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

He stiffened. ‘No.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because I don’t want to,’ he said with a vehemence that shocked her. ‘I’m not that miserable brat any more. I left him behind years ago.’

She wanted to ask him why he hated that desperate child so much. From the closed look on his face, though, she knew he wouldn’t answer the question. She decided to approach the problem from a different angle. ‘Why did you want to buy The Grange so much, then?’

‘Honestly? I don’t have a clue. I decided a while back to sell up in Vegas. But I don’t know why I chose this place.’ He pushed his chair back, got up. ‘It was just some dumb impulse I couldn’t stop.’ He paced over to the rail, leaned against it, his body stiff with tension. ‘When Monty started the negotiations, I got him to check out what Hal knew. I didn’t want Hal connecting me with that kid.’

‘I can’t believe Hal would forget you so easily.’

‘Hal and Mary never knew my real name.’

‘You mean you never told them, all the time you were living with them?’

‘No, I never did.’ He paused, as if debating whether to tell her more. Was this where the guilt had come from? ‘They thought my name was Billy Jensen. At first I didn’t tell them my real name because I thought it’d be safer, but then…’ He sighed. ‘I don’t know. It was like I’d become a different person.’

‘You were a scared little boy,’ Kate said gently. ‘Believe me, Hal’s not going to hold it against you if he’s the man you described to me.’

‘How can you know that?’ His voice broke on the words, and she realised that inside the tough, commanding man there was still a tiny part of that abandoned child—who didn’t think he was worth the trouble to love.

She crossed to him, laid her hands against his chest, felt the hard pulse of his heart. Her own heart squeezed in response. ‘You have to tell him who you are,’ she whispered. ‘You have to tell him the real reason you’re buying The Grange.’

‘What do you mean, the real reason?’

‘You want a home,’ she said simply. ‘And this is the only one you’ve ever had.’

Zack was dumbfounded. It was as if she’d reached into his soul and pulled something out he didn’t even know was there. A secret yearning he’d never once admitted to anyone, not even himself. He turned away from her, stared out to sea, the conflicting feelings of guilt and remorse and longing making his stomach pitch like the surf below.

Her hand rested on his back, smoothed over his spine. ‘Hal’s the real reason you came back.’

He bent his head, his fingers clenching on the warm solid wooden railing. The earth had just shifted beneath his feet. It made him feel exposed and needy, the way he’d felt as a kid. The way he’d sworn he’d never feel again.

He swung round and her hand fell away. ‘You’re wrong. I don’t need a home and I don’t need Hal Westchester.’

And I don’t need you either, he thought desperately. He couldn’t. She’d made him feel things, think about things he didn’t want to think about. It was way past time he stopped messing about and took what he did want. Her body.

He pushed back the panic, reached for her. ‘How about I order us some supper?’ He slid his hand down her arm. ‘This sunset’s too pretty to waste on work.’

The deliberately seductive rumble of Zack’s voice rippled across Kate’s senses. The brush of his fingertips made her skin tingle.

What she’d said had shaken him, and he was trying to hide it by changing the subject. She didn’t understand why, but that glimpse of vulnerability made her want him now more than ever. The depth of her attraction still frightened her, but she was finally willing to admit that it excited her more.

‘Dinner would be lovely,’ she said, hurling caution to the wind. What had it done for her anyway except leave her on a knife-edge of unfulfilled passion? ‘I’m famished.’

She welcomed the swift kick of lust as she watched him walk into the cottage to order room service. Her imagination ran hot as she tidied away the laptops, stacked their work papers on top.

Zack had won another hand, but they’d both be reaping the reward.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

‘I’M STUFFED,’ Kate said, dropping her fork onto her plate.

‘You finished already?’ Zack said, glancing at her mound of uneaten pasta. His eyes fixed on her lips. ‘I thought you were starving?’

Kate didn’t miss the deliberate innuendo.

It was a miracle she’d been able to eat anything at all with Zack watching her like a hawk all through supper. Knowing what was in store for tonight was playing havoc with her appetite—for food, anyway.

She picked up her glass of Pinot Noir, took a hasty gulp and searched for an innocuous topic to calm her nerves. Now they were so close, she was getting jumpy.

‘Is it true you were a professional poker player before you built The Phoenix?’

‘You sound surprised,’ he said, taking a leisurely sip of his own wine.

‘I am a bit,’ she admitted. ‘You don’t seem the type to risk everything to luck.’

‘If you stay focussed and play the cards right, luck can be tamed.’

He said it with such confidence, she was honour-bound to contradict him. ‘I don’t believe that. If you’re not dealt the cards it wouldn’t matter how you played them. You’d still lose.’

‘How about we have a game of five-card draw and I’ll prove you wrong?’

‘I don’t think so.’ Did she look stupid? ‘I haven’t got any money—and I’m not even sure I know the rules, so I’d be at a huge disadvantage.’

‘We don’t have to play for money.’ He ran his fingertip down the stem of his wineglass. ‘And I can tell you the rules.’ When she didn’t reply he arched one tantalising eyebrow. ‘Unless you’re chicken?’

‘Of course I’m not,’ she said, loudly. She wished he would stop caressing his glass like that. ‘But what else can we play for?’

A sinfully sexy smile spread across his face. ‘Items of clothing.’

She blinked. ‘You’re not seriously suggesting we play strip poker?’

‘I’ve waited close to a week to get you naked again,’ he said. ‘I’m getting desperate.’

But he didn’t look desperate, he looked like a tom-cat with a bucket full of cream in his sights.

Kate’s cheeks pinked and her pulse began to race. But she couldn’t get the picture of Zack naked and at her mercy with that cocksure grin wiped off his face out of her head. Surely, this was too good an opportunity to miss.

But did she dare?

She leaned round the table and assessed the situation. He had on chinos, a shirt, a belt and some Magli loafers, no socks. Assuming he also had a pair of boxers that was still only six pieces of clothing. She did a quick mental calculation of her own wardrobe. Including her earrings—counted individually, of course—and five bracelets, it made a grand total of twelve items. ‘And we count everything—including jewellery?’ she asked.

He laughed, his gaze flicking to her wrists. ‘Sure, we can even count buttons if you want.’

Kate glanced at her cotton print dress which had about twenty-five tiny pearl buttons from the neckline to the hem and the cardigan she’d put on to chase away the night chill. Another six buttons there. His shirt couldn’t have more than ten and the top two were already undone. He really was full of himself.

‘That sounds fair,’ she said, already savouring the thought that his confidence was going to be his undoing—literally.

‘All right, then.’ He stood, dumped his napkin on the table and picked up the bottle of Pinot and their wineglasses. ‘So we’ve got a game?’

‘Absolutely,’ Kate said as he held her chair for her.

He steered her into the cottage’s living room. After lighting the small fire in the fireplace, he went to get a deck of cards. Kate perched on the couch and studied the fire. He hadn’t turned on the main light switch, leaving the licks of flame to light the room with an amber glow. Added to the luxurious silk-weave rug on the floor, the half-full bottle of rich red wine on the coffee-table, and the night perfume of jasmine and lavender drifting in from the terrace, Kate didn’t think he could have set the scene for seduction more perfectly.

The flicker of arousal that had been taunting her for days flared up as he walked back into the room. He toed off his shoes and sat cross-legged on the rug, the fire highlighting the harsh line of his jaw. She stared at the bare foot peeking out from beneath his folded knee. Did he realise he’d just given her another two item advantage?

He fanned out the cards, flipped out the jokers, then shuffled with a dexterity that suggested years and years of practice. As she watched his long dark fingers handle the cards with consummate skill, Kate felt the bottom drop out of her stomach.

Why did she get the feeling she’d just been hustled by a pro?

He looked up, his gaze penetrating, and beckoned her with his finger. ‘Sit on the rug, it’ll be easier to deal.’

She sat facing him, tucking her legs under her butt and trying to ignore the tickle of silk under her calves and the heavy thud of her heartbeat.

Why did she feel as if she were stark naked already?

He dealt them five cards each, face down, then poured them both another glass of wine while he explained the rules. As Kate picked her cards up she didn’t feel like a mouse about to be pounced by a tom-cat any more, she felt like a mouse at the mercy of a big, bad, poker-playing wolf.

‘But I’ve got two aces!’ Kate cried. He could not have beaten her again. So far she’d lost both her shoes, all her jewellery and her cardigan—and her dress was being held together with one hand while she played with the other. He’d only had to undo four measly shirt buttons.

‘And real pretty they are too,’ he said as his eyes swept over the gaping neckline of her dress. She scrambled to cover the pink lace of her bra. His gaze moved back to her face. ‘But two aces don’t beat two pair.’

‘But they’re only twos and threes. That’s ridiculous,’ she argued. She couldn’t lose her dress. She’d be down to her bra and knickers.

He chuckled, scooping up their discarded cards. ‘By my count you’ve got three items left,’ he said smoothly. He looked at her, his gaze piercing enough to make the thin cotton of the dress even more redundant than it was already. ‘You want me to help you out of the dress?’

‘No, thanks,’ she remarked tartly, covering the hitch in her breath with bravado.

The way things were going, she might as well have offered to do a striptease for him. The fact that she felt unbearably turned on only made the situation worse. Her plan these last few days had been to make him realise he couldn’t always be the boss. But he was more in charge now than ever, and she’d handed over control like a lamb leading its own way to the slaughterhouse.

What made it all the more mortifying, though, was the fact that he had stayed focussed just as he’d said he would, while she’d been distracted by every single hot look he’d sent in her direction.

The brush of his fingers on her leg made her jump.

And he still had that cocky grin in place.

He stroked his open palm over her knee. ‘You’re not a welcher, are you?’

She shivered. ‘Of course not,’ she said, pride warring with nerves as she got up on shaky legs. His gaze took its own sweet time working its way up her figure. Everywhere his eyes touched burned as she edged the dress off her shoulders, held it close and then let it go. It dropped to the rug, billowing around her feet. His jaw hardened and his eyes flashed with green fire before he looked down to shuffle the cards.

She stared at the waves of dark hair on his head, his shoulders broad beneath the white linen. From this angle she could see the ridged muscles of his abdomen through the opening in his shirt.

Hang on a minute. Why wasn’t he looking at her? And why hadn’t he said anything?

Her nipples peaked against her bra and goose-bumps pebbled across her flesh despite the warmth of the fire. Could he really be so unaffected when she was about to explode?

But then she noticed a muscle clench in his cheek and the small adjustment he made to his trousers as he shifted his sitting position.

Maybe he wasn’t quite as comfortable—or as focussed—as he wanted her to believe.

She silently cursed her own stupidity. What was wrong with her? She’d been an easy mark. She should be using all this bare flesh to her advantage instead of behaving like a shrinking violet. She sucked in a breath. It was about time she gave him a run for his money.

Kicking the dress to one side, she knelt on the rug. Placing one hand flat, she braced her arm against her chest, pumping her breasts up until they were practically bursting out of the pink lace. She cleared her throat. Zack glanced up and his eyes widened. The muscles of his jaw tightened even more. Well, he was certainly looking at her now.

‘Why don’t I deal?’ she said, doing her best imitation of Marilyn Monroe.

He raised an eyebrow but then his gaze strayed back down to her cleavage. He coughed. ‘No problem,’ he said, his voice strained as he handed her the deck.

She ran her nails across the back of his hand as she took them, felt the ripple of reaction. That was more like it. Poking out the tip of her tongue, she slid it across her upper lip while she dealt the cards. She could have sworn she heard a muffled groan.

As he reached forward to collect his cards she shot a quick look below his belt.

The rush of feminine power made her feel more confident than she had in days. Just as she had suspected, her opponent wasn’t nearly as focussed as he was pretending to be and she had some very impressive evidence to prove it.

Her luck was about to change.

She fanned her cards and spotted two queens.

Skill and focus be damned. He was going to lose his shirt—and a lot more besides.

Kate watched Zack frown at his cards and couldn’t resist a grin. Another bum hand for Mr Poker Man. After she had tried every seductive trick she could think of in the last twenty minutes his game had gone to pieces.

Pretending to study her own more than adequate pair of tens, she slipped her fingertip under the lacy edge of her bra and ran it down the plump swell of her breast with a lazy sigh.

He swore under his breath.

‘Pair of twos says you take the bra off, now,’ he snapped, throwing the pitiful hand face up onto the rug.

‘Well, what do you know?’Kate waved her cards in his face, savouring her moment of triumph. ‘It appears my pair of tens wins.’ All he had left on were his Calvin Klein boxer shorts. She pointed at the obscenely stretched cotton, her own sex throbbing with anticipation. ‘Hand over the Calvins, buster.’

‘Not till I get the bra.’

‘Sorry, no can do.’She flapped her tens at him again. ‘I won.’

To her utter shock, he clamped strong fingers round her wrist, whipped the cards out of her hand and flung them into the fire. ‘Game’s over, sweetheart.’

‘You can’t do that!’ she shouted, staring at her winning cards as their edges curled up in the flames.

‘Wanna bet?’he said, standing up and hauling her with him.

In one smooth move, he trapped her arms behind her back, manacled them in one hand, and covered her gaping mouth with his.

She struggled, panting, consumed by fire as his tongue thrust into her mouth and she was crushed against the broad, unyielding chest she’d been ogling a minute ago. He tasted of wine and frustration. Hunger seized her and she pressed into him, her mouth accepting the dominance of his tongue, her belly melting against the hard ridge in his boxer shorts.

The sharp snap hurled her back to reality. She tugged her arms free, mortified to see her breasts spilling out of the bra cups. He pushed the lace straps off her shoulders as she grabbed for the bra. The struggle lasted less than a second before he whipped it away and flung it over his shoulder.

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