Out of Hours...His Feisty Assistant. Heidi Rice
was the only reason the picture of Zack and his insatiable body kept popping back into her brain. She didn’t regret her decision to turn down his insulting offer one bit. She would never be any man’s kept woman, no matter how gorgeous he looked or how fantastic he might be in bed. Her mother had done that and look what had happened to her.
She let go of the bar. When she stayed upright, she pulled a long fortifying breath into her lungs. Only an hour to go, then she could collapse into bed. She vowed she wouldn’t so much as twitch her little finger until ten minutes before her housekeeping shift started at six tomorrow morning.
‘Katie, Katie.’ Marcy, Kate’s fellow waitress, elbowed her way towards Kate on ice-pick heels, her chocolate-brown eyes beaming. How did she walk in those shoes, Kate wondered, without dislodging a kidney?
‘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