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