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

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.