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

So much for fighting fire with fire—all she’d done was set off an inferno.

‘I want you,’ he murmured, his hand stroking her backside. ‘Let’s stop playing games.’

‘I’m not the one playing games. You are.’

He stared at her. ‘How do you figure that?’ His breathing was a little harsh, his voice huskier than before. The knowledge gave her a much needed burst of power.

Maybe she couldn’t throw his confidence, his arrogance, his conviction that he would soon have her again back in his face. After all, her erect nipples were practically boring a hole in his chest, her sex was so swollen and ready for him she had to clamp her thighs tight to stop her knees from giving way. And the heady masculine scent of him was making her head spin. But she could at least get things back on an even footing.

‘I’m not prepared to jump every time you click your fingers, Zack. I want some ground rules.’

‘What rules?’ he asked, incredulous, his eyes skimming down her figure. He didn’t sound quite so calm and in control any more. It was music to Kate’s ears.

‘Rule Number One,’ she announced, easing his arms down. ‘Just because Zack is the boss in the boardroom, does not mean he’s the boss in the bedroom.’

He let her go. ‘You ought to know by now, I don’t play by anyone’s rules but my own.’ He cursed softly and raked his fingers through his hair. ‘But I guess I can give you some more time to figure that out.’

She wanted to argue with him, to take offence at his dictatorial manner, his cast-iron confidence, but not a single word would come out of her mouth. Because she knew, if he’d pressed the point, they’d already be breaking all the rules. And her body wouldn’t be putting up an argument.

He left her standing at the rail and marched back into the cottage. He turned in the doorway and her eyes took in the impressive bulge in his trousers. ‘You’ve got a little while, Kate, to get used to the idea. But after that I intend to have you again. And by then, you won’t want to stop me.’

She stood dumbstruck as he walked off to the smaller bedroom, snagging his suitcase on the way. Now why did the audacious statement sound more like a promise than a threat?

CHAPTER TWELVE (#ulink_e751c94c-d40e-50a9-9896-6237b20fbef9)

‘TAKE OUT THE second clause here,’ Zack said, pointing at the document over Kate’s shoulder. ‘And rephrase the third paragraph according to the attorney’s instructions.’ The cotton of his shirt sleeve brushed against her cheek. ‘When that’s done, I’ll take another look.’

‘Yes, boss,’ Kate murmured without thinking, all too aware of the sudden drop in temperature as he straightened away from her.

‘And no cheeky remarks,’ he said, walking around the terrace table to sit in the chair opposite Kate’s.

‘No, boss,’ she said, a flirtatious smile lifting her lips.

He pulled his glasses down, eyed her over the top of the horn-rimmed frames. ‘Watch it,’ he said, his voice lowered in warning. ‘I might think you want to play.’

She bit back the provocative reply that wanted to burst out and ducked her head to start typing in earnest.

She had to stop goading him. But how could she when he was driving her insane?

Maybe it was the sleepless night she’d had, unable to get comfortable on the huge, empty four-poster bed, or the fact that he’d been ordering her about for the last twenty-four hours.

Problem was, every time he gave her another order, the promise he’d made yesterday afternoon kept running through her head. That he didn’t have the slightest qualm about touching her, leaning over her, and generally getting into her personal space every chance he got, wasn’t helping much either.

Much more frustrating, though, was the fact that he seemed a lot better at playing this waiting game than she was. He hadn’t talked once about their personal relationship since yesterday’s ultimatum. Last night he’d wished her a pleasant evening and walked off to his bedroom alone without a backward glance.

When they’d gone to dinner earlier in the evening at the hotel’s restaurant, he’d watched intently as she’d licked lobster butter off her fingers, but had kept the conversation on his plans for moving his business to California. By the end of the evening, Kate had been hyperventilating. Finding six packets of condoms neatly stacked in the bathroom cabinet this morning had made things even worse. She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about them and him—and what he intended to do with them—all day long. And to top it all off, he kept wearing those damn glasses. All he had to do now was take them out of their case and twirl them in his fingers and she got aroused. It was mortifying.

The only thing keeping her from giving in to the sexual tension crackling in the air was pride. She didn’t want to lose this game of cat and mouse—with Zack in the role of tomcat and her in the role of obedient mouse.

He was toying with her, waiting for her to show a weakness and then he would pounce—and she didn’t want to be pounced on. Well, not quite yet anyway—not until he showed a weakness too. But she was beginning to think he didn’t have any. And the strain of holding back was making her crazy. Why else would she have this reckless urge to flirt with him again?

She clicked the laptop’s keys, forced herself to concentrate on the job at hand and ignore the liquid pull in her belly. At least she’d managed to keep abreast of all the work he’d set her as his PA. She’d typed so hard her fingers ached, made so many phone calls she was worried she might be going deaf in one ear, and had started reciting Zack’s business diary in her sleep. The job was challenging and exciting and she knew she’d impressed him with her efficiency. And he couldn’t possibly know how much sexual energy she was channelling into her job to keep from leaping into his lap.

Zack watched Kate’s fingers fly across her keyboard and admired the titanic effort she was making to get back on task. Good to know he wasn’t the only one performing at the top of their game thanks to a raging case of sexual frustration. His groin had ached like a sore tooth the night before when they’d got back from their meal. He’d spent most of the evening staring at her lips all shiny with melted butter. He’d taken his second cold shower of the day as soon as he’d wished her goodnight, only to step out of the cubicle and be assaulted by the smell of Kate’s rose-petal perfume. Had she sprayed it round the bathroom to drive him nuts? But still he’d stuck to his guns and resisted the urge to march straight into her bedroom.

She was damn well going to come to him this time.

He’d made his feelings clear. He knew she wanted him as much as he wanted her. As soon as she admitted it, they could stop kidding around. He hadn’t liked her accusation that he was being too pushy with her. He was never pushy with women. They could either take what he had to offer, or leave it. It was always their choice. With her the lines had gotten a little blurred. All right, maybe more than a little blurred. As soon as she came on to him the way he knew she wanted to, they’d be crystal-clear again. He tore his eyes away from her rattling away on the keyboard and looked out over the terrace rail.

The glorious spring weather and the comforting smell of pine resin and sea salt he remembered from his childhood lifted his spirits some more. It was good to be back. And despite the havoc Kate was causing to his libido, she’d also been lively company, a worthy adversary and a dynamo at work. He’d never had a better PA. All of which amounted to a great distraction when he needed it.

He’d expected the jolt when he saw Harold Westchester again, but he hadn’t quite bargained on having all those emotions he’d spent years burying deep being wrenched back to the surface. The games he’d been playing with Kate had done a great job of taking his mind off the ghosts of his past.

He started to scroll through the emails on his laptop while letting the feeling of anticipation wash over him. The last few days of torture were going to be worth it in the long run. In fact, now might be a good time to turn up the heat on Kate. After that flirtatious little smile a moment ago, he figured she was real close to throwing in her hand.

‘It’s finished,’ Kate said. ‘Do you want to take a look at it before I print it out?’

‘Sure,’ he said, levering himself out of his chair. He braced his hands on the desk on either side of her, his cheek almost touching her hair. God, she smelled good.

‘This looks great,’ he said, scanning the copy and savouring the spurt of satisfaction when she tensed. Nope, it wouldn’t be long now before she folded. ‘I can’t see Hal putting up any more resistance,’ he said, inhaling the scent of her hair and thinking the deal with Westchester wasn’t the only thing about to get settled.

‘Who’s Hal?’ she asked, turning to face him.

‘Hal Westchester, the old guy whose hotel we’re buying,’ he said absently. She was close enough for him to see the beguiling rim of purple round her irises.

‘I thought his name was Harold.’

‘Hal’s his nickname. That’s what I called him when—’ He stopped, clamped his mouth shut. What the hell was wrong with him? He’d nearly blurted out something he hadn’t spoken about in more than twenty years.

What had he been about to say? Kate had never seen him flustered before, but he’d paled beneath his tan. He pushed away from her, straightened. ‘Why don’t you email the—?’

‘I didn’t know you and Harold Westchester knew each other,’ she interrupted, intrigued. What had put that haunted look in his eyes?

‘It was a long time ago.’ His face went hard and expressionless.

She swivelled in her chair. ‘Why did you both pretend you’d never met?’

His shoulders tensed. ‘Hal wasn’t pretending.’ His eyes flicked away. ‘He doesn’t remember me.’

Apprehension churned in Kate’s gut. What was really going on here? Why couldn’t he look at her? Was that guilt she’d heard in his voice? Did he have some ulterior motive for buying Westchester’s resort? Kelly had said he was ruthless in business. But how ruthless?

‘Why didn’t you tell him you’ve met before?’ she asked.

It occurred to her in that moment that, although she’d spent one unforgettable night of passion with this man—developing a major sexual obsession for him in the process—and had travelled all the way to California with him, she knew next to nothing about him. Because she hadn’t asked. It was about time she stopped letting her hormones make all her decisions for her.

He turned back, studied her face. ‘Stop looking at me as if I just drowned a kitten,’ he said impatiently.

‘Well, stop avoiding the question, then,’ she replied.