it,’ he said, slinging his arm casually across the back of the booth.

He looked confident and in control. Probably because he was. The rat.

Kate slung the tray under her arm. Her fingers fisted on the hard plastic. She’d like nothing better than to pick up his fancy bottle of beer right now and pour it over his head. ‘You’re the boss,’ she said, annoyed beyond belief by the quiver in her voice. ‘I’ll leave.’

She turned to go, but he snagged her wrist.

‘Not so fast,’ he said, his fingers clamped tight. ‘We need some more pretzels first.’

Kate tugged her arm loose and glared at him. She wanted to tell him where he could shove his pretzels so badly she could taste the words.

She savoured the image for a moment, then let it go. Bonedeep weariness and despair rushed up to replace it. She nodded. ‘I’ll go get them,’ she said.

‘Eh-hum.’ Monty cleared his throat loudly. ‘Now, are you going to tell me what the bleeding heck that was all about? Who is that girl?’

‘No one.’ Zack ignored his friend, still staring after Kate as she made her way back to the wait-station. Something wasn’t right.

The idea had been to goad her, get her to rise to the bait and then slap her down. It was still bugging him that she’d dumped him this morning to do drudge work. But he didn’t feel the satisfaction he’d expected. In fact, he felt like a jerk. Her face had been cast into shadow by the overhead light, but she’d sounded resigned, weary even. It wasn’t like her to take an insult lying down. He ought to know.

‘All right, why don’t you pull the other one?’

Zack looked at his friend. ‘What?’

‘If there’s nothing going on between you two, I’m Bugs Bunny. And you know carrots make me hurl.’ Monty sipped his beer and skewered Zack with a look.

Zack sighed. He knew that look. It was Monty’s only-dynamite-will-make-me-drop-this-now look.

‘We slept together last night, okay?’ Zack said at last. He took a long swig of his beer, hoping it would ease the dryness in his throat. ‘Although there wasn’t a whole lot of sleeping going on.’ He put the bottle on the table, his throat still dry as a bone. ‘Then she decides this morning she’d rather scrub johns than date me. End of story.’

Monty studied Kate’s retreating figure, then turned back to Zack. ‘She dumped you?’ He gave an astonished chuckle. ‘You’ve got to be joking?’

‘I’m real glad you find that amusing.’

‘Not amusing, mate, more like miraculous.’ Monty laughed again, his eyes darting back to the bar. ‘Oh, fab, she’s coming back. Maybe I’ll get to see her give you the kiss-off again.’

Zack jerked his gaze up, not finding Monty’s teasing at all funny. As he watched Kate approach the familiar tightening in his crotch only aggravated him more.

Kate concentrated on staying upright and channelling Mahatma Gandhi as she approached Zack’s table, the mini-pretzels balanced precariously on her tray. Somehow she had to get him to let her stay till the end of her shift. She hated being a pushover, but she didn’t have the energy to fight and she needed her share of tonight’s bar tips. If she left an hour early, she might not get them.

‘Your pretzels,’ she said, putting the small bowl on the table and keeping her eyes down. Maybe if he didn’t mention her leaving again she could just carry on.

‘Thanks,’ Zack said, sounding surly. What did he have to sulk about?

She picked the empty bowl up from the table, intending to make a quick exit, when the man sitting across from him spoke. ‘Don’t run off, love,’ he said, his broad cockney accent surprising Kate. ‘It’s Kate, right?’

His smile was charming and somehow cheeky at the same time. She hadn’t even noticed him when she’d been at the table earlier, but then she’d been wasting her attention on Zack. She took his hand, feeling her anxiety ebb as his grin widened.

‘Yes, that’s right, Kate Denton,’ she said.

‘Lovely to meet you, Kate,’ he replied chummily. ‘I’m Monty Robertson.’ He let go of her hand, settled back into his seat. ‘Do I detect a touch of the old country in your accent?’

She nodded.

‘Londoner, right?’ he asked, the warmth in his soft ebony eyes putting her at her ease.

‘Chelsea, actually,’ she replied, feeling ludicrously grateful to be talking to one of her fellow countrymen.

‘Very la-de-dah. I’m honoured,’ he said, then his face fell comically. ‘You’re not a bloody Chelsea supporter, are you?’

Kate laughed. ‘Of course I am—best team in London. You’re not one of those saddos who—’ The thump of a bottle hitting the table made her head whip round.

Zack was staring at them. ‘I need another beer,’ he said, his voice deadly calm.

Tension knotted at the base of Kate’s neck. A snide retort came to the tip of her tongue, but the sudden wave of exhaustion caught her unawares. She stepped back, trying to counterbalance the wobble in her legs and stumbled.

‘Hey, love, are you okay?’ She could barely hear Monty’s urgent question over the buzz saw in her head.

The tray clattered onto the floor. She tried to grab the table, scared of falling, but then Zack was towering over her. His fingers grasped her upper arms, holding her upright.

‘What is it? What’s wrong?’ he asked.

She frowned, confused by the temper in his voice. What had she done now?

The familiar scent of him assailed her, she tried to pull away, but he held firm. He turned her body and the neon light from the bar shone on her face, making her squint.

He cursed. ‘You look like hell.’ His voice came from miles away. ‘When’s the last time you slept?’

She tried to lift her hands to shake him off, but someone had tethered ten ton weights to her wrists. ‘I’m fine,’ she said feebly, but she couldn’t seem to stop shaking.

‘The hell you are,’ he said, still sounding angry with her.

She wanted to argue with him. Wanted to tell him to get lost, but all that came out of her mouth was a pathetic whimper.

The world tilted and suddenly she was floating for real, her cheek rubbing the soft cotton of his T-shirt, her limbs weightless.

‘Mont, tell the bar staff she’s taking the rest of the night off. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

She heard the words but couldn’t quite process them. All she could see was the strong column of his neck, the shadow of stubble under his chin. Embarrassment washed over her as she felt his arms tense under her knees and across her back. For goodness’ sake, he was carrying her. The harsh light of the casino hit her as he walked out of the bar. She wriggled, tried to lift her head away from the rock solid shelf of his shoulder blade.

‘P-put me down.’Where had that stammer come from? And why was everything whirling around?

‘Forget it,’ he said, sounding even surlier. ‘If you can’t look after yourself, someone else is going to have to do it.’

Her mind tried to grasp hold of the indignation, the humiliation she should be feeling. But she couldn’t shake the thought that she was in a chilling fog and the only warm, solid thing there was him. She couldn’t push him away yet, or she’d be sucked into nothingness. Shivers of exhaustion raked her body.

His arms tightened around her and she heard the reassuring thud of his heartbeat. ‘Relax, Kate,’ he said, his voice gentle now, coaxing. ‘You’re okay, I’ve got you.’

‘Don’t drop me,’ she pleaded, too tired to care if she sounded pathetic.

‘I won’t,’ he said.

She softened into his strength, shut her eyes and let the fog envelop her like a warm, comforting blanket.

Zack felt Kate grow heavy in his arms. The machine-gun shots of his heartbeat finally began to slow as the deep, steady rhythm of her breathing brushed his neck. He tucked her head under his chin, adjusted her weight as he pushed the elevator call button.

He’d just lost ten years off his life.

Shock had propelled him out of the booth when she’d staggered in the bar. But as soon as he’d felt the tremors raking her body, seen the bruised smudges under her eyes, a cruel rush of guilt had replaced it. She looked shattered.

They’d got all of two hours’ sleep last night and while he’d been lying in bed most of the morning, feeling put upon, she’d been working in his hotel trying to make up the money she owed. Maybe she was nuts, maybe she drove him nuts, but the woman had guts.

The elevator button pinged and she stirred. ‘Shh,’ he hummed as if comforting a child. She relaxed against him. She wasn’t exactly light, but still she felt fragile. He tightened his hold, stepped into the elevator and nudged the button to the penthouse.

He ought to take her to her own suite, but he couldn’t do it. He wanted her with him, and not just for the obvious reason. He wanted to keep an eye on her. The urge to protect her surprised him, but he didn’t question it. He’d been right on the money earlier. If she couldn’t look after herself, someone else would have to do it. And at the moment, whether she liked it or not, it looked as if that someone was him.

CHAPTER SEVEN

KATE STOOD IN THE DOORWAY of the palatial open-plan kitchen, cinched the tie on the silk kimono she’d found on the end of the bed and studied Zack’s back. He seemed surprisingly at home standing over the gleaming steel hob, spatula in hand. The buttery perfume of cooking eggs filled the air. The smell wasn’t the only thing making her mouth water. He looked tall and gorgeous as always in a pair of worn jeans and a faded sweatshirt with the sleeves torn off at the elbows.

What was it about watching macho guys cook that made a woman’s head spin? The sight wasn’t helping Kate’s nerves one bit.

‘Hi.’ Her voice came out on a silly little squeak. She cleared her throat and tried again. ‘Um, good morning.’

He stopped stirring, turned slowly and gave her an easy smile. ‘Morning.’ He nodded towards the breakfast bar and pointed at one of the stools with the spatula. ‘Take a seat. Breakfast’s done.’

She didn’t move. ‘What am I doing in your penthouse?’ she said blankly, trying hard not to be charmed.

Why was he cooking her breakfast? And what exactly had happened last night? All she remembered was passing out. She’d woken up from a deep, dreamless sleep ten minutes ago to discover herself in his bed with only a few scraps of underwear on, the mid-morning sunshine peeking through the curtains on the huge picture window.

It didn’t look good.

‘We’ll talk after we eat,’ he said, dishing the eggs onto plates already loaded with bacon and toasted muffins. ‘You want to grab the coffee?’

She didn’t want coffee, or breakfast for that matter. Her stomach was tied in greasy knots of apprehension. The only thing she did remember was making a complete fool of herself last night—swooning like the heroine in a bad B-movie. But she had absolutely no clue as to what had happened afterwards.

Had they made love?

If they hadn’t, why was he being so friendly now? He’d as good as ordered her off the premises last night in the bar.

If they had, she didn’t think her pride would ever recover.

Zack transferred the plates to the breakfast bar, which he’d already laid with cutlery and glasses of orange juice. He frowned when he looked up.

She was still rooted in the doorway.

‘Okay, spill it, whatever it is,’ he said, sounding exasperated. ‘I spent twenty minutes cooking breakfast—I don’t want to eat it cold.’ He placed the coffee pot and a couple of mugs next to their plates and waited.

Kate had always believed in being direct. Still she had to force the words out. ‘Did we sleep together last night?’

His eyebrows shot up and then he laughed. Kate’s back stiffened like a board. He slid onto one of the stools, keeping his bare feet on the floor, and poured himself a cup of coffee, still chuckling.

Heat rose in Kate’s cheeks. She wrapped her arms round her waist. ‘What’s so funny?’

He looked at her over the cup, still grinning at the private joke. ‘Sweetheart, you’ve given my ego some major-league hits in the last couple of days.’

The self-deprecating shake of his head and the warmth in his voice made Kate relax a little. ‘How so?’

He took a gulp of his coffee, put the cup down and patted the stool beside him. ‘Sit down and I’ll tell you.’

She hesitated, then walked to him and lifted herself onto the stool. Propping her feet on the foot bar, she tugged the silk over her bare legs.

He put a hand on her knee. She tensed, only too aware of the warm pressure through the cool silk, and the clean, devastatingly familiar scent of him.

‘All I’m saying is, when I make love to a woman, the lady usually remembers it in the morning.’ He lifted his hand. ‘And I don’t take advantage of women when they can’t say no.’ He fixed his eyes on hers. ‘You were out cold last night. So I took one of the other bedrooms.’

‘Oh, well, that’s good.’ She should have been relieved, but for some inexplicable reason she wasn’t, quite. ‘Thanks.’

‘You’re welcome,’he said, picking up his fork. ‘Now, eat up.’

She did as she was told, suddenly at a loss as to what to think. Okay, so they hadn’t slept together, but why was he being so nice to her, then? They’d hardly been on good terms the night before.

As soon as she tasted her breakfast, Kate’s appetite pushed the doubts to one side in a surge of hunger. She tucked into the light fluffy scrambled eggs, crispy bacon and hot buttered muffins, savouring every delicious bite. She was polishing off her second cup of coffee when she noticed he’d finished his breakfast and was watching her.

She put down her cup.

‘I see you found the robe,’ he said casually. ‘It suits you,’

Kate looked down at the luxurious blue silk kimono embroidered with a flame-breathing dragon down one side. ‘It’s beautiful,’ she murmured, pulling on the lapels. ‘Whose is it?’

As soon as she’d asked the question, she wished she could take it back. No doubt one of his other conquests had left the silk robe behind. She knew she had no claim on him, but somehow the thought of sitting in his kitchen in some other woman’s clothes made her lose her appetite.

‘I was given it on a business trip to Japan,’ he said, refilling his coffee-cup. ‘Over there, guys wear those things, too. It’s not really my style, though.’ His gaze wandered over her figure. ‘It looks better on you.’

Kate let out the breath she’d been holding, and then felt annoyed by her reaction. Why should she care who the kimono belonged to?

She wiped her mouth with her napkin. ‘Breakfast was delicious, Zack. Thanks, it was nice of you.’

‘Not really,’ he said, his expression unreadable. ‘I owed you an apology.’

‘You did?’ Why did she feel as if she was missing something vitally important here? ‘What for?’

‘For behaving like a jerk yesterday morning and last night in the bar.’

She blinked, surprised by the admission. She had assumed apologies weren’t his style any more than silk kimonos were. ‘Apology accepted, then.’

Time to leave, she decided, before she let that smouldering look get the better of her again. Popping off the stool, she reached for his plate.

He took her wrist, stilled her hand. ‘What are you doing?’

‘I thought I’d clean up, before I go.’

‘No need,’ he said, turning her hand over. ‘The housekeeping staff’ll get it later.’ He stroked his thumb across the pulse point, making her shiver. Then he lifted her hand to his lips and bit softly into the pad of flesh at the base of her thumb.

A sharp dart of desire shot straight down to Kate’s core.

‘Don’t,’ she said, curling her fingers into a fist. She tugged on her hand.

His eyes locked on hers, making her feel both trapped and needy. ‘Why not?’ he said, his voice gentle but firm. ‘What are you afraid of, Kate?’

You, she thought, the panic making her throat constrict. It had been hard enough walking away from him yesterday morning. Kind and considerate were the last things she would have expected from him. They pulled at a place deep inside her she didn’t want pulled at. There was nothing between them except one night of spectacular sex, and it would cost her if she ever forgot it.

‘I have to go,’ she said, struggling to ignore the jackhammer thumps of her heartbeat. ‘I need to check out of my suite today, and then I have to find another job.’

He let her hand go, swore under his breath. ‘Why are you so hung up on paying your way?’

‘I’m not hung up on it.’ She’d rather die than tell him the real reason—it was far too personal. ‘It’s just, it’s important to me, that’s all.’

‘Yeah, I get that.’ Frustration hardened his voice. ‘I was the one who stopped you falling on your face after you’d worked yourself into a coma, remember.’

The words came out harsher than Zack had intended. When he saw her flinch he could have kicked himself. Here he was trying to persuade her to stick around and he’d blown it, already. How did the woman get him worked up quicker than a wolf at a rabbit convention? He was famous for being smooth with women, and yet with her he found it all but impossible to keep his cool.

‘Yes, I do remember,’she said, her shoulders ramrod straight under the floating silk. ‘I also recall you telling me to leave your hotel. Which is what I intend to do, so you won’t have to pick me up off the floor again.’

‘Kate,’ he said, aiming for easygoing. ‘I’m not having that same argument all over again.’ Okay, maybe easygoing was going to be a stretch.

‘Good, because neither am I.’

She tried to walk past him. He stepped in front of her.

Defiance flashed in her eyes but behind it was something else. Something he’d seen the night before when he’d held her. Something that looked a lot like vulnerability. It gave him the cue he needed to say what he had to say.

‘I’ve got a proposition for you.’

Her eyes flared and he had to suppress a grin.

‘Not that kind of proposition.’Well, not quite anyway. ‘It’ll be worth your while. I swear. If you’ll sit down and listen.’

She still looked mutinous.

‘Please.’ The word made him feel uncomfortable, but when she huffed and sat back on her stool he figured it had been worth it.

‘All right, I’m listening,’ she said, her chin still thrust out.

She looked stiff as a poker, perched precariously on the edge of the stool, but at least he wasn’t watching her cute rear end walking out the door.

Now, how to say what he wanted to without setting her off again?

Luckily for him, he’d spent most of the night giving the problem a whole lot of thought and he had a plan. All he had to do was stick to it.

When he’d got her up to the penthouse the night before, his first concern had been getting her out of her outfit without waking her up.

It had been an exquisite kind of torture, the flowery scent she wore making him instantly hard as he’d recalled just how hot and ready she’d been in his arms the previous evening. He’d had no trouble keeping his thoughts G-rated, though, once he’d eased off her shoes and seen the raw, reddened skin on her heels and toes.