Читать книгу The Tycoon's Very Personal Assistant - Heidi Rice - Страница 8

CHAPTER THREE

KATE WASN’T LAUGHING when she stepped into the elevator that evening. As the empty car whipped soundlessly up to the nineteenth floor she knew the weightlessness in her stomach had more to do with nerves than gravity.

She studied her reflection in the mirror on the elevator’s back wall. At least she didn’t look like a vagabond. After a short but fortifying nap, she’d taken one of the hundred-dollar bills Boudreaux had given her and hit The Strip, aware she could hardly wear her Tom Sawyer outfit to the hotel’s swankiest restaurant.

She absolutely was not dressing up to impress Boudreaux, but she didn’t want to look ridiculous either. Luckily for Kate, she happened to be an expert at styling on a budget. She’d found the vintage blue and gold silk dress in a Salvation Army thrift shop for twenty dollars. It was a little snug around her breasts, showing a bit more cleavage than was probably intended, but otherwise it could have been made for her. The classic hourglass nineteen-fifties styles looked retro, not out of date, she told herself, especially once she added the heeled sandals and clutch purse she’d found on sale at an outlet store on Fremont Street. Kate had never been a shopaholic, she’d never had the finances for it, but she did get a buzz out of coordinating the perfect outfit for peanuts. She’d trolled the cosmetics counters at the nearest mall and picked up a sack full of free samples, so even with the headscarf she’d bought to tie up her hair she’d managed to keep her spending under eighty dollars.

Keeping back twenty dollars for emergencies, Kate stuffed the other four hundred dollars Boudreaux had lent her inside her new purse. She pressed it against her belly and peered over her shoulder to get a view of her bum. The tangle of nerves and anticipation eased a little. She looked great. Maybe a bit unusual, but still great. Unfortunately, she didn’t feel all that great.

Ever since she’d started getting ready an hour ago, a troop of Morris dancers wearing hobnailed boots had been having a hoedown under her breastbone.

Why did Boudreaux want to have dinner with her?

They hadn’t exactly hit it off up to this point. The obvious answer was that he saw in her an opportunity for a quick conquest. While the thong had made her laugh, she knew letting her guard down with Boudreaux could lead to disaster. It wasn’t the quick fling he no doubt had in mind that she objected to per se. She didn’t consider herself a prude. She enjoyed hot, healthy sex as much as the next girl and it was a very long time since she’d had any. Plus, she had a feeling hot, healthy sex would be Boudreaux’s forte. But her confidence had taken a huge hit with Andrew and she didn’t want to end up feeling used again—however mutual it might be.

She’d worked out her strategy. She would be polite and distant. She must not encourage him. He was a dangerous man, both good-looking and magnetic, and he knew it. From the tone of his note, and the teasing sparkle in his eyes earlier, she suspected he would be well practised at the art of seduction. And, if that wasn’t worrying enough, her attraction to him had a heat and intensity she’d never experienced before. She must not rise to the bait, or she could end up getting seriously burned.

The lift doors opened onto a plush lobby area, but Kate barely noticed it, her gaze drawn to the panoramic view of night-time Vegas on the other side of the restaurant. Past the maître d’s lectern and the candlelit tables, a wall of glass showcased The Strip and the darkness of the desert beyond. Boudreaux’s hotel wasn’t the largest of the huge casino hotels, but it certainly had pole position. Nineteen storeys up, the neon plumage of The Bellagio, The Mirage, Caesars Palace and a host of other famous names lit up the night like a flock of narcissistic peacocks. The city, seen from this lofty angle, glowed with expectant glamour.

Kate drew in a careful breath as she approached the maître d’ and gave him her name. She was bang on time, but as the waiter led her to a booth at the back of the restaurant she saw Boudreaux had arrived ahead of her. He stood up as she approached, his tall, imposing physique silhouetted against the flickering neon of the cityscape.

He was wearing a conservative, expertly tailored grey suit, one hand tucked into the pocket of his trousers and his white shirt unbuttoned at the neck revealing a few wisps of chest hair. Kate realised he looked relaxed and completely at home in his surroundings. Tall, dark, handsome and devastatingly sexy. As her pulse buzzed in her ears and the Morris dancers went for broke in her stomach she wondered if she had overestimated her ability to resist the irresistible.

Zack had been sitting at the table for ten minutes, nursing a Scotch and soda and debating whether the thong might have been a tactical error at this stage in the game. He’d bought it on impulse and dashed off the note because the thought of getting Kate all fired up again had amused him. But once he’d been shown to their table, he’d begun to wonder if he might have overplayed his hand.

Did the woman even have a sense of humour?

But as soon as he spotted her walking towards him through the dim lights of the restaurant, Zack found all his misgivings obliterated by an explosive surge of lust.

She looked stunning. The gold threads in her dress caught the candlelight, shimmering over her curves and accentuating the way the material clung to every delicious inch of her. She was taller than he’d first thought, her blonde hair piled up on her head with a flash of blue silk and her smooth bare legs finished off with a pair of glittery gold heels. Whether or not she had a sense of humour, she certainly had a sense of style. The outfit looked like a throwback to the days of Marilyn Monroe, but it worked on her. His eyes drifted down to her cleavage where the pale flesh of her breasts strained against the fabric. His mouth went bone dry.

Marilyn, eat your heart out.

He made a mental note to give the boutique manageress a raise for her inspired product purchasing. Kate gave him a polite smile as the waiter placed the menus on the table and excused himself.

‘Hello, Mr Boudreaux,’ she said in that snooty, husky voice that made him think of warm flesh and soft sheets. ‘I hope I didn’t keep you waiting?’

‘Call me Zack.’ He took the hand she offered. Her fingers trembled and he caught a whiff of the perfume she wore. Sultry but subtle, the provocative scent whispered to him as she let go of his hand. He resisted the urge to bury his face against her neck and breathe it in, but only just. ‘You were worth the wait,’ he said, letting his gaze wander over her figure. ‘That’s one hell of a dress.’

‘Thank you.’ She smoothed her hands over the silk and sat down, the picture of demure, but he caught the spark of mischief in her eyes as they met his. ‘Better than a bathrobe, then?’

His lips quirked. So she did have a sense of humour. Damned if he wasn’t going to have fun tonight. ‘Depends,’ he said, ‘on what you’ve got under it.’

Regrets, he decided, were for wimps.

With his emerald eyes hot on hers and his devastating face relaxed in a challenging grin, Kate felt all her good intentions jump up and shoot straight out of the window. ‘Gosh, are we talking about your knicker fetish already?’ she said in her haughtiest voice. ‘I thought you’d at least let me have a drink first.’

He barked out a laugh, his eyes glittering with appreciation. ‘Okay, let’s get you a drink.’ He snapped his fingers at the waiter. ‘But I’ve got to warn you, this fetish is fast becoming an obsession.’

‘Really, Zack?’ The corner of her mouth inched up. ‘That doesn’t sound very healthy.’

The waiter arrived and she ordered herself a glass of Kir, conscious of Zack studying her the whole time. The trickle of awareness became a torrent.

‘You’re right, it’s not healthy,’ he said, once the waiter had gone, his voice low and intimate and full of fake concern. ‘Maybe I need therapy?’

‘Or maybe you should stop sending thongs to women you don’t know.’

The glass of cassis-tinted wine arrived and she took a fortifying sip.

‘That might work,’ he said, the gravity in the words not the least bit convincing. ‘Or maybe I should get to know her first.’ He reached across the table, stroked his thumb across the back of her hand. ‘How does that sound?’ The light touch had heat spearing up her arms and across her chest.

Okay, not just practised in the art of seduction, more like world class. And to think she’d thought he was forbidding in his office earlier. He wasn’t forbidding, just extremely dangerous. But the perilous urge to play with fire overwhelmed her. Why not? After the day she’d had, a bit of harmless flirtation would do her good.

‘As long as you’re not talking about getting to know her in the biblical sense—’ she took a sip of wine, her mouth suddenly dry ‘—because that’s going to bring us right back to your knicker problem again, isn’t it?’ she said, her voice tapering off as his eyes flashed hot and a muscle in his jaw tensed.

He arched one black brow, the heat in his gaze undimmed. ‘It won’t be a problem for long, Kate. I guarantee it.’

Uh-oh, Kate thought as the temperature in the room soared and a blush spread up her chest. This flirtation was nowhere near as harmless as she’d intended. He was looking at her as if he’d stripped her naked already. The fireball of need between her thighs meant he might as well have done. She had to cool things down now, or they’d both go up in smoke. She wasn’t playing with fire here. She was playing with an inferno. And she had no idea how to handle it.

Zack knew the instant he’d gone too far. Colour stained her cheeks and her eyes clouded over. He thought it was a shame, but he didn’t blame her. He’d never got so hot, so quickly before in his life. Hell, when she’d put her lips on her wine glass, his blood had gone south so fast he got a little light-headed.

She opened the menu, a slight tremor in her hands as she studied the listings in silence. She lifted her head, a nervous smile on her lips. ‘Shall we order? I’m really hungry.’

He was hungry too, he thought, hungrier than he’d been in a very long time, and he wasn’t thinking about food. But he nodded, picking up his own menu. ‘Sounds good to me.’

He allowed her to let the conversation drift to harmless small talk as they ordered.

The quiver in her voice a moment ago had been a big red stop sign. As much as he would have liked to drive right through it and risk the crash, he knew he shouldn’t. He’d found out as a young man that patience was more than a virtue. It was a pleasure. It got you what you wanted, but allowed you to savour it first.

He had a feeling that Kate Denton—with her smart mouth, her lush little body and her sassy sense of humour—would be worth savouring.

The food was exquisite, and Kate was starving, but by the time the delicate slice of chocolate pecan torte was placed in front of her she’d barely managed to swallow a bite. She couldn’t seem to stop babbling. Maybe it was the intense way he absorbed everything she said. Or the questions he asked, as if he really cared what she had to say.

He knew London well, had lived there for several years in his teens, apparently, and they’d chatted about her home town for most of the meal. It should have been a relaxing, innocuous conversation, but every time she caught his eyes flicking down to her lips, every time she noticed the sexy way his mouth curved when she said something sharp or funny, her blood pressure shot up another notch.

She placed a spoonful of the rich chocolate dessert onto her tongue. It tasted dark, sensual and delicious, despite the jumble of nerves and excitement making whoopee in her tummy.

‘How’s your pie?’ he said, his gaze dropping to her mouth again. Her pulse jumped.

‘Fabulous.’ She licked her lips, shocked by the reckless thrill when his eyes followed the movement. ‘Chocolate should be one of the seven deadly sins, don’t you think?’

‘I thought it was,’ he said, his voice as rich and sinful as the chocolate.

It is now, thought Kate, spooning up another mouthful of chocolate. ‘Do you fancy a taste?’

‘I thought you’d never ask,’ he said, the intensity in his gaze convincing her they weren’t talking about her dessert.

She lifted the spoon. Wrapping strong fingers round her hand, he guided it to his lips. As she watched the thick velvety chocolate being devoured the well of desire she’d been holding back geysered up. Her nipples tightened against the smooth silk of her dress and her thighs tensed, unable to hold back the flood of heat. The sensual battle she’d been waging with her body all evening had been well and truly lost.

‘Thanks. That was delicious.’ He caressed her fingers before releasing her hand. She saw the glow of triumph in his eyes and realised he knew he’d won.

It didn’t take him long to claim the spoils.

‘Kate,’ he said, leaning back against the leather booth, one forearm resting casually on the table. ‘You’re beautiful, you intrigue me and I’m very attracted to you. I’d like to make love to you tonight. How do you feel about the idea?’

Well, he was certainly direct and to the point, she thought, her breasts throbbing now, her heartbeat pummelling.

She should have said she wasn’t attracted to him, that she didn’t want to make love. It was sheer madness to encourage something so reckless, so impulsive. But the lie refused to come out of her mouth. It was as if some devastating chemical reaction had taken control of her body and wouldn’t let her utter the words.

Maybe it was madness, but it wasn’t just that she couldn’t say the words—she knew she didn’t want to. Zack Boudreaux was every woman’s fantasy. And the way he was looking at her right now was giving her heart palpitations. She’d never been this sexually aware of anyone before in her life. This man could make her forget the mess she was in—if only for one night. Didn’t she deserve at least one fleeting chance of escape?

Kate concentrated on his face, revelling in the rush of desire as she decided on her reply. ‘I feel quite enthusiastic about the idea, actually.’

His eyes widened and she wondered if she’d shocked him with her forwardness, but then the deep green ignited with passion. He threw his napkin onto the table and stood up. ‘We need to go to my penthouse, then’ he said, his voice a little hoarse. Towering over her, he took her arm and hauled her out of the booth. ‘Before my knicker fetish gets the better of me.’

She laughed, giddy with excitement as he wrapped his arm around her waist and steered her out of the restaurant.